Greg was in a predicament. He had not, prior to this moment in time, been a bug. Mind you, he had considered this possibility, as everyone does at some point in their lives. But, alas, he did not prepare for it, neither in body nor mind. And, my, he was a large one. Shiny carapace, twitching legs with curling spikes, and eyes like segmented saucers that sat much further apart from each other than his old ones. The whole nine yards, really.
Frankly, it was a nauseating point of view, as he saw much more of his periphery than he ever considered prior to this. There was a dusty sock and a crusty paper plate beneath his nightstand, which he could have gone without knowing about. Now, Greg felt like he very well should make amends of that laziness. But, you see, he found it difficult to spring into action. His mind hadn’t caught up with his new appendages.
His tumult off the bed was inspiring. A whir of limbs and the buzz of wings he did not know he had rocketed him with haste into the wall, off of the nightstand in question, and onto the floor in a skittering mess. A hiss escaped him from the orifice that, he presumed, functioned as his mouth. A picture fell, glass cracking with its plunge next to him. It was a family portrait, and he was, at least, able to confirm his suspicions that he had not always been a large, flying insect of sorts.
No matter. Greg fumbled to his legs and moved with care, trying to place the portrait back home. Unfortunately, he was not built for precision, only speed. The poor attempt resulted in the photo frame being shoved haphazardly into the drywall. He left it, an unworthy sense of accomplishment brightened his mind enough to leave the plate and sock for another time. Some of his legs absently rubbed themselves together no matter how hard he willed it to stop. He figured it must be an important health aspect to his new form, like blood pumping through veins or the synapse firing of neurons. He concluded that it would be best not to meddle in such bodily functions.
Greg had a more pressing matter to attend to. It was almost time for work, and he had not properly begun getting ready. His home office was on the other side of his flat, and, if his new eyes were to be believed, he only had ten minutes to log in. The alarm on his phone displayed the clock in bright, flashing colors as he just became aware that his alarm was chirping. Another task for later. It would tire itself out eventually.
He’d have to call out, but that herculean task also required logging on to his computer. He juggled the idea, considering if this was truly worth using a sick day. After all, he wasn’t rightfully sick. No cough, fever, or pain. The thought of procuring a doctor’s note made his head swim. PTO was out of the question. He was out of days. Even if he was, his request wouldn’t be approved under such short notice.
There was no helping it. He had to go to work and get this whole bug situation sorted out before his daughter got home from school.
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