You sit on your bed.
Your name is Bonnie, and you kept sitting.
Perhaps laying down is the right word currently, though. You are simply trying to go to sleep... with no success.
You've read a book about this once; No matter how hard you try, you can't force yourself to sleep.
...
You'd usually this fascinating, but considering your current state of lousiness— it's anything but.
You didn't use to sleep. Being a formed mass of bubblegum, the body isn't hollow enough to hold organs to need such things.
But knowledge from my consciousness breeds illusions; and it's all due to that little boy.
A human. Your sweet, yet growing knight in cloth— all covered with bruises and dog hair.
Whenever you liked it or not, your DNA now believes such things as fatigue and energy runoff due to his influence. You now need to eat at least 3 meals and sleep 8.25 hours a day to prevent your burnout, alike how most humans needed before the war.
It's like a drug addiction, but perhaps less serious.
While you do miss the time in which you spent months on end, documenting and researching your candy people and its surroundings, you have come to the conclusion that it may not be such a burden after all.
The boy did nothing wrong. If anything, he has done nothing but good for you and your candy kingdom. Glob knows how many times he's saved your people from mutated monsters, demons, and all that jazz.
You are so grateful for that brave little boy.
You drift into slumber, content with your surroundings and realization.
Writing exercise May 6th, 2021. Probably diverges from canon. Advice is appreciated.