Stink Bug – Page 5 – Penny Higgins – Storyteller • Artist • Scientist

Once again, the whim to write fiction has struck me. Here is more of the Stink Bug story which started with this post. Where do you think it will go next?

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The bug was just floating there in front of me. It was all I could see. It filled my vision from edge to edge. And it was laughing.

How do bugs even laugh?

I tried to swat at it. My arms felt leaden. My hand passed through the bug as though it was only vapor. It flickered, then became solid again. It still laughed.

“What’s so funny?” I demanded.

The bug fell quiet and dissipated. I was left in dark silence. The silence hurt. It pressed on my ear drums. I tried to cover my ears, but my heavy arms wouldn’t budge. I tried to cry out, but I hadn’t the strength. Only a tiny moan escaped my lips. “Help,” I squeaked.

The bug reappeared. “Do you need something?” it said.

“Help,” I whispered again.

“We all need a bit of that.”

“Sorry—,” I started. I didn’t mean to squish you.

“We don’t like being crushed.”

“Sorry,” I exhaled.

“You can help us,” it said.

“I can’t—.”

“I can let you move.”

“Breathe,” I mumbled.

The bug came close. “You don’t like where you are?”

“It hurts.”

“That place. Where you were. Is it better?”

I didn’t answer. My life was dull. There was a faint glimmer of interest in the back of my mind. But I was paralyzed and afraid. “Can’t move.”

“If you could move.” Suddenly breathing came easier. I rubbed my face with my hands. “Is that better?”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“We need to talk,” said the stink bug.

I looked at it and it stared back. “We need your help.”

“My help?”

“Yes. You can help us.”

“Do what? How?”

“We are prisoner.”

I shut my eyes. A vision of bugs in tiny prison cells danced through my mind.

The bug laughed. “Not like that. We are not like this.”

I looked at it again. “What—. I don’t understand.”

“Will you help us?”

“Do what?”

“Come with us. We will show you,” it said.

“I can’t just leave.”

“You already have.” The bug chuckled.

“Where will we go?”

I saw a light out of the corner of my eye. I looked directly at it. It grew brighter. “We go there,” said the bug.

“What is it?”

“A path.”

I looked at the bug. “I can’t.”

The bug looked sad. Somehow. “Please,” it said. “We are prisoner. You can help us.”

“I’m just a middle-aged, overweight, accountant. How can I possibly—.”

The bug cut me off. “You can. Please. Come.” The stink bug began to crawl toward the light. It waved me to follow. And I did.

—

Go on to Chapter 3.

Go back and start at the beginning.

I sat in the study, working away upon that which I hoped would be the final draft of this insane report. Honestly, I really couldn’t care less if the value was 1.01 or 1.03, but the boss cared and the boss signed the paycheck. I was lost in another computer spreadsheet; all the numbers looked the same to me. Maybe I needed to take a break.

What I really wanted was an escape. I had gotten tired of dealing with minutia. Is this what life was about? No. I didn’t think so.

What, then?

Part of me was tempted to just hit delete, and then e-mail the boss and tell him to jump off a cliff.

I knew that wasn’t really an option, so I took a breath and kept plugging away.

As I typed, I noticed a bug buzzing around the room. I was curious, because in January, when there’s two feet of snow on the ground, I don’t expect to see bugs. It wasn’t a constant buzz, but when it flew, I knew about it. It was like a little tank flying around my head. In the quiet moments between its flights, I continued to work.

Technical reports are dull to write, and this one was no exception. Luckily, I was able to cut and paste stock text from older reports, so I didn’t have to rewrite everything. I hit paste and watched the text appear in my report. It was the wrong text. “Dammit,” I cursed, and went to press the escape key. Something brushed my finger as I did so.

There it was. An enormous stink bug on my keyboard, sitting right there on top of the escape key.

The stink bug was blocking my escape. I laughed. Maybe this is a metaphor for my life.

I blew at it. It remained fixed. I lifted the keyboard and tapped it, hoping the bug would fall off, but it held fast. I poked at the bug with a pencil. Nothing changed. No matter what I did, the bug was unmoved.

The stink bug was blocking my escape.

The damn stink bug.

Stink bug.

If this was a metaphor for my life, this bug was my boss. Or at least this lame-o report.

I shook the keyboard violently. “Get off, you bastard!”

It waved its antennae and stuck its proboscis toward me, as if it were sticking out its tongue.

I grabbed a reference book – an enormous collection of data tables. It was huge and satisfyingly heavy. I held it up and giggled. Then I smashed it down upon the bug on the keyboard.

The stench was amazing. I was slammed back into my chair by it. My eyes began to water and the scene about me blurred. The images on the computer screen began to distort. I coughed and waved my hand in front of my face.

It occurred to me that everything was eerily quiet. I looked around. The lights flickered, then went out. The open files on my computer screen suddenly poured out of the monitor and onto my desk. Then the monitor melted, and vanished.

I was hit by a gust of wind, as the reference book suddenly exploded off the keyboard. The keyboard and book evaporated into the air. Suddenly, I realized I was alone, floating in the air, hovering somehow. Yet there was no ground. No up, no down. I was surrounded by a glowing gray fog.

I looked up. The bug was there looking at me waving its antennae. And it laughed.

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Make suggestions in the comments about where this story should go…

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Read Chapter 2

Read Chapter 3

Read Chapter 4

Read Chapter 5