Hey all, sorry I’ve not been posting anything for a while. Honestly I’ve just been feeling kinda creatively dead, so I’ve been taking a break until the brain-juices start flowing again. I was able to bash out this little short thing based on an old PSA I half-remember seeing decades ago. Part 2 is soon to come.
Cinnamon plodded along the edge of the road, her hooves barely making an impression against the hard, sun-baked earth that lined the dark gray-black asphalt path that led to civilization.
Of course, Cinnamon wasn’t going to civilization. Far from it, she was actually leaving civilization, but she couldn’t have known that. She wasn’t even sure which direction ‘forwards’ was.
It was a tale as old as time. Fluffy wants babies, owners said no, fluffy shits on the carpet, owners throw fluffy through a window, fluffy runs away, fluffy joins a feral herd, fluffy is forcibly given special-huggies by every member of the herd, feral herd is killed by an exploding ice-cream truck leaving only the pregnant fluffy alive, fluffy gives birth in an alleyway, and fluffy walks away with babies to find a new home.
I mean, who among us hasn’t been through that story at least once in our lives?
Cinnamon glanced behind her, making sure all of her foals were still present and correct. One, two, three… the next one, and the last one. Yep, all three-and-two of them!
“C’mon babbehs!” She babbled. “Keep followin’ mummah! Gu to nyu homesy!”
“Mummah, hoofsies huwties…” One foal mewled pitifully.
“Mummah, tummy huwties…” Another cried pathetically.
“Mummah, poopie-pwace huwties…” Another wailed tragically.
Cinnamon sighed. Her babies had turned out to be a lot less fun than she’d thought they’d be, but they were her babies, and that meant she loved them, because they were her babies, and that meant she loved them, because…
Cinnamon was broken out of her looping cycle of thoughts by the sight of something up ahead.
“Mummah, wha’ dat?” One foal peeped. Cinnamon would have answered, except she wasn’t quite sure herself.
It looked like one of those vroom-vroom monster things that humans rode around in, a big long black shape of shiny metal and glass, except it was all… wrong. The front was all twisted, like someone had given it a mighty case of owies, the shiny glass was all cracked and shattered, and there were a couple of humans sitting in the car, but… they were very, very, very pale, and weren’t moving at all. Cinnamon could even hear a few flies buzzing around them.
They had taken forever-sleepies.
Cinnamon was about to hurry her children along, in case the vroom-vroom monster tried to claim their lives too, until she spotted something.
The black metal thing’s back part was hanging open.
She had seen that before, with her original family. They had one of these things (they called it a ‘kah-ur’…?), they’d go places in it, and sometimes they’d open up the back. They’d put boxes and backpacks inside it, but sometimes, when they opened it, it’d be full of shiny paper bags of food!!!
Cinnamon’s mouth watered at the memory of food. It’d been such a long time since she’d had something actually edible. She’d mostly survived on rotting leftovers, damp newspaper and raw grass, which was a decidedly unpleasant way to live.
But that big black thing with it’s open rear… there could be food in there!
“C’mon babbehs, mummah fin’ nummies!” She insisted, leading the charge towards the smashed-up car. Her foals followed along immediately, insctintively staying close to their beloved mother. Cinnamon waddled around the side of the car and over to the rear, finding she could reach the trunk by stretching up with her legs.
It seemed like the damage to the car was mainly in front, all four tires had burst leaving the car sitting lower than normal, but otherwise the trunk was completely unharmed.
Cinnamon reached down and picked up her foals one by one, lifting them up with her mouth before dropping them over the edge of the trunk’s mouth, depositing all five of them inside before clambering in herself, taking extra care not to squish any of them when she tumbled in.
“Mummah…” One of her foals (the thinnest) asked. “…whewe nummies?”
Cinnamon looked around, and balked.
The trunk was empty. Devoid of any and all food. All that it contained was Cinnamon and her five babies.
“Dewe nu nummies hewe!” Her firstborn (ergo: best) baby cried. “Dummeh mummah bein’ stoopid again!”
“Nu! Nu say dat, bestest babbeh!” Cinnamon cried in response. “Wiww fin’ nummies later! Dis be nyu homesy fow now!”
Her bestest let out a ‘harrumph’, followed by a short, sharp fart, but seemed happy enough otherwise. All things considered, the trunk was quite a nice place to stay. The floor and walls were covered in a soft wool that was only slightly itchy, and there was plenty of space for Cinnamon to be comfy while her foals still had room to play, and they were all still able to see each other at all times.
Truly, the trunk of a car was the perfect place to be!
Then, as if tempted by the joy radiating from their tiny animal hearts, the hands of fate were rubbed together in glee… as everything went wrong.
The car had crashed while driving down the wrong side of the road, and had spun out leaving it resting on the side of the road, more off than on, with two of it’s wheels hanging over a slight ditch. The ditch was nothing severely deep, even a fluffy pony could climb out if it fell in, but that didn’t matter.
For the ditch was what spelled doom for Cinnamon and her foals.
The crashed car, already in a precarious position, was made even more unsteady by the added weight of Cinnamon and her foals playing in the trunk. The car rocked back and forth, creaking on rusted springs, until finally the imbalance was too great.
The car tipped too far to the right and slid off the road and into the ditch. Again, this itself wasn’t anything severe, as all it did was give the fluffies a minor fright… but the sudden shift in position, the sharp jerking fall the heavy car had taken, was more than enough to send the lid of the trunk swinging down with the might of a hammer.
It swung closed, latching itself shut with a precise ‘click’, and the fate of the fluffies was sealed.
For they were trapped in the trunk of a car.
“EEP! DAWKIES!” Cinnamon squeaked, jumping up suddenly as the trunk plunged into near total blackness.
“Mummah, wha’ happen?!” One of her foals cried. “Am scawedies! Nee’ huggies!”
“Shaddup dummeh bwuddah!” Another foal barked. “Bestest get huggies fiwst!”
“Babbehs, nu fighties!” Cinnamon begged as she began to nervously plod towards their voices through the dark trunk. “Mummah gib huggies to eb-”
Step.
“OWIES! OWIES OWIES OWIES! BABBEH HAB HUWTIES IN WEGGY!!!” One foal shrieked from beneath Cinnamon’s hoof. She leapt back suddenly, only to jump too high and bang her head hard against the ceiling of the suddenly-much-smaller space of their tomb.
“Why mummah huwt babbeh?!” The foal chirped in the darkness. Cinnamon, slightly dazed from the thump, tried looking around but couldn’t see anything. The only light getting into the trunk was through the keyhole, which was a surprisingly small hollow in the metal that only allowed through a sliver of light at best. They may as well have been trapped in total darkness, for the tiny smidgen of light gave them nothing but a reminder of their fate, trapped in total darkness while the sun continued to shine outside.
“Mummah nu huwt babbeh! Mummah wub babbeh!” Cinnamon insisted, standing up on shaking legs. She couldn’t walk towards her foals for fear of hurting them, so instead began to shuffle frowards, dragging her hooves along until she felt one bump into something.
“WHA’ DAT?! WHA’ DOIN?!” Her bestest shrieked. Before she could say anything, he continued. “NU HUWT BESTEST BABBEH, DUMMEH MUNSTAH! BESTEST GIB YOO BESTEST WOWSTEST POOPIES!!!”
Then, with a disgusting ripping sound, her bestest baby made his bestest poopies all over her hoof.
The other foals noticed too.
“Eww! Smewwy!”
“Nu wan stay wif poopies buh weggy too huwty to wun!”
“ACK! BABBEH STEP IN POOPIES! NU WAN BE POOPIE-BABBEH!”
“Hewp! Hewp babbeh! Nu wike dawky-smewwy pwace!”
“Nu cwy babbehs!” Cinnamon begged. “Mummah hewe! Wiww make bettah wif huggies and wub!”
“Eww! Dummeh mummah smeww wike poopies too!” Her bestest snorted as it waddled away from her.
Cinnamon, exhausted by the stress of the fall, from the long walk it took to get to the car in the first place, and the general emotional strain of being a single mother raising five kids, finally gave up. She flopped down on the scratchy floor of the trunk and did her best to sleep, which wasn’t easy as her five foals continued to shriek and cry and babble about the stink… which, speaking of the stink, was also making it hard to sleep.
But eventually Cinnamon began to doze off, until she felt something prod at one of her teats.
“Dummeh mummah, gib bestest babbeh bestest miwkies!”
Cinnamon blinked her eyes open, then leapt up as she realised that, despite her eyes being open, she couldn’t see anything! Then, as she bonked her head on the ceiling of the trunk once again, she remembered why everything was completely dark.
“Owies… otay bestest babbeh, mummah hab miwkies fow yoo.” She whimpered, flopping back down on her side to let her foal have it’s fill.
A few minutes later the foal let go with a wet ‘plop’ and waddled away, letting out a belch as it did. One by one mama’s other foals waddled over to her to feed too, until her teats were empty and their bellies were (mostly) full.
It was hard to tell how much time was passing from within their dark prison. All Cinnamon could do was sit and watch the sliver of light that crept in through the keyhole, watching as it turned from bright yellow to a dark orange, before finally disappearing completely.
As night fell the foals began to settle down and sleep, occasionally getting up to empty their bowels in the designated ‘poopie-place’… only to remember where they were and discover, to their ever-increasing horror, that the ‘poopie-place’ was the very room they lived in.
Some tried to restrain themselves for the good of the family (and themselves), but it was eventually no use, and their bladders and bowels gave way before long. Meanwhile others… well, one other, namely the bestest, opted to simply let out a squirt of watery shit before going back to sleep.
It hadn’t even bothered to disengage from the fluff-pile the foals had formed together, which resulted in coating one of it’s siblings with a layer of runny brown liquid.
Meanwhile, Cinnamon was left by herself, gazing at the tiny keyhole through which nothing could be seen, nothing except the inky blackness of night, and she began to wonder…
What happens if we can’t get out of here…?
(Next)