Story #13: Gilgamush

Story #13: Gilgamush What was there to argue about? By this point, there was no changing of minds to be considered; no, the only changes would become his own upon the table. Complaints would be duly noted and immediately dismissed, as had become more commonplace in recent times for him. His simpering whines weren't taken seriously, and why would they be? He'd gotten so small by this point, and his impotent fussing was seen as little more than the self-interested tantrums of a cranky tot. It had been like that for the Pull-Ups too, which had become the first shame he'd try to dissuade. It had been a slap to the face to be presented with the goofy visage of 'Lightning McQueen' with a serious intention that this would be his new normal going forward. It hadn't exactly been unwarranted, since his faculties had diminished in proportion to his size, but it had been the beginning of the end. He'd been trying to explain the intricate cultural impacts of Gilgamesh, perhaps subconsciously clinging on for dear life to the vestiges of his former position as a respected scholar, and it had just happened. One moment he was articulating the importance of how Gilgamesh would influence later flood myths, and the next he was actually flooding his pants. He hadn't even noticed right away! He'd been so arrogantly ensconced in his own prattle, that his Pull-Up had grown soggy and swollen without alarm. It was finally when he was talking about soil being used as a symbol of man's origin, that he realized something was terribly wrong; all bodily urges had been muted, and even while he did a fidgeting little potty-dance, he had begun to poop in his pants. The irony wasn't fully lost on him. Much like Gilgamesh, he had sought out eternal life; he wasn't content to allow death to be man's burden. Unlike Gilgamesh, he had been successful in his quest, not that it hadn't come with enough strings to make his life into a cruel puppet show. (edited) The woman on the receiving end of his literary analysis had been nodding and smiling with the patronizing 'Mmhmms' and 'Ohs' of a disinterested mother. However once his body language had become more apparent, and a faint odor began to waft, she had made the decision to cut him off. "Uh-oh, I think I smell something stinky! Is that you, Franklin?" Her hands had gone to her hips, and she glowered over him like an angry goddess. He'd hardly been able to choke out a confabulation before she had forced him to swivel and present his botton to her. A palm to his squishy seat had been all it took to find him guilty. "Yuck! More like Gilgamush, huh? Well, you know the deal, mister. I said if you had one more accident in your big kid Pull-Ups, then it'd be right back to diapers! You're clearly not ready to be trusted with these..." That had been it. He could really only be thankful for a few small things, like the regression of the artifact stopping at a preschool level, or keeping his adult mind primarily intact; he even had to begrudgingly be thankful that his longtime assistant had been so dutiful in her role, even now. How would he have survived? Just a small child that no one would believe was once an archaeologist. So with a curt goodbye to the idea of retaining any pride, he accepted the Pampers with a solemn submission. He was going to have to get used to the idea of living like this, and for a long, long time too. Life eternal can not be without sacrifice.