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Description

Reef groaned, shifting his weight around as the black ooze dribbled from his mouth sluggishly.

Drip, Drip, Drip.

It had been like this the past... Well, it felt like forever, time was hard to gauge when you could barely move or breath. But regardless, somehow he continued on, ebbing and flowing in and out of consciousness, in, out, in and back out. What he couldn’t stop thinking about was if he was going to die here. What a cruel fate that would be. Made him think about his life choices, something he didn’t do a lot.

Tea. Not the drink, the person. He remembered him. The only wynling who he had ever deeply cared about, by any regard. That was who he thought of. He missed him, despite how cold he could be to even him, he had thoroughly enjoyed his company. He wasn’t sure on where he had gone. All he ever got is that he somehow disappeared. Forever. Typical. He probably ran away because he got tired of living with him.

He rolled onto his side, taking a deep breath in and coughing up a splatter of black, hitting and soaking into his bed. He grumbled taking in a slower shakier breath. He lifted his head, peering around at his company. There weren’t many other wynlings, despite seeing how many sick ones he had seen at the nook. Most of them had only gotten runny glands and hadn’t collapsed as he had. Probably served him right, honestly. They probably didn’t even realize he was gone. And if they had, they were probably very happy he was finally gone.

Drip, Drip, Drip.

It felt like years went by every second despite the fact that he had probably only been here for a day or two. The plague had ravaged the town and was continuing to tear through it. It had happened so quick, originally. He had just been in the nook, and then, out of nowhere he had collapsed. The sickness clutching his frail young body. He didn’t want to die. That kept floating around in his head. He had seen it, a gro die. In this tent. He couldn’t do anything about it, he could only watch as the life drained out of the gro’s eyes. It wasn’t pleasant, but what was actually scary was the way everyone acted. The green one, who was next to him. He wailed and wailed. Oh how he cried, it would have been annoying if it wasn’t horrifying. He didn’t have anyone to wail over his death. Which may be when he was just roaming around wouldn’t have bothered him, but now it did. He had nobody. Everyone was gone already, he was the last one. Maybe Alma would mourn for a second but she already had more worries than one brutish wynling dying.

Existentialism was exhausting. It made him nauseous, or well, maybe that was the sickness, but either way, the anxiety made him feel bad. Even if it was on top of everything else. He didn’t want to think about it, but he did. With absolutely nothing to distract himself with, he couldn’t stop thinking about everything. All the stuff he had done. He wondered what had happened to that scrawny brown wynling. Butter? Whatever. He almost felt bad, thinking back on it. Almost. But not quite. He hoped he was okay though, all things considered.

He rolled onto his other side as he started choking on his own black viscous spit, the black liquid hard to deal with as it flowed out of every bit of his being. He had scratched himself when he had started to light on fire the other day. He remembered back to that in horror as the flame engulfed him. He had also thought he was going to die then. But he didn’t. Almost made him hold out hope that he would make it out alive, but he still kind of knew.

He blinked black sludge out of his eyes as the familar green wyngro walked limped into the tent, collapsing onto his bed looking exhausted. He was allowed to go out to get fresh air, the lucky bastard. He happened to be not as sick as he was... Despite having the strange black spots down his sides. He kind of managed only to keep one eyelid fully open, as the other one was weighed down. “You okay?” He managed to get out, referring to his green companion. Pickles slid onto the bed in a more normal position, looking over at the strange smaller wyngro. “I’m okay. It’s just tiring you know? We’ll be okay though.” He cracked a smile, Reef was well aware of this behaviour, he had been doing it the entire time. Always telling him that it was going to be fine and that he was going to get through it. Made him feel worse, honestly. “Mhm.” He choked out a response, lowering his head back onto the mat made to soak up all of his junk. It didn’t really work, but it was softer than the hard mattress in some regard. He was so strange. The fact that he was still holding out hope even after the whole mess of what had happened a… day ago? Two days? Who knew. But that tan gro had died. He seemed to care a lot about her, he kept whispering and crying. It started as… sort of happy tears. He was smiling before she died. Which led him to think they knew each other, at least. But then she was also sick. She died, and he kept talking to her, in a hushed voice, tears worse than before. It was kind of shocking. Not more shocking than the fact that he seemed to recover… too fast. In an unnatural way. And that tiny grey wynling. He was there too. He lied with her, crying as well. It was all just kind of… unnerving. But endearing? At the same time. Somehow.

Reef blinked, as he awoke again, still fading in and out of consciousness. “Pickles?...” When you had nobody else to talk to, you just kind of had to settle. Was his mindset, when he was forced to talk to this other gro. He got a quiet “Hm?” in response. It wasn’t… as hopeful. He sounded sort of sad. He strained to look at his face but his back was turned, and he seemed to be reading something. It had gotten late. It was darker than before. He didn’t remember falling asleep. But he was able to recognize what had woken him up. There was a sharp, almost throbbing pain in his chest. “Pickl-” He tried to continue speaking, but felt his voice cut out. He paused, feeling suddenly breathless, his glands feeling hot and sticky. He tried to look at them, a warm orange glow coming from the corner of his eyes. He tried to speak again, but with no avail. The sharp pain grew worse, as panic rose in his chest.

Reef freaked out silently, unable to communicate what was wrong as nobody paid mind to what was happening. This was his fear. Nobody would know, he would just be dead and that was it. He couldn’t speak, he tried and tried and tired, but nothing would come out. He felt almost a sense of deserving this, interwoven with his panic. This was Karma. Coming to get him, for all the things he had done in his miserable life. He thought back to that gro, remembering his name. Butterscotch. That was it.

“Bu-Butterscot-ch- I’m sorry-”

And then he was gone.
----

+Death by plague

2/268

Description

Reef groaned, shifting his weight around as the black ooze dribbled from his mouth sluggishly.

Drip, Drip, Drip.

It had been like this the past... Well, it felt like forever, time was hard to gauge when you could barely move or breath. But regardless, somehow he continued on, ebbing and flowing in and out of consciousness, in, out, in and back out. What he couldn’t stop thinking about was if he was going to die here. What a cruel fate that would be. Made him think about his life choices, something he didn’t do a lot.

Tea. Not the drink, the person. He remembered him. The only wynling who he had ever deeply cared about, by any regard. That was who he thought of. He missed him, despite how cold he could be to even him, he had thoroughly enjoyed his company. He wasn’t sure on where he had gone. All he ever got is that he somehow disappeared. Forever. Typical. He probably ran away because he got tired of living with him.

He rolled onto his side, taking a deep breath in and coughing up a splatter of black, hitting and soaking into his bed. He grumbled taking in a slower shakier breath. He lifted his head, peering around at his company. There weren’t many other wynlings, despite seeing how many sick ones he had seen at the nook. Most of them had only gotten runny glands and hadn’t collapsed as he had. Probably served him right, honestly. They probably didn’t even realize he was gone. And if they had, they were probably very happy he was finally gone.

Drip, Drip, Drip.

It felt like years went by every second despite the fact that he had probably only been here for a day or two. The plague had ravaged the town and was continuing to tear through it. It had happened so quick, originally. He had just been in the nook, and then, out of nowhere he had collapsed. The sickness clutching his frail young body. He didn’t want to die. That kept floating around in his head. He had seen it, a gro die. In this tent. He couldn’t do anything about it, he could only watch as the life drained out of the gro’s eyes. It wasn’t pleasant, but what was actually scary was the way everyone acted. The green one, who was next to him. He wailed and wailed. Oh how he cried, it would have been annoying if it wasn’t horrifying. He didn’t have anyone to wail over his death. Which may be when he was just roaming around wouldn’t have bothered him, but now it did. He had nobody. Everyone was gone already, he was the last one. Maybe Alma would mourn for a second but she already had more worries than one brutish wynling dying.

Existentialism was exhausting. It made him nauseous, or well, maybe that was the sickness, but either way, the anxiety made him feel bad. Even if it was on top of everything else. He didn’t want to think about it, but he did. With absolutely nothing to distract himself with, he couldn’t stop thinking about everything. All the stuff he had done. He wondered what had happened to that scrawny brown wynling. Butter? Whatever. He almost felt bad, thinking back on it. Almost. But not quite. He hoped he was okay though, all things considered.

He rolled onto his other side as he started choking on his own black viscous spit, the black liquid hard to deal with as it flowed out of every bit of his being. He had scratched himself when he had started to light on fire the other day. He remembered back to that in horror as the flame engulfed him. He had also thought he was going to die then. But he didn’t. Almost made him hold out hope that he would make it out alive, but he still kind of knew.

He blinked black sludge out of his eyes as the familar green wyngro walked limped into the tent, collapsing onto his bed looking exhausted. He was allowed to go out to get fresh air, the lucky bastard. He happened to be not as sick as he was... Despite having the strange black spots down his sides. He kind of managed only to keep one eyelid fully open, as the other one was weighed down. “You okay?” He managed to get out, referring to his green companion. Pickles slid onto the bed in a more normal position, looking over at the strange smaller wyngro. “I’m okay. It’s just tiring you know? We’ll be okay though.” He cracked a smile, Reef was well aware of this behaviour, he had been doing it the entire time. Always telling him that it was going to be fine and that he was going to get through it. Made him feel worse, honestly. “Mhm.” He choked out a response, lowering his head back onto the mat made to soak up all of his junk. It didn’t really work, but it was softer than the hard mattress in some regard. He was so strange. The fact that he was still holding out hope even after the whole mess of what had happened a… day ago? Two days? Who knew. But that tan gro had died. He seemed to care a lot about her, he kept whispering and crying. It started as… sort of happy tears. He was smiling before she died. Which led him to think they knew each other, at least. But then she was also sick. She died, and he kept talking to her, in a hushed voice, tears worse than before. It was kind of shocking. Not more shocking than the fact that he seemed to recover… too fast. In an unnatural way. And that tiny grey wynling. He was there too. He lied with her, crying as well. It was all just kind of… unnerving. But endearing? At the same time. Somehow.

Reef blinked, as he awoke again, still fading in and out of consciousness. “Pickles?...” When you had nobody else to talk to, you just kind of had to settle. Was his mindset, when he was forced to talk to this other gro. He got a quiet “Hm?” in response. It wasn’t… as hopeful. He sounded sort of sad. He strained to look at his face but his back was turned, and he seemed to be reading something. It had gotten late. It was darker than before. He didn’t remember falling asleep. But he was able to recognize what had woken him up. There was a sharp, almost throbbing pain in his chest. “Pickl-” He tried to continue speaking, but felt his voice cut out. He paused, feeling suddenly breathless, his glands feeling hot and sticky. He tried to look at them, a warm orange glow coming from the corner of his eyes. He tried to speak again, but with no avail. The sharp pain grew worse, as panic rose in his chest.

Reef freaked out silently, unable to communicate what was wrong as nobody paid mind to what was happening. This was his fear. Nobody would know, he would just be dead and that was it. He couldn’t speak, he tried and tried and tired, but nothing would come out. He felt almost a sense of deserving this, interwoven with his panic. This was Karma. Coming to get him, for all the things he had done in his miserable life. He thought back to that gro, remembering his name. Butterscotch. That was it.

“Bu-Butterscot-ch- I’m sorry-”

And then he was gone.
----

+Death by plague

2/268