Through the second week, your Faux fur continued spreading. Across your chest, over your shoulders, and even developed a round white spot on your belly that was beginning to lose definition and rounding out. Your hardearned muscular arms becoming round and weak. By the end of the week, you could barely lift a gallon of milk to pour yourself a bowl of cereal. Not that you needed to each much these days.
You continued shrinking. Down now, by nearly a foot! Looking I'm the mirror at your rounding features and smaller stature, you decided this maybe wasn't a good thing after all. You always liked stuffed animals, but to become one? It was sort of embarrassing.
You noticed you were getting more tired more easily. Not mentally tired. Physically tired. You were actually becoming more mentally active! Needing less sleep, and becoming more talkative. The doctors were saying this was a symptom a couple of weeks away from losing all mobility. That your body was using less and less energy, giving your brain more of that energy.
Weeks 3, 4, and 5 was much the same. A gradual spreading of your fur, losing height, weight, and mobility. But you were still becoming ever more hyper aware and awake all the time.
Your parents were becoming more and more desperate, as their son was slipping away from them. Your parents weren't giving up yet. They wanted to save their one and only child, and kept bothering your doctor about any news of any sort of breakthrough.
By the end of the 5th week, a new vaccine had come out and was being distributed across the country and the world immediately. Several hundred thousand would ultimately succumb to becoming an object, and you would be part of that statistic. The world completely unaware that such objects were still conscious, unable to ever communicate or move ever again. You still were under the impression that you would eventually lose consciousness, as was everyone else.
The doctors refused to give you the vaccine, under protest from your parents.
"It wouldn't work for your son. It's a vaccine, not a cute. It's too late for him. He's well on his way of becoming a stuffed bear.
"
In absute denial, your parents insisted you be vaccinated anyway. But the hospital continued to refuse, as it was better spent saving someone else's life. You were a lost cause, doomed to become an inanimate object.
This went on throughout the fifth week of your infection.