“Daddeh! Daddeh! Pickew wan sketties! Gib sketties!”
“Not now, Pickle. Don’t make demands. You want to be a good fluffy, right?”
“Nu cawe! Wan sketties! Wan FwuffTeeBee! Dummeh daddeh gib sketties NAO!”
“Pickle…” daddeh growled, and Pickle knew he’d messed up. It wasn’t his fault, though! It was sketties day and there hadn’t been any sketties! It wasn’t fair.
Daddeh suddenly got a thoughtful look on his face, then smiled. “Okay, Pickle. You can have sketties, but remember to be a good fluffy, okay?”
Pickle grinned. That’d never worked before, usually getting him a casual swatting, but it seemed daddeh had finally realized that this was Pickle’s house. Bestest smawty gon’ hab sketties ebewy day nao!
…
Pickle kept blinking. He looked around the saferoom, and everything seemed normal, but…was it darker than usual? Come to think of it, there was a quiet ringing on the edge of his hearing, like when daddeh’s phone was called, but less musical and more a constant whine. It grated a little, but he wasn’t too concerned.
“Happy birthday, Pickle!” daddeh called, carrying a bowl of delicious-smelling sketties into the saferoom. Pickle forgot all about the strange noise and dimmer colors. Birthdays meant extra sketties, and for that he was always happy.
He wolfed the sketties down, noticing that they were slightly less flavorful than he was used to. They were still delicious, of course, just not quite as good as usual. Was it worth complaining? Asking daddeh to make better sketties? No, that would only make daddeh angry, maybe make him take the sketties away.
…
“Happy birthday, Pickle!”
“Nuuuu!”
Pickle’s eyes snapped open, and for an instant he wasn’t sure if they had. It was so dark, he could barely see dim outlines. Color had long-since faded, leaving him in a dim gray world. He could barely hear daddeh over the painful ringing in his ears. He struggled to lift his head against the dreadful lethargy.
He sniffed, but he could barely smell the sketties! He took a bite, but they barely tasted like anything! He began sobbing, finally breaking down. Why was everything like this? “Daddeh! Pickew am scawed! Am su dawk, an’ bad noisies am su woud, and sketties nu taste pwetty anymowe!”
Daddeh…maybe looked sad? Pickle couldn’t tell through his hazy vision. “Pickle, that’s just what happens when fluffies get old. You’re very old for a fluffy, so that’s going to happen.”
Pickle wailed in terror and grief. This was how life was going to be forever? But he couldn’t even watch FluffTV anymore, couldn’t hear the nice fluffy-songs over the ringing in his ears. His chow didn’t taste like anything anymore and he could barely choke it down. Worst of all, he was always so tired, too tired to play with his toysies anymore!
Daddeh hugged him tight, and for a moment Pickle regretted acting so bad, making demands and messes. But then he realized that he was a smarty, and daddeh was supposed to give him things, supposed to clean his messes. Regret turned back to fear.
“Wiww Pickwe nebah hab gud seein’-pwaces ow heawin’-pwaces 'gain?”
“I’m sorry, that’s just how it works. You’re so old now, you’re never going to be young again. But it’s okay, you’ll go forever-sleepies soon, and good fluffies get to go to skettiland after they go forever-sleepies.”
…
Keep. Eyes. Open. It doesn’t matter that it’s too dark to see anything. Keep listening. It doesn’t matter that the ringing washes everything else away. Stay awake, always stay awake. It doesn’t matter that the lethargy makes sleeping so tempting.
Pickle knew that if he fell asleep, he wouldn’t ever wake up. He understood now, understood that he’d reached the end of his short fluffy life. Thinking back, he realized that sometimes he hadn’t been a good fluffy, but that was okay, wasn’t it? Most of the time he was good. Yes, he was a good fluffy.
But he wasn’t ready to go forever-sleepies yet. He’d never had a special-friend or babbehs, never experienced fatherhood, and that was something that helped him cling to consciousness. He had to have babbehs, had to be the bestest smarty daddeh for bestest babbehs!
But…he couldn’t. He knew that, with how weak he was he would never be able to give special-huggies. That ship had long sailed. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to the babbehs to have their daddeh go forever-sleepies so soon after they were born. Maybe it was best that he didn’t have babbehs.
Finally he let go, and slipped into oblivion.
…
He woke up to blinding light, light for the first time in so long! He could see! He could finally see again! When his eyes finally adapted he realized there was a figured, surrounded in a halo of blinding light. It was too bright to make out any details, though.
“Pickle,” the figure said, in a deep resonating voice. “The time of judgement has come. There are now two roads in front of you: skettiland or the bad place.”
“Skettiwand pwease!”
“Hmm…let me see. Well, Pickle, it looks like you were a bad fluffy. You made demands, made bad-poopies, and never cleaned up your toys. I’m afraid that means you can’t go to skettiland, and have to go to the bad place, where you’ll have the worst burnie-hurties forever. If only you’d been a good fluffy.”
“Nuuuu! Pwease, nu wan buwnie-huwties! Pwease!”
“I’m afraid there’s no other choice. Bad fluffies can’t go to skettiland. But…”
Pickle perked up, hopefully.
“I can send you back, give you one more chance. However, just being a good fluffy won’t be enough. In order to make up for being such a bad fluffy for so long, you’ll have to be the best fluffy ever. If you make even one mistake you’ll never be allowed into skettiland.”
Pickle began shaking with excitement. Another chance! He would be better this time!
“And if you ever tell anyone about what happened here, you will go to the bad place. Do you understand?”
Pickle tried to respond, but he could already feel himself slipping away. He struggled to stay here, just a little longer in the light, but darkness claimed him once again.
…
His eyes opened to darkness. No! Not again! He couldn’t live in the dark again! He began to struggle, and realized he was in a tiny box. A sorry-box? Why was he in a sorry-box?
Suddenly the lid of the box opened and he saw sunlight, and green leaves and blue sky. It was so beautiful! But more beautiful was the warm embrace daddeh pulled him into. He realized, then, that he’d narrowly escaped being buried.
“You’re alive!” daddeh cried. “It’s a miracle!”
“Daddeh…Pickew pwomise wiww be bestest fwuffy ebah! Pickew wiww be gud! WIWW BE GUD!”
…
Rosemary spun the last of the pasta around her fork. Truth be told she wasn’t a fan of pasta, especially in recent years, but…it was so entertaining to watch the green fluffy’s eyes follow each forkful. But he never asked for any, just stood and drooled slightly.
“He’s so well behaved,” she commented. “How did you train him to not demand spaghetti?”
“Pickew nu make demands! Pickew wiww be bestest fwuffy ebah!”
Pickle’s owner, Rosemary’s brother, grinned. “Oh, it was easy. I’ll tell you later.”
…
“So, funny thing about magnesium and fluffies. If they get too much it starts interfering with their senses…”
29 Likes
More for the rest of us
5 Likes
Interesting. 
Oh,that was nice! A good spin on an old topic, I liked it a lot. It was creative. Good work!
1 Like