In a sea of troubles, reach for a lifejacket May 14, 2019 13:29:06 GMT
Post by Gilligan on May 14, 2019 13:29:06 GMT
In the wake of all the death and sorrow that had struck the Crabs, even the ever-optimistic Gilligan couldn't hold his head up anymore. Ever since Prim's ceremony, he'd been a moping mess that was, quite honestly, a miserable sight. He couldn't sleep more than a few hours at a time, he had stopped trying to cheer himself or others up with his whimsical stories, he wasn't even eating properly. What was the point, if they were all going to die anyway? Prim had been fine... then she'd been sick, and then she'd been gone. Gilligan had been sick for so long that he barely remembered what it felt like to run down the beach with the sand in his paws and the sun at his back.
...That was, perhaps, a small exaggeration, but his and the others' sickness seemed to be rather persistent. This was unlikely to go away without some serious help, as they'd now begun to realize as the Crabs had begun to die of the illness. If he was honest, Gilligan was beginning to become scared.
With a whimper, he turned over to his other side and curled up, imagining being in the safe presence of his adoring mother. Being sick was miserable business in any case, but with a sickness that threatened to be terminal, Gilligan really, really just wanted someone to tell him he'd pull through. He and all his friends.
The sick, skinny dog's stomach grumbled loudly and he lifted his heavy, dizzy head to glare at it. He hadn't eaten much anything, so the hunger was getting unbearable. Ugh... fine.
"I'm hungry," he whined childishly to anyone who might have been listening, flopping back against the ground with a wheezy sigh.