Chapter 3 - A Friend

The gingerbread man lied down on the sandy beaches, positioning himself far enough from the tide to avoid the water but close enough to hear the rhythmic crash of the waves. By this point, it had become his favorite pastime.

Admittedly, there wasn't much else to do. He read every recipe book in the house. The forest yielded nothing useful. And while he had completely adjusted to life on the island, the monotony was beginning to wear on him. His days blurred together, filled with the same sense of unshakeable boredom.

Once, he managed to stumble across a small, broken dock near the shore. Scattered barrels and rusted fishing equipment lay abandoned nearby. But since fish were useless to him, he never bothered to fix it up. 

"This island is nice," he said aloud, staring up at the sky. "But I wish there was more to do."

Vocalizing his thoughts had become a habit — a way to fend off the creeping loneliness. It helped, but not enough to banish the sense of emptiness lingering at the edges of his mind.

"I guess this is just how things are meant to be," he muttered with a sigh, closing his eyes.

Then he felt it — something nibbling at his foot. 

He bolted upright in surprise. 

Gnawing on the top of his foot was a juvenile elephant seal, its small teeth clumsily attempting to grip the gingerbread surface. The attempt was more slobbery than threatening, the seal resembling a teething infant.

"What's the matter? Are you hungry?" the gingerbread man asked, his tone gentle.

The seal paused, looking up at him with large curious eyes before pulling back.

"No, no, it's okay." the gingerbread man continued quickly, as if reassuring both himself and the seal. "It's just that you won't get much out of me. What you need is something with more protein... like a fish."

His gaze drifted toward the dock at the far end of the beach. Almost instinctively, he sprang to his feet.

"Here, follow me," he said, gesturing for the seal to come along. "I haven't eaten yet either, so let's have a meal together."

To his surprise, the seal seemed to understand perfectly. It barked in excitement and slapped its belly, then galumphed after the gingerbread man as he made his way down the shore. 

When they reached the dock, the gingerbread man rummaged through one of the barrels, pulling out the most intact fishing rod he could find. He carefully stepped onto the creaking planks of the dock, testing each step to avoid falling into the water below.

"Wait here for me, okay?" he called back to the seal, motioning toward the sand.

The seal obediently plopped down and watched, its head tilting as it followed the gingerbread man's movements. 

The gingerbread man had no memory of fishing before, yet his hands moved with surprising confidence. He attached a hook to the line and prepared to cast. But then he paused, realizing an important detail. 

"Oh that's right," he said to himself. "I'll need bait."

He raised his arm and plucked off a small chunk of gingerbread. It stung faintly, but the pain was far less than he'd anticipated. Attaching the piece to the hook, he cast the line into the ocean, watching as the bait disappeared beneath the waves. 

Time dragged on, he stood there for what felt like half an hour, wondering if gingerbread could even attract fish, when suddenly, the line tugged sharply. 

With renewed focus, he gripped the rod tightly and began reeling in his catch. He worked carefully, giving the line slack when the fish pulled too hard to avoid snapping the fragile equipment. 

After a tense struggle, the gingerbread man hauled his catch onto the dock — a flopping pollock.

From the beach, the seal barked excitedly, its enthusiasm infectious. Cracking a slight smile, the gingerbread man carefully made his way back to the shore, clutching the fish.

"Here you go, buddy. Freshly caught." he said holding out the fish.

The seal snatched it eagerly, swallowing it whole in one swift motion. Afterward, it barked again, this time with clear satisfaction.

The gingerbread man chuckled softly, something he hasn't done before. 

"Want another one?" he asked.

"Arf! Arf!"

"All right then," he said, glancing back toward the dock. "We've got all day."

From then on, the rest of the day flew by. Every so often, the gingerbread man would reel in a fish while he snacked on sugarcane. Meanwhile, the seal would sunbathe nearby, waiting patiently for the next catch. Even when sometimes the gingerbread man's effort came up empty, the seal remained by his side. 

Over time, a routine developed: during the day, the gingerbread man fished for the seal, and in the evenings, the two would play together as the sun set. 

Before long, another seal appeared on the beach. The gingerbread man greeted the newcomer the same way he had the first, offering freshly caught fish. 

Then came a third seal.

And a fourth.

With each new arrival, the gingerbread man adapted, catching more fish to feed to his growing group of companions. He even managed to create a makeshift net to make more viable bait.

Eventually, the gingerbread man found himself with an entourage of seals, all lounging comfortably near him. Though most would occasionally disappear for days at a time, the original four remained constant, always waiting for him at the shore.

Feeling a bond with his companions, the gingerbread man decided to name the four who stayed closest to him.

The first seal, the tiniest and most energetic, was named Slippy. Slippy earned his name from his clumsy, sliding attempt to nibble the gingerbread man's foot during their first meeting. A baby elephant seal, Slippy's boundless energy and friendly nature quickly made him a favorite amongst the group.

The second seal was much larger but just as kind-hearted and even more reliable. The gingerbread man named him Luka. Luka often helped catch extra fish, diving into deeper waters and sharing his bounty with the others. Whenever a squabble broke out among the seals, Luka would intervene, maintaining peace. A Caspian seal, Luka's calm demeanor and generosity made him an unspoken leader.

The third seal, Stella, was almost as small as Slippy but had a much more dramatic flair. Stella would sit quietly, looking rather grumpy, but if she ever felt neglected, she would cry out until the gingerbread man or the seals comforted her. Despite her diva-like tendencies, Stella's loyalty and affection for her companions shone through in subtle ways. She was a young harp seal, and her expressive personality added a certain spark to the group.

The fourth seal was the largest and laziest of them all. The gingerbread man named her Akari. Often found snoozing near the dock, Akari rarely stirred, even when food was placed right in front of her. The gingerbread man suspected she valued the companionship of the group more than anything else. A full-grown ribbon seal, Akari's serene presence added a quiet warmth to the group.

Though content with his newfound friends, the gingerbread man couldn't help but puzzle over one thing: why were all the seals a different species? The island's climate was a peculiar mix — cool, crisp air paired with sunny skies and shimmering seas. While it wasn't impossible for such a variety of seals to coexist, it still struck him as strange. Yet after a while, he stopped questioning it. 

The seals relied on him, and he relied on the seals.

By now, months have passed on Floracane Island. The gingerbread man's life was still simple, but it now held a richness he hadn't anticipated. His days revolved around the seals, their antics, and the comfort of knowing he was no longer alone. In a way, it helped him maintain his humanity by hanging out with the seals.

Perhaps, without realizing it, the gingerbread man had even stopped thinking about —