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FB | Ch. 1 - The Bowling Ball
🕑 Added 2025-05-20 13:41:04 +0000 UTCHello, dear friends!
Welcome to: "Hal Was Isekaid as a Farming Beetle."
I know—I know. This one’s coming out of the blue.
As a writer, I usually stick to a strict schedule and aim for chapters with a specific word count. But the other day, I was feeling a little bored and decided to just write something fun and silly for the sheer joy of it.
Also, this was actually the second most-voted idea for my next story—well behind Dinosaur Whisperer! I’ll definitely get to that one, but only after I wrap up Handyman.
So, in the meantime, this new story is something I’ll write whenever the mood strikes me. No pressure. Just laughs and lighthearted adventure.
Hope you enjoy the ride as much as I am!
****
My name’s Hal. Short for Harold. My story starts with a bowling ball.
Kind of. It also involves my old job, but it all ties together, I promise.
It was a drizzly March morning when I got the call—roach infestation. Before the Insectification, I was a terminator. Not the cool kind with metal bones and sunglasses. Just a guy killing bugs and rats for a living. Ironic, considering what came next.
Why choose such a weird job? Because I had a killer name for the business. Literally. Harold Swazneger: The Terminator. Come on. That’s gold.
The name came first. Then the logo. Then the van. Pest control wasn’t a job many people wanted, and I didn’t mind. I’ve always had a stomach for gross things—doctor shows, surgeries, cameras zoomed in on guts. I could eat cereal through all of it.
Anyway, back to the infestation. I drove over in my van, giant logo on the side: me in sunglasses and a leather jacket.
After talking to the client, I figured the basement was our battleground. It was a mess down there. Boxes, broken furniture, junk everywhere—perfect roach nest.
I started digging and shuffling stuff around. Couldn’t find anything. Then I turned to the shelves. Bottom shelf: clear. Second shelf: a couple of roaches. I was feeling closer. I could feel it. I shifted some clutter and—wham—something clocked me on the skull. Lights out.
Next thing I knew, I was in a hospital bed. Head wrapped. Dizzy. Alive. A doctor came in. I don’t remember his face. Just that his breath smelled like coffee.
“Hello. You’ve been hit in the head. Can you tell me your name?”
“Harold.”
He shined a light in my eyes. “How many fingers?”
“Three.”
“Good. You seem alright.”
“What happened?”
“You were hit in the head. By a bowling ball.”
“A bowling ball?”
Told you there was one in the story.
Turns out my genius customer thought storing a bowling ball on the top shelf was a solid idea. It slipped off while I was poking around. It got me good.
“We’ve stitched you up,” the doctor said. “Use ice in the first week. Come back to change the bandage.”
That was the most eventful part of my last day as a human.
Now you might be asking, Why start there? Why not skip to the good part? Because even now, I’m not sure the Insectification really happened. Maybe I’m still in that hospital bed. In a coma. Dreaming.
Maybe there was no bowling ball. No giant aliens. No mutated bugs. No game system. Maybe humanity is still human.
Comments
Cássio Ferreira
Hahah. Risen from where?
Coleman
I have risen! Your random update has filled me with determination.
