A Bug's Life

by Honeycomb

A Bug's Life

As Brightbug sat in his usual spot on his living room dungpile, it occurred to him that he was not particularly satisfied with life.

Residing in a damp underground cave with nothing but pale artificial lighting was not the problem. Nor was Brightbug troubled by sharing the tight space with seven roommates. In fact, it was a boon; splitting monthly utility costs for a connection to the Lovenet meant more for everyone to eat. Besides that, there was considerable social stigma attached to living alone. Bugs who did so were often accused of flouting the Hivemind, and consequently they were often either shunned, or... worse.

But Brightbug still felt dissatisfied. It was hard for him to find the words to express his own ideas to himself, but it was almost as if... as if the Lovenet wasn’t good enough for him anymore.

But that was ridiculous, wasn’t it? For years, almost since his spawning, Brightbug had gotten his love exclusively from Fangbook, Flitter, and Gootube, and it had kept him alive and bug-eyed until now, so...

...What was the problem?

Brightbug turned to his best friend, Slugbug, who was laying beside him on the dungpile, chittering away on the Lovenet as usual. Brightbug didn’t want to interrupt, but he felt this problem was something he urgently needed to talk with someone about, and Slugbug was, well... he was right there.

“Hey, Slugbug...” Brightbug nudged his friend, snapping him out of his reverie. “How’s the love today? Got many likes?”

Slugbug yawned and rolled over onto his other side to face Brightbug. “It’s pretty good, dude. Two hundred and seventy-three likes on a post I made explaining why the Hivemind isn’t brainwashing. Thinking of making a video, so the ponies can see it.”

“Cool, cool...” Brightbug coughed. “So, um... I was just wondering. Do you, like, are you, uh... are you satisfied with the Lovenet?” His voice fell to just above a whisper.

Slugbug gave him a funny look, but Brightbug continued.

“Because I was just thinking, maybe, you know just for me personally, I think I’d like to try and, you know, get love from other places. Real places,” he said. “Just, you know, for a change.”

Slugbug frowned. “I don’t understand,” he said. He opened his mouth to continue, but at just that moment, the cave trapdoor swung open, and Brightbug’s six other roommates swarmed in, chattering loudly about gossip and seating themselves nonchalantly around the dungpile.

Brightbug tried to casually buzz out of the room, but Slugbug stopped him. “Whoa, wait! You can’t go anywhere! We’ve got to talk about this,” he said, grabbing his friend and pulling him back down onto the dungpile. “Hey, everybug,” he called out, “I’m worried about Brightbug. I think might be losing his Hivemind.”

The changelings snapped to attention. Fashion Bug—Brightbug’s old, recently rekindled flame—was the first to speak. “What?” She looked at Brightbug imploringly. “Night-Bright, what’s wrong? It’s not true, is it?”

With the eyes of the room upon him, Brightbug went on the defensive. “Of course it isn’t! I’m not losing my Hivemind. I was just,” he glared at Slugbug, “I was just telling Slugbug here that I was thinking about—just daydreaming, really, not being serious—but you know, trying to get love from someplace other than the Lovenet. Just to try it, of course. To see what it’s like.”

The silence was thicker than bug juice. “What utter nonsense,” muttered Humbug, the eldest of the swarm. “You have no clue what you’re talking about. When I was your age, we didn’t have the Lovenet, and we had to do exactly what you’re proposing. And the good times we had were not enough to make up for the friends we lost during the long droughts and the constant wars. Foraging for love is regressive, and if everybug did it, the Hive would die out.”

The reprimand stung Brightbug, but he held out. "Elder, respecfully... don't you miss the experience of it? The love that comes from outside—isn't it better than this stuff we get through the feeding tubes? Isn't it, I don't know... clearer somehow?"

"It doesn't matter!" Humbug snapped back. "A swarm that adopts deadly behavior will always die. The only option the Hive has is to stamp out this kind of idiotic, youthful daydreaming whenever it crops up. And maybe you should try a little harder to enjoy the kind of food that's keeping you alive!"

The swarm nodded approval, and spontaneously released their agreement pheromones, and the thick, intoxicating mist swirled around the room. It made Brightbug’s mind fuzzy, and spread a feeling of unnatural calm throughout his body. He felt himself questioning his own thinking, slipping between submission and resistance, and in a flashing moment of delirium, he thought he saw his own soul reflected in the water of a cracked toilet.

Pillbug, a pharmacist, looked concerned. Buzzing over, she looked into Brightbug’s eyes and felt his spine. She spoke calmly and directly to him.

“Brightbug, do you trust me?”

Brightbug did trust her, of course. He had known her for years, and she had never been anything but kind and caring in her demeanor, and orthodox in her beliefs. She was a model of trustworthiness. So he nodded.

“Brightbug, your thinking is not good right now. You have a sickness in your mind,” Pillbug said, enunciating each word clearly and slowly. She pulled a small flask of clear liquid out of her pocket. “This drink is called Essence of Lethe. It will help you think better,” she said. “I want you to drink it for me, okay?”

She handed Brightbug the flask.

“Will you drink it for me?”

Brightbug's mind was a fog. He couldn't remember why all this had started, and he couldn't focus on anything except the changeling in front of him and the smell of the pheromones. He only knew that he had a very deep sickness in his mind, a sickness unto death, and that the drink his friend was handing him was his only hope.

So he drank the flask.

And after a night of sleep and recovery, Brightbug was back to his bug-eyed self, chittering cheerfully away on the Lovenet while lying on the dungpile, and feeling extremely thankful for the help and guidance of his friends.

Comments

[toafan]

Hmm...

Not completely sure what you're saying with this. I feel certain you're saying something. That might just be ... I'm not sure how to call it, cultural or postmodernism or something. There are certainly other sorts of story where no-one reads it and feels "hmm, he must be saying something", and this feels like the other type. Tautologically. But I digress.

I think you're saying something about the internet. Which is interesting, but the Thing being said is not particularly new. (Which is fine.) But then you mix it with Intervention Tropes, and it...

I don't know. But it's interesting. But I don't know where to go from that thought, despite feeling like I should be trying to pick up a dangling conversation thread.

[Honeycomb]

6578875

I wrote it in three hours for a write-off. "I Regret Nothing" was the prompt. It was an idea, and that was good enough for me at the time.

Everything I write is crude and unpolished.

...What I'm probably really saying with the story, come to think of it, is that I resent everyone I have personal relationships with because I feel like I'm being drugged and kept down by them.

For instance, when I imagine myself dying, I don't feel afraid. So I think I could do anything at all. But then I remember my mother is still living, and she would be hurt if I died, etc. So then it seems I have to try to keep myself alive at least, even though if left to my own devices, I'd rather just do whatever and let come what may.

That's an extreme example, but it illustrates the point.

So, it's self-aggrandizement basically.

[theRedBrony]

wasn’t good enough him anymore.

I think I understand what you're trying to say with this. I can kind of relate.

Also, those changeling names lol.

[Honeycomb]

6756116

Thanks for pointing out the typo.

I had some much more offensive names in mind but I decided against using them =/