Shaggy was trying his best, he really was. It had been a long, frustrating day, full of Fred's typical bullshit: 'mysteries', misogyny, and the Malt Shop. Shaggy hadn't even finished his second chocolate shake before Fred hauled them off on another wild goose chase, certain that this was the night they'd finally catch the Honking Bandit – an unsavoury character who had been stealing local, well… geese. Of course Fred was wrong – the gang had really been out of their element lately and hadn't apprehended a criminal in months.
Night after night, the same exhausting, unrewarding grind, and Shaggy was sick of it. The long nights and sparse food had taken their toll on the lanky young man – he was already a bit frail, but there was nothing like a hefty dose of stress and rushed, nutritionally insufficient meals to take a man's BMI down a notch or two. The gang tried to be sensitive about his high metabolism, but they didn't understand the full extent of Shaggy's difficulties. Shaggy let out a small sigh, entertaining a brief fantasy of what his life might be like if only he had stable blood sugar.
The whole gang was spent when they pulled into the driveway that night and nobody felt like staying up for board games and a beer or two. Shaggy sighed again, nostalgic for the game nights of yore. It had only been a month since their last session, but to Shaggy, it felt like an eternity. He hauled his weary carcass out of the van, feeling an acute tightness behind his knees. The ceiling of the van was too low for a tall fellow such as himself – he could usually deal with it, the light-hearted chattering being more than enough to make up for height-related discomfort. But lately, the van had been silent; everyone too fed up with Fred's mad quest for justice to bother with even the most banal small talk.
Velma bade Shaggy goodnight and went off to do some light research before giving in to the tragically unavoidable need for sleep. Scooby yawned and headed towards his dog bed, no doubt to dream about chasing cars and petty criminals. Fred and Daphne went upstairs, supposedly to don their matching silk pajamas and climb into their sumptuously comfy king-sized bed. Of course they kept the best mattress for themselves, thought Shaggy. He could make do with his well-worn recliner, but his achy body craved something more. He rolled his shoulders and performed a few light stretching exercises in the driveway, feeling calm underneath the warm glow of the garage light, which was flickering wildly. The light shorted out, and Shaggy sighed a third time. It was a peaceful sigh – he was determined to make the best of his alone time, for the man was a trooper, always able to call upon his natural tranquility when times got tough. Life wasn't always easy, but that never stopped Shaggy from doing his best to enjoy it. He finished the final stretch of his routine then ambled towards the kitchen, intent on making one hell of a sandwich.
(As you can see I am trying harder, even though you trolls don't deserve my work. I put a lot of heart into my stories and when you are mean about my stories you hurt my heart. But enjoy, please give me CONSTRUCTIVE criticism only. Thanky ou, chapter 2 will be coming soon. Maybe.)