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Description

im sorry yo

Francis was a loner, he always had been. Ever since the wyngling hatched he was very standoffish and quiet. He always stayed to his paints and only talked to Alma if he wanted to touch the piano or eat. He did not like anyone being around him so no one was aware anything was wrong when he started yapping about wynglings being too loud and too close. Nothing was unusual about where he sat today either. He knew though, he knew something was off. While the wyngling was quiet, tired and a loner how he felt was all out of wack. He was getting headaches more often than usual and he was constantly tired. He brought his claws, wet from paint, to the paper as he was lost in thought. All he had managed was a single claw print. Pathetic.
A child should not be going through these, at least Francis thought so.

So why? Why was he having to nurse these headaches instead of a clear head while painting his masterpieces? Why did he keep wanting to sleep instead of try to play the piano? It just didn't make any sense. His mouth scrunched up as he felt the bite of a headache nipping at the nape of his neck. Today was showing to be the worst of the past few days, he would not leave his blanket for anything not even food. Alma was starting to get rather concerned and told a few other wynglings to report to her if Francis continued to refuse anything. He overheard this conversation and thought to himself. In his brain he made a plan. a plan that would show her it was not something worse than a simple winter bug. Tomorrow he would follow through with the , in his eyes, well thought out plan.

As soon as he awoke the next morning the purple wyngling started to push himself to his limits. He would play with the other wynglings until he couldn't see straight and would eat until he was even more nauseous. For a moment it seemed his plan was a success, despite the slight set backs, the wynglings did not alert Alma to him. Sadly as the day lengthened, his vain attempts to appear fine made him even worse. The black glands on his eyes were becoming shiny and wet to the touch, thankfully no one usually touched him and he was able to keep the sudden stickiness a secret. He did not want to get scolded for playing while sick and kept in his room until he was well.

As much as he would hate to admit it, he actually did like watching and hearing the other wynglings play and shout and yell. Sure they messed up his art and music but, they were inspiring to him. He did not want the inspiration taken from him just because he was a smidgen tired. Francis continued for the rest of the week with his routine. Each day was filled with running, temporary blindness, gorging and sleeping for the rest of the day. He had hoped it would make him feel better and in turn help his body feel better. It had not felt better yet.

Finally it happened, the day he was dreading came. After pushing himself too hard while playing chase, his vision blurred and darkened as usual but when he gained it back, his lunch was gliding out of his stomach, onto the floor. The vomit that poured forth was not normal though, it was tinted black and was mixed with pure black slop. It reminded him all too much of his wet, sticky glands. Thankfully none of the wynglings noticed in time to call Alma and he was able to pick it up without much fuss. He took the rag filled with vomit and rushed to the nearest trash can to throw it away. He just needed to forget it and take a small nap, thats all.
When Francis woke up next he awoke to black ooze pouring from his glands. His first reaction was, of course, to recoil in disgust. His attempts to distance himself from the ooze was, of course, pointless. The ooze continued to pour from his glands in a thick, steady stream. Thanks to this, Francis started vocally freaking out. Many anguished peeps and yelling that resembled words came from his mouth. Along with the screaming came more black ooze. Alma noticed right away what this was. She immediately requested one of the adults to run to get a team from the quarantine zone to pick up the deathly ill wyngling. While they were out Alma gently set down Francis' favorite finger painting set next to him and gave him some paper. She did not want to make the child already out of sorts than he was so she tried to treat things as normal. Once the paint and paper were set down she told the other wynglings to stay away from him. He was very sick and she did not want any of them getting sick either.

Francis tried to treat things as normal, his paints were here and so was his paper. That has to mean something good. He dipped his claws in the paint and began to paint, while he painted his strokes became weaker and his breathing was more labored. His painting was almost done so he pushed through it, he did not want to let go of the little energy he had. After a few minutes the wyngling began to feel so much better, like everything was normal again. After a bit more time he looked at the paper he had been painting for what seemed like hours now. The adult Alma had sent finally burst through the front door of the nook, a few gros from the quarantine zone followed suit. They hurried to locate the sick wyngling but it was too late, his painting was almost finished. The purple gro decided the painting was just about perfect.

He just needed one more color.....
www.deviantart.com/dreamindrag…

-------

background wynglings belong to Momzzarella and SpiritOfTheLilys

9/319 wyns

Description

im sorry yo

Francis was a loner, he always had been. Ever since the wyngling hatched he was very standoffish and quiet. He always stayed to his paints and only talked to Alma if he wanted to touch the piano or eat. He did not like anyone being around him so no one was aware anything was wrong when he started yapping about wynglings being too loud and too close. Nothing was unusual about where he sat today either. He knew though, he knew something was off. While the wyngling was quiet, tired and a loner how he felt was all out of wack. He was getting headaches more often than usual and he was constantly tired. He brought his claws, wet from paint, to the paper as he was lost in thought. All he had managed was a single claw print. Pathetic.
A child should not be going through these, at least Francis thought so.

So why? Why was he having to nurse these headaches instead of a clear head while painting his masterpieces? Why did he keep wanting to sleep instead of try to play the piano? It just didn't make any sense. His mouth scrunched up as he felt the bite of a headache nipping at the nape of his neck. Today was showing to be the worst of the past few days, he would not leave his blanket for anything not even food. Alma was starting to get rather concerned and told a few other wynglings to report to her if Francis continued to refuse anything. He overheard this conversation and thought to himself. In his brain he made a plan. a plan that would show her it was not something worse than a simple winter bug. Tomorrow he would follow through with the , in his eyes, well thought out plan.

As soon as he awoke the next morning the purple wyngling started to push himself to his limits. He would play with the other wynglings until he couldn't see straight and would eat until he was even more nauseous. For a moment it seemed his plan was a success, despite the slight set backs, the wynglings did not alert Alma to him. Sadly as the day lengthened, his vain attempts to appear fine made him even worse. The black glands on his eyes were becoming shiny and wet to the touch, thankfully no one usually touched him and he was able to keep the sudden stickiness a secret. He did not want to get scolded for playing while sick and kept in his room until he was well.

As much as he would hate to admit it, he actually did like watching and hearing the other wynglings play and shout and yell. Sure they messed up his art and music but, they were inspiring to him. He did not want the inspiration taken from him just because he was a smidgen tired. Francis continued for the rest of the week with his routine. Each day was filled with running, temporary blindness, gorging and sleeping for the rest of the day. He had hoped it would make him feel better and in turn help his body feel better. It had not felt better yet.

Finally it happened, the day he was dreading came. After pushing himself too hard while playing chase, his vision blurred and darkened as usual but when he gained it back, his lunch was gliding out of his stomach, onto the floor. The vomit that poured forth was not normal though, it was tinted black and was mixed with pure black slop. It reminded him all too much of his wet, sticky glands. Thankfully none of the wynglings noticed in time to call Alma and he was able to pick it up without much fuss. He took the rag filled with vomit and rushed to the nearest trash can to throw it away. He just needed to forget it and take a small nap, thats all.
When Francis woke up next he awoke to black ooze pouring from his glands. His first reaction was, of course, to recoil in disgust. His attempts to distance himself from the ooze was, of course, pointless. The ooze continued to pour from his glands in a thick, steady stream. Thanks to this, Francis started vocally freaking out. Many anguished peeps and yelling that resembled words came from his mouth. Along with the screaming came more black ooze. Alma noticed right away what this was. She immediately requested one of the adults to run to get a team from the quarantine zone to pick up the deathly ill wyngling. While they were out Alma gently set down Francis' favorite finger painting set next to him and gave him some paper. She did not want to make the child already out of sorts than he was so she tried to treat things as normal. Once the paint and paper were set down she told the other wynglings to stay away from him. He was very sick and she did not want any of them getting sick either.

Francis tried to treat things as normal, his paints were here and so was his paper. That has to mean something good. He dipped his claws in the paint and began to paint, while he painted his strokes became weaker and his breathing was more labored. His painting was almost done so he pushed through it, he did not want to let go of the little energy he had. After a few minutes the wyngling began to feel so much better, like everything was normal again. After a bit more time he looked at the paper he had been painting for what seemed like hours now. The adult Alma had sent finally burst through the front door of the nook, a few gros from the quarantine zone followed suit. They hurried to locate the sick wyngling but it was too late, his painting was almost finished. The purple gro decided the painting was just about perfect.

He just needed one more color.....
www.deviantart.com/dreamindrag…

-------

background wynglings belong to Momzzarella and SpiritOfTheLilys

9/319 wyns