If you like my art, sketches, stories, transformations you can find more like this on my Patreon page or in DeviatArt Premium Early Access folder for subscribers here. Every bit of support is truly appreciated, but just having you here means the most to me - without you, none of this would have been possible. Thank you very much!
Check also my shop at DeviantArt for other works
God, I don't think I've been this wasted since my college days at the University of Michigan, when the guys from Phi Delta Theta and I crammed into the dorm basement and downed two liters of tequila because someone said that if you didn’t, you weren’t a real man.
But yesterday, I had a reason. My boss, that fucking asshole, managed to dump a bucket of shit on me right in the middle of the office. I don’t know what parallel universe he lived in, but when you work at a marketing agency and not in some goddamn infantry unit, you’re not supposed to scream at your subordinates like they’re in the rear guard of fucking Vietnam. But that bastard, with his perfectly styled hair, shiny Rolex, and the smug look of a man who makes ten times more than you, decided that today was the perfect day to publicly humiliate me in front of the entire team.
All I did was suggest an alternative strategy for the client. Nothing radical. But apparently, the idea of not licking his boots until they sparkled was something absolutely unacceptable. So he stood up, leaned across the table, and started yelling at me:
— Do you think you're the smartest one here, Bennett?! What the hell is this circus? You're not an analyst, you're not a strategist, you're NOBODY, got it?!
At that moment, I felt the blood rush to my temples. My throat tightened, my hands clenched into fists, and I— a grown-ass 35-year-old man— wanted to do something completely irrational. Punch his smug face? Maybe. But I had a mortgage and bills that, unfortunately, no one but me was going to pay.
So I just nodded. Grabbed my folder, my laptop, my coffee (fuck it, coffee— I took it on autopilot), and walked out. Then I got shitfaced.
I woke up… well, actually, I didn’t wake up. Because this was something entirely different.
First of all, I wasn’t in my apartment. Not in my bed. Not even on Daniel’s couch— my buddy, who might have dragged me to his place while I was passed out.
I was lying on… grass?...