If Bugle could’ve picked how he died, getting beheaded by the leg of an office chair wouldn’t have made it on the list. Not even the top million ways to go.
His first choice was obvious.
A glorious, manly death. The kind fellow men would raise a beer in honor to, like saving a child from a fire. He’d stumble upon a hot, busty chick who favored crop tops and tight jeans, sobbing about the little boy in apartment 4C. Bugle would run into the building, grab the kid, and die from smoke inhalation nestled in her arms, face pressed to… She’d be crying over his face, swearing to name her firstborn after him.
The honorable, badass kind of death a soul prostitute, aka an office worker, dreams up while each press of the keyboard drains just a little more of his life force.
But! Such is life. Shit happens, then we die.
The last thought Bugle had before he died was nothing memorable or brave.
“Uh. What the hel—”
<<<< On a surprisingly warm April day, Harold, Bugle to his friends, Jenkins spent the day working from his office cubicle. Three grey fabric walls were riddled with post-its and coding reports he hadn’t looked at since the day his manager emailed them, saying, “V.V. Important! Keep as reference!!!” A tired, fading photo of his family sat thumb-tacked in the middle. No one ever looked close enough to realize Bugle photoshopped himself into a generic photo he had gotten off the internet. Reaching for his coffee cup, Bugle frowned to find it empty. He pushed his chair from the desk, and the sound of his uneven chair wheels let out harsh EET EET sounds that sounded dreadfully loud in the tomblike silence of the office. Clacking keys briefly paused before resuming their rapid pace. This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. Trudging down the horrible blue carpet, he once more thought about how soul-sucking even the carpet was. It was as if the C.O.O.s didn’t want their workers to have even the slightest respite. He imagined that the conversation went something like this: Useless analyst: “In our latest report, we found that drab, blue carpeting significantly increases a decrease in morale!” C.O.O.: “Brilliant! Jerry, install it tomorrow!” Walking around the corner, he was blinded by the natural light flooding into their kitchen. As if to emphasize how trapped they were, the kitchen was high-quality minimalist. Sitting high above the city skyline, their office offered faint glimpses of the towering mountains in the far distance and the wide, vast blue of the sky. Cruelly, the kitchen was surrounded by floor-to-ceiling, heavily reinforced glass windows. Tempting them with freedom, denying them the chance to wing it. Grabbing a pod for the instant coffee drip, Bugle put his cup under the spout and pressed large. Hearing the hiss and crackle of the water boiling, he crossed to the window, looking out at life, which existed just out of his grasp. Resting his head against the cool planes of the glass, Bugle let out a sigh. The glittering glass of the city below dazzled his eyes as it gleamed wildly in the midday sun. Bugle let out a wince as his eyes caught a bright flash of refracted light. Raising his hand to rub his eyes, he moved his head away from the window. The coffee drip let out a gargling vicious sound as it finished filling his cup. Just as he started to move away from the window, another spark of light caught his eyes. What was that? The light he had assumed to be the sun reflecting off the office tower windows around him seemed to be growing brighter. Smooshing his nose against the glass and cupping his hands around either side of his eyes, Bugle squinted out the window. The light grew brighter and brighter, filling the entire city with a glow of red and blue. Eyes wide, he pulled his head away from the window. “Uh. What the hel—” >>>>>Let’s Fast Forward>>>>>