His first thought on waking was, “This sucks.” Everything hurt. He’d never known his hair could hurt, but every strand was raw and electrified. Groaning, he sat up.
Nothing looked right. What it looked like was…like the city exploded. He laughed, shaking his head. The pain did not clear his vision. Everything around him was cast in hazy, grey black shrouds that seemed to ebb and flow before his eyes. It almost looked like smoke.
It couldn’t be smoke. His office had a smoke detector every 8.44 feet. He’d measured.
Looking down…Bugle groaned, feeling ill at what he saw. A dark stain littered the front of his pants.
Oh, hell no. Had he pissed himself?
Pressing a finger to it he brought it up to eye level. Rubbing the fingers together Bugle was confused when they appeared red. He sniffed it. Definitely not pee.
“It’s blood.”
Eyes snapping up he saw...Nope. He closed his eyes and laid back. Something clunked the back of his head, but he ignored it.
He knew he shouldn’t have eaten that week-old sushi in his fridge last night. Clearly he was hallucinating from food poisoning.
“Harold Jenkins, its time to rise!” the man’s deep voice boomed.
Bugle cracked one eyelid.
Was this Comic-Con?
The man was extremely buff, emphasized by the garish all-over purple body paint. His hair was purple, even his eyes were purple. What gives? What was this guy even supposed to be? The Grapest?
“Harold Jenkins, rise!” a hand was under his neck and forcing him into a sitting position.
Relenting, he opened his eyes.
Pointing a threatening finger at the half naked purple man, Bugle said, “Look man, what’s with the weird get up? It’s kinda unprofessional, yknow?”
Purple man’s face fell. Still, he persisted.
“Harold Jenkins, I have come for you!”
“For what? I don’t buy stuff from salesman.”
The man’s face took on a dismayed look.
“Wait a moment, I have a speech!” the man said defensively, crossing his arms across his thick muscular chest.
Bugle carefully avoided looking at the obscenely large…Said speech began thankfully.
“Greetings, valiant hero! Today you stand on a precipice—”
“I’m sitting,” Bugle muttered, rolling his eyes.
“—of an extraordinary quest! The Fates of All Potentiality have decreed that you, HAROLD JENKINS—”
Bugle clapped his hands over his ears at that screech. Inwardly he cringed, the secondhand embarrassment was killing him. The guy’s acting was so earnestly bad.
“—must sagaciously”
“Did you bring a pocket thesaurus or something?”
“—expediently”
“Good gods man.”
“—embark on a most daunting journey to locate the Seven Splendiferous—”
“Pretty sure that word you made up…”
“—Swords! Each sword, more radiant, more resplendent than the last, holds the key to saving your world from its rapidly arriving impending doom! Prepare yourself, bravest of heroes, for your destined time has arrived! It is time to fulfil the prophecy and rise to legendary status!”
The man finished his speech with a look of pride and expectance. Bugle, cringing openly now, said, “Man, that was terrible.”
The man blinked. Blinked again.
“I have another speech.”
“At this point, I’m committed to the cringe. Bring it.”
Clearing his throat, the man began.
“Ah, brave Earthling! It is I, your interdimensional genie of destiny, here to impart cosmic knowledge of the fates upon you! You, the selected Main Character, are the ultimate hero! Rejoice in the glorious honor! Your task involves traversing the vast realms of Earth…”
“Earth is one realm…”
“—to locate a measly Seven Splendiferous Swords, each one bursting with power and splendor! Each could be yours!”
“—but wait, there’s more,” Bugle quipped dryly.
“Together, you and I shall defy the very fabric of reality and ensure the universe remains in-moderate-tact! Now, rise, courageous soul, and let the stardust guide your way!”
Bugle clapped for him.
“Successfully made me wish I never had ears. Congrats.”
Purple man dropped into a crouch, bringing his face way too close for comfort. The all-purple contact lenses were really well done. Still, Bugle edged away, bringing a hand up between them.
“Personal space man. I’m so not in the mood for this. I’ve got a mother of a headache.”
“I apologize, hero. Let me help,” purple man said, stretching out two fingers towards Bugle’s lips.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“Woah!” Bugle snapped, pushing the hand away. “I’m not interested. Besides, I don’t even know you!”
The man’s purple eyes went wide, and he gasped, clutching his face in shock. The overly dramatic reaction was painful. Clearly this guy spent way too much time in his mom’s basement imitating human interactions but never partaking.
“My deepest of condolences! I was quite remiss in my manners. I am Benzomyazapan—”
“Bless you,” Bugle muttered under his breath.
“—from the planet of Clitarium!”
“Oh, did you find it?”
Confidently Benzomyazapan replied, “Yes!”
“Cue doubt,” Bugle said, lips twitching.
Angrily the man said, “I have found it multiple times! I live there!”
Bugle laughed. He couldn’t help it.
“Look Benzo, this shtick is a bit much. I’ve gotta get back to work. I’d say it’s been fun, but I feel like I’ve died and gone to hell, so I can’t.”
Bugle went to rise to his feet and found he couldn’t. His legs wobbled like rubbery spaghetti.
“Harold Jenkins, look,” Benzo said.
Bugle followed the finger—really it was impossible to not look when the thick purple appendage stood out so vividly. The guy’s attention to detail was next level. Whispering to himself Benzo snapped his fingers and suddenly the air cleared. Light poured in, illuminating the scene in a warm, golden glow.
“What the…” Bugle muttered in utter shock.
Everything was in ruins around him. His immediate attention was on the rubble around him, littered with keyboards, pens and pencils, tables, mouse pads, mice, and chairs. He even spotted a familiar mug, Carol’s from cubical 3A (who never liked to share food but always stole his,) that said ‘Hang in there’ featuring a cartoon monkey on a vine. Parts of cubicles were strewn about, phones, computers, monitors, millions of pieces of office windows.
Looking down at himself, Bugle saw the red more clearly. It covered his sweatshirt, part of his pants, the objects around him. Shifting, his hand hit a metal object. Looking, he saw the metal leg of a chair covered in bits of blood and skin. He picked it up, horrified.
“Hot damn, this looks like it speared someone through,” he said with amazement.
“Yes, Harold Jenkins, it was you.”
“What was me?” he asked absently, turning the metal leg in his hands.
He couldn’t even imagine the pain that someone must’ve felt. It was thick and rounded, with no sharp edges. Man, it must have hurt like a bitch to get speared with that.
“The object you are holding I removed from your neck before resurrecting you.”
Irritation made Bugle’s neck prickle. He held the leg up and shook it at the man. A glob of skin fell off onto his leg. He flicked it away with his other hand. Disgusting.
“Benzo, enough with the friggin comic book act. You can still play around like that when all this,” he swept the leg wide, indicating everything, “is like this?”
Benzo let out a sigh and before he could protest, stuck two fingers to Bugle’s forehead.
<<<< At fast speeds, images poured through Bugle’s mind. Screaming. Exploding glass. Jeff Daniels, no relation to the whiskey money or “ha ha, I wouldn’t be working here,” shouting in terror as he falls from a window. Buildings collapsing. A blue and red meteor heading towards the office building. Bugle’s own face peering out the window, hands cupping his eyes as he squints. The death of a gorilla named Harambe…. Too Far, Benzo’s voice booms in his head. >>>>>Let’s Fast Forward>>>>> Bugle’s face peering out the window. The blue and red meteor. Screaming. The glass imploding, exploding. Fireballs of red and blue hitting the city. Bugle falling spinning through the space between floors. Landing on a conference table. Chairs raining down on him. One spearing through his neck… >>>>>Let’s Fast Forward>>>>> Letting out a yell, Bugle pulled away, heart racing in terror. What the hell, that’d seemed so real! Clutching his hand to his neck, he’s shocked to find uneven texture. As if a large scar had suddenly grown there… Eyes snapping up to the purple man in shock, Bugle looked him over more seriously. The outrageously big muscles, the god-awful purple skin, the purple hair, the purple eyes…He had to be mad to think that guy wasn’t human. Surely ‘intelligent life’ wouldn’t have such bad style. “I died?” he asked, confusion thick in his voice. “Yes, it’s what I’ve been trying to explain Harold Jenkins,” Benzo said. Holding up his hand, Bugle said with a sigh, “Just call me Bugle. Can’t you speak normally? Like not so ‘hear ye, here ye’?” Benzo’s eyes narrowed in thought. Commencing Speech Analysis rang through Bugle’s head. It didn’t help the persistent headache. “Ugh, man. Is that you? What gives?” “This is lit fam?” Benzo said questioningly. Face slack with shock Bugle groaned. “I never talk like that! You didn’t get it from me. And this is not ‘lit’ fam,” he snapped with emphasis. Standing, Bugle struggled to get his balance. Head swimming, ears ringing with the beat of his heart, he swayed. “Sorry. It takes a minute to fully register. This better?” Benzo asked. Relief poured through Bugle. It lasted all of two seconds until he looked at Benzo and was reminded of the sheer amount of purple. He stormed away, slowly, at a careful pace. Okay, Bugle walked away. In his head, it had much more effect. Picking his way through the rubble, he tried to make sense of what all he was seeing. If the images Benzo showed? him were accurate, then…the whole city had been turned into a heap of cratered buildings. It sent a shiver up his spine. So much carnage. Such wreckage. “Hello?” he yelled, wondering if anyone else was out there. “Hi,” came a quiet voice from behind him. He closed his eyes, hoping for patience. A look over his shoulder showed him Benzo was right behind him. “I’m not talking to you. I’m seeing if anyone else is out there.” “I see. No.” “No?” “No, there isn’t anyone else out there. Just you.” Flabbergasted, Bugle turned around, hands going automatically to his hips. “It can’t be just me. That makes no sense. There are millions of people in this city.” “Just one now, bro.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Bugle remembered his anxiety breathing. Imagine himself in a dark, cool forest, surrounded by the sounds of birds and bees. A hammock under a tree, cold beer in hand, just him and nature. Vibing. “How do you know there’s only ‘one’?” “I only brought you back to life.” Reeling, Bugle looked at him askance. “Everyone died and you brought one person back to life? How does that even work from a repopulation perspective?” “There will be no repopulating Earth if you don’t find the Seven Splendiferous Swords!” “Knock that off. I don’t even know what kind of 80s dime rag you got that from but there’s no such thing. No one does that. People don’t go on ‘quests,’” Bugle paused to emphasize with air quotes. “What is this Lord of the Potters? Or whatever that book about magic is.” Benzo gaped at him this time. “But, you play video games all the time. This concept should be easily acceptable to you.” It was Bugle’s turn to once again feel frustrated. “What’re you smokin? I don’t play video games.” Benzo turned away, pulling a small phone from his pocket. Rapidly he scrolled on the screen, muttering to himself. “No. I am correct. You must be confused after dying. Harold Jenkins, aged 30. Habitual video gamer. Works at S.U.F.R Inc.” “Does classic solitaire count as video gaming?” “No.” “Not me then.” “You’re not Harold Jenkins?” “No, I am. But everyone calls me Bugle.” “How does one get Bugle from Harold?” “My dad thought it was a funny pun on Herald.” Confused, Benzo began to pace back and forth, back and forth. His feet kicked up debris, sending them flying. “I can’t be wrong. I was so certain. Harold Jenkins, 30, S.U.F.R. Inc. Video Gamer. Destined Hero of Earth. Stopper of the Lord of All…How many times did I read that dossier?” Bugle sighed and began to walk away. As he turned, his foot kicked a pair of headphones. Stooping, he picked them up. They were all white, with red lions painted on the ears. He sighed heavily again, his head really hurt!, hand going to his forehead. “Oh. I forgot. There was another Harold Jenkins who worked at S.U.F.R. Inc. On the 13th floor. He was always wearing a thick pair of headphones. Kind of like these,” he held them up to show Benzo. “We used to get confused for each other until we moved to separate floors.” Benzo took the headphones from him with a look of pain on his face. “Two Harold Jenkins…” he muttered. “Two…Harold…Jenkins.” A horrendous, braying laugh erupted from the purple man. Edging away, Bugle made his escape, just as the man began to cry. Bugle wished he kept the headphones.