Pinching the bridge of his nose, Bugle sighed heavily.

"I really wish this headache would go away," he muttered as the pounding in his head clanged away.

Two stubby fingers pressed to his head, and he flinched away. Scowling, he pointed his finger at Benzo.

"What did I say about touching me without permission?" he hissed.

Then, he paused, finger still stretched out between them. His headache had vanished! His eyes slid to Benoz's suspiciously. Hadn't he just been wishing it'd go away?

He pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing he was in the forest, swinging gently between two trees.

It didn't work. Benzo was still there, the landscape of destruction still evident. Ah, well, it'd been worth the try.

"Did that help?" Benzo asked, curious.

Reluctantly, Bugle nodded. "How'd you do that?"

"I erased part of your memory!" Benzo said, grinning proudly.

Utterly flabbergasted, that's how Bugle would describe his feeling.

"You…what!?"

Holding up his hands at that tone, Benzo frowned.

"It was just the memory of pain; there is no need to fret yourself. Was it not enough?"

Bugle clutched at his chest, horrified.

"Don't ever erase my memories again!" he said, voice breaking with indignation.

Benzo sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Really, it's no matter," he told him, waving his hand dismissively. Turning away from Bugle, looking out into the street, he added, entirely too casually, "You wouldn't even know if I removed more, anyway."

Bugle shivered as he realized just how alien Benzo was. Bugle put a few more feet between him, giving him a hairy eyeball, just in case.

"Don't you have some kind of magical map?" He asked.

The sigh that came from Benzo's throat seemed to shake the ground.

"The stars would guide me, but until they return…no."

At this point, Bugle wasn't surprised anymore. Magical alien, check. Ability to use how magic for anything helpful, no go.

"Okay, for the sake of getting somewhere, let's head towards that," Bugle said, pointing in the distance at the reddish-blue fire still burning to their left. "We've avoided heading towards any fires, but at this point…what could be worse than what is?"

"Do not be burdened by what has not been," Benzo agreed.

The heat of the fire made sweat pour down Bugle's face, turning his back to a wet, dripping mess and making him wish he'd worn stronger deodorant. The smoke clogged his throat, and he pulled the neck of his sweatshirt up over his face.

Benzo was entirely unaffected, which irritated Bugle immensely.

They passed the raging fire and through the thick smoke that hung across the streets to find further devastation. But Bugle was happy to see that they were in an area they hadn't passed through, and looking up, he recognized where they were.

Previously a 'kitsch' area full of yuppy shopping fronts and unique food fusions, 'Try our sushi smoothies! and 'Cambomexiafrikthai bowls you don't wanna miss!', now half shorn, dust and debris covered ruins.

He'd actually tried those Cambomexiafrikthai bowls—they had been the bomb. He winced just thinking of that, poor word choice. Bugle's stomach rumbled. Now that his head was clear, his stomach was unhappy.

Benzo peeked over at him, and Bugle crossed his arms across his face.

"No. Stomach pain is essential to survival!" he said warningly.

"In this wreckage, I fear sustenance may be difficult to achieve…" Benzo lamented.

"Just how much of Earth has been destroyed?" Bugle asked, wondering if there was any point in even trying to survive.

It was just like his luck to survive the apocalypse only to end up in a world that was toasted, literally.

"By my estimation, around sixty-nine point four two zero percent," Benzo said confidently.

Bugle rolled his eyes.

"Seriously? Is this really the time for juvenile jokes?"

Benzo's face twisted in hurt.

"You asked for an estimation…I was only trying to answer," he said in a very low voice.

The giant all-purple man and that voice did not mesh, but even still guilt niggled at Bugle.

"Sorry," he muttered, stepping over a flattened tire lying across the road.

"That doesn't leave very much…If there's roughly thirty percent left, does that mean there are other people out there?"

"It is possible that there are some on the fringes…" Benzo admitted. "My sweep was limited to all major cities that were targeted. Those outside of the cities… it is possible."

That gave Bugle a surge of hope. If there were other people…his eyes slid to Benzo; maybe they could take the alien man off his back.

The two walked until they reached the city limits. On the central road, cars were abandoned haphazardly outside the city. He refused to look inside them, for fear of seeing corpses at the wheel.

Ahead, most of the infrastructure seemed to be standing, though no activity was visible. Looking back over his shoulder, Bugle could hardly believe the sight. It reminded him of those horrible B-rate movies where 'ze end of ze world' happened nonsensically, and the film spent more time on creating the post-apocalyptic landscape than the plot.

"I live that way," Bugle said, pointing down the road. "Should we try that way first?"

Benzo nodded and the two walked down the on-coming side of traffic.

Passing vehicle after vehicle felt like walking in a modern cemetery. It creeed Bugle out. Total silence filled the road, broken only by their footsteps. At any moment, he half expected someone to jump out and yell, "You've been punked!"

Of course, it never happened.

They walked to exit 17B, turned right, then crossed the road, heading towards Bugle's apartment. The utter lack of activity felt eerier than the destroyed city. Thick smoke and ash covered most of the street.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

Many homes and buildings bore signs of damage, and their windows were all shattered. Yet, Bugle was pleasantly surprised on arrival to his apartment that while the windows were smashed and the door hanging off the hinges, it was relatively undamaged.

"Is this the place you hail from?" Benzo asked curiously, as he peered around the small, cramped living space.

Bugle tugged his sweatshirt off, tossed it on the floor, and went directly to his fridge. The power was off, which was fine since he only kept a handful of items in his fridge.

He pulled out the string cheese, lunch meat, and milk—a meal of champions coming in hot. Hastily, he ripped the plastic off of them and stuffed them in his mouth.

"Is this a customary meal for humans?" Benzo asked curiously.

Bugle turned his head and saw Benzo picking up the plastic wraps he had discarded.

"Most curious," Benzo muttered and, to Bugle's shock, stuffed the plastic into his mouth.

His mouth fell open, showing an unattractive view of half-masticated cheese and meat.

"Wadahel?" he mumbled around his food.

Swallowing, Benzo nodded approvingly.

"It seems humans have much in common with us! We, too, consume stardust!"

Bugle finished chewing and washed his mouthful down with a large gulp of milk. He winced at the taste. It was definitely not quite right.

"What are you talking about? This is cheese…Well, that was plastic, but this," he unwrapped another string cheese and held it up, "is cheese."

In his field of vision, a message popped up, overlaying all else:

----------------------------------------

Element

Symbol

% of element in 'Cheese'

% as Stardust

Carbon

C

~30-35%

~100%

Hydrogen

H

~5-7%

~10%

Oxygen

O

~40-50%

~100%

Nitrogen

N

~3-5%

~100%

Calcium

Ca

~1-1.5%

~100%

Phosphorus

P

~0.5-1%

~100%

Sodium

Na

~1-2%

~100%

Potassium

K

Trace amounts (<0.5%)

~100%

----------------------------------------

Stunned, Bugle froze, blinking at the shocking image.

"I am most pleased to have found such a common ground between us!" Benzo said with glee. He shoved another plastic wrap into his mouth, chewing happily. "I can feel the bond between us growing by the minute."

"Oh, yeah, is that what this feeling is called?" Bugle muttered darkly, feeling vaguely ill. "How do I get this to go away? It's like a pop-up for my eyes."

Benzo stretched out his hand, two fingers reaching for Bugle's head.

"No!" Bugle said, jutting out his hand, still holding the cheese. It bounced in his hand as his knocked Benzo's away.

Sighing, Benzo pulled his hand back.

"Look in the corner; there's an X to close the message."

Bugle squinted closely at the message in his view, seeing a very, very, very small X in the top corner. As soon as he looked at it, the message closed.

A breath of relief left him as it disappeared. Putting the cheese down, Bugle left the kitchen, heading for his bedroom.

"I'm changing," he said, kicking his door shut before Benzo could follow him in.

He took a green sweatshirt from his closet, a green T-shirt from his bureau, and a mostly clean pair of blue jeans from the back of his desk chair.

Looking at himself in the mirror on the back of his closet door, he winced. His face was a smear of soot and dried blood, and his hair was covered in dust and ash. His fauxhawk was sticking up like a cactus, a most unattractive style. He was a mess. Going into his bathroom, he plugged the sink, letting the faucet run until it ran out of water. It wasn't much with the power off, but it'd do for a cleanup. Getting the blood out of his hair took the longest time, but finally, after the water turned a deep red, he was satisfied it was all out.

Once he'd cleaned himself up as best as possible, Bugle walked back to his room and dressed. It felt good to be 'clean' and in fresh clothes.

Rooting around the bottom of his closet, Bugle pulled out his bags. One was a frayed duffel bag that he kept swearing he'd replace. The other was a white rucksack decorated with lime green frogs.

He smiled, remembering the day his friend Li Ha-Joon had given it to him. The two had sat beside each other in all their shared college courses. Both of them were on the fringe of social groups. Li Ha-Joon didn't understand a word of English, and Bugle didn't understand a word of Korean, but they developed a friendship nonetheless.

One day, Ha-Joon saw him pull out a notebook with a frog on it. Ha-Joon tapped it and said, "개구리." Bugle repeated it, then said, "frog," and thus sparked their silly 'identify this' game before and after classes started. When they graduated, Bugle gave Ha-Joon a leather briefcase, and Ha-Joon gave Bugle the Korean rucksack.

Bugle's lips turned down, and he wished he'd stayed in contact with his friend. Time and distance seemed like a poor excuse now. Remembering Benzo's words, he hoped his friend had survived. Sighing, he pulled the tag off the bag and began to pack. Extra boxers were first, then shirts and jeans.

From under his bed, he pulled out a first aid kit, tucking that inside too. Looking around, he frowned. There wasn't much else he could take. A handful of pictures from his bureau top went into a zipped pocket.

When he couldn't find anything else to add, he tightened the latches, rested the pack on his bed, and started lacing up his boots.

A knock on his door came.

"Bugle, are you at rest?"

He wished he was. Just sitting on his bed was a temptation.

"No, you can come in," he called.

Benzo's head popped around the door.

"Shall we use this to plan our journey?" Benzo asked, holding up a projector of stars Bugle used for ambiance in his room.

Frowning, Bugle rested his arms on his knees.

"Those are just random star patterns meant as decoration."

"Stars are used as decoration?" Benzo asked, turning the projector over in his hands.

He clicked the button and pointed it at the ceiling. An array of green and yellow stars flooded the white space.

"What interesting creatures humans are. How does this work?" he asked, flicking the on and off button.

"There are batteries inside," Bugle said.

That reminded him, and he went to his closet, pulling down a flashlight and packs of batteries. He tucked those inside his backpack, too, as the stars flickered on and off, on and off, on and off.

"Benzo," he said, sliding the backpack over his back and snapping the chest strap into place. "Since we're partying now...How about you tell me how to access those wishes?"

Benzo grimaced, and the projector's yellow-green light bathed his face in a sickly color. He switched it off and placed it on Bugle's nightstand.

"About that...there are some requirements you must fulfill to access those skills..."