The doorknob daunted Greg. It was normally a friend, the first hand shook of any new day. This would not be one of those days. It was a round brass knob, tarnished and smoothed by many hands. He was sure a bug had landed on it at least once, but he’d never seen one succeed so much in budging it let alone pulling it open. Telekinesis, he found, was not in his arsenal of insectoid talents. This ruled out being a magic bug. Whoever had done this to him had their limits, he supposed. He’d have been more disappointed at this glass-shattering reality if the task at appendage wasn’t so dire. He had to open that door and get to work.
His initial attempt went, sadly, as he had anticipated. It was downright slippery beneath his hard, pronged legs. Minutes of this chitinous charade went on without luck. No amount of shifting or leverage could do the trick, and he still couldn’t get some of his middle legs to stop mindlessly rubbing themselves together. If they would stop whatever they were doing and get involved then he might stand a chance. Greg thwacked the door in frustration with one of his many limbs, and it cracked with the force of the strike.
Anxiety gripped him. Doors were expensive, and he was never going to be able to pay for a new one if he couldn’t get to his desk. He was running out of time. Pouring his coffee or making breakfast had, at this point, gone out the window. Not that he believed he could eat these things. However, he was a man, or at least had been, of rituals. If he didn’t have the dexterity necessary to open a door he doubted he had the ability to pour a cup without scalding everything around him. There was no time for thinking about such facts.
He settled on it. He would break down the door. It was hollow, and he could pay for a new one if he kept making money. It was a simple line of logic, an anchor point to keep hold of in this whirlwind of a day he was having.
As he had experienced getting out of bed, he was very good at getting into motion. Stopping, on the other hand, was not so easy. The door caved with ease beneath his exoskeletal might, and he kept that momentum all the way through the hallway and into the kitchen. His automatic brewer beeped in victory as Greg careened into the rack of pans above the island. It was an eruption of sound and chipped granite as the cast irons fell from heaven to earth. What he guessed might be a stomach squirmed in his thorax once he came to a stop at the thought of all the money it would take him to fix the counter.
He found himself hovering aloft, the force of his ascent spinning the paper towel roll round and round in its holder. He willed himself to stop doing that and fell, landing horizontally for a moment before righting himself. It would be better to skitter on all his legs, but it felt demeaning. He wanted to retain some semblance of his former humanhood, so he tottered around on his aft appendages, which seemed more than strong enough to keep him upright on their own.
A sharp hiss nearly caused him to fall over. Pool Cue, his well-fed tuxedo cat, was not pleased with his new bug form. He hissed again, followed by a deep growl with haunches raised. To Greg’s alarm, Pool Cue was advancing on him with intent.
No comments:
Post a Comment