(sorry for the double post, i accidentally posted it blank, lol. Anyway! my first story, lemme know what you lot think!)
Grace wasn’t a particularly interesting woman by any real standards, she had a boyfriend that she lived with, had pizza once or twice a week, date night on Friday’s and church on Sunday’s, a plain face, plain clothes, the lot. There was however, one thing that wasn’t plain about the woman, her job.
A place that nobody wants to be in, state sponsored bio toy disposal and management, Montana’s very own circle of misery and loathing sponsored by your tax dollars with dental and vision. A very odd job for a woman like her indeed, to be the executioner of living(?) sentient(?) beings, but to grace? A job’s a job and if it pays the bills what more could you ask for? Her dad taught her that when she was young, not that she remembered much of the man’s lessons actively nowadays unless they spoke of them. Time has a funny way with the memories of those you love, as things that seem small or dumb then mean a lot once you lose them.
Grace thought as she drove to work, the boring morning commute from her apartment where she kissed her boyfriend at the door goodbye before she left, a man named Dylan, a year older than her at twenty seven now had the day off from his own slice of misery to bring some joy into his partner’s life, as a surprise he’d ordered a box of choice cuts of meat to hold their own little cookout on the balcony later tonight, the refrigerated package on the doorstep as grace left gave her cause to wonder just what he was planning as she drove.
The trip was blissfully uneventful beyond a sight she wished she hadn’t seen of a green and yellow mare getting run over on Broadway by the car in front of her, foals walking behind her in the warm springtime air suddenly all alone in a cruel and unforgiving world that saw them as nothing but vermin. Coffee took her mind off of it, her standard order of two sugars, a drop of orange oil and a drop of lavender oil usually helped her soothe her wandering mind, a bagel from Dylan’s workplace sat in her purse wrapped in cellophane with cream cheese spread on it snuck into its outer pocket, still chilled from the fridge.
Breakfast was sorted and without having to spend more than she already did on the drink, so on the radio went, traffic seemed usually calm as it tended to be in her small little town, the odd tree limb or pothole was the most that anyone could ever deem newsworthy as of late in that regard, onto sports it was after the usual report, much as she didnt care for them, her boyfriend enjoyed them so she’d listen to who won what and who got traded where and for why to have excuses to listen to him ramble or go on some tangent about some player or other being on this team with such and such coach being either a good or bad thing.
Her mind wandered as she drove. Ten and two, eyes on the road while listening to the radio report on the collage basketball scene, truthfully she couldn’t care about what was being said, she just liked listening to him ramble about things he was interested in, its how she fell in love with the guy, her thoughts wandering idly to the big dance they shared in collage where he rambled about farming video games of all things to her during a graduation party for some sorority but she was sold then and there on the sweet city boy from Indiana who was just happy to have someone interested in him for once.
The memories were ironic in a way, her dad used to be a farmer before he retired to do what most men in a small town do, fish, chat, hunt, and raise the grand kids and lacking any of those from grace, joined the church for community projects. The GPS snapping her out of her thoughts with its synthetic feminine tone “turn right in, FIVE yards” a somber reminder that reality existed and was in no mood to let her drift away on those back roads.
The car door slammed shut, the overpowering smell of cleaning supplies, decaying flesh, smoke and grass overtook her nostrils mixing into a miserable reminder of what had to be done. Grace didn’t hate her job, it certainly beat waiting tables for tips and dealing with pervy out of towners like when she worked at the truck stop during her collage days, but it took a certain kind of person to enjoy working in death, that kind of person grace was not.
Snatching her purse from the car’s silver roof, she checked her phone, two messages, one from her mom and one from Dylan, a good morning and a photo of their cat, Jackie, sat in a Styrofoam box respectively, responses to both were sent in turn as she steeled herself to walk inside the large steel and concrete building, she understood why so many of her coworkers smoked before shift, even if regulation said to not as the smell might cause undue stress to the “units” they had to process and just make their jobs harder.
Grace was barely in the door before someone greeted her, Mandy, her old boy crazy roommate obsessed with anything and everything Japanese or Korean (men included) from collage. She was the one who got her this job and she frankly didn’t know if she should thank her or call her a psychopath for the favor.
“Ohmghee GRACIE! Hoooow’s it going galpal?!” Mandy’s fake valley girl accent grated on Grace’s ears like metal nails on tile, her attitude much too chipper for eight thirty in the morning, on a Tuesday no less.
“Uh… fine i guess? I just got here. Whats got you chipper? Find a new wang or len to squeeze last night?” She replied, a hint of sarcasm and “im humoring you” in her tone.
Mandy’s reply dropped her fake accent, letting her natural southerner show “well he ain’t an Austin, that’s for sure little miss bookworm, besides can’t you just be happy for me for once? Not all of us have a Dylan to go home to you know!” False anger oozing off of her words before she let out a soft chuckle, quickly letting herself return to normal before addressing her co-worker “anyway, intake in lot B needs processing and you’re not going to like whatever’s in there. Fluff control dump”
The words fluff control made her sigh, those were the worst. Ferals with no sense of what being here meant, or too much of an idea what being here meant, she honestly hoped for the latter as they’d at least try to bargain rather than demand, easier to give them a false hope of sketti land and ease the pain than have to wear gloves and smell like toy horse shit till break.
As she walked closer to room B, it wasn’t remotely what she’d hoped for, already hearing the screams and demands of a stallion calling himself the smartest. What a joke, he didn’t know he was sent here to die for the crime of his own existence, his birth being enough of a warrant to kill on sight as the state agriculture board needed to seal his fate of execution via Grace. As she got closer to the hermetically sealed door she heard the huu huuing of mares and the questioning peeps and chirps of foals, seems she’d gotten a herd today… lovely, never the easy jobs for her.
The pressurized door hissing open as its mechanical bits whirred to life, a few chirpy foals who’d not evacuated themselves on the ride into the facility did so on their mother’s fluff from the sudden noise eliciting a cry of “nu smeww pwetty” and “bahd babbeh nu makesie bad poopies owhn mummah fwuff!” from the freshly soiled mothers.
Grace looked over the crowd, unfeeling as she stood in the doorway for a moment before stepping in and letting it close behind her. Taking stock of the situation it was a big enough heard. Five stallions. Eight mares, and a pile of roughly twenty foals sat in what was a gloried holding pen, hasbio “ez clean” blocks and balls sat in containment with their more alive brothers in chains, worn from use over many, many, prior occupants, not that it’d matter soon the state of disrepair they were in as those selfsame chained compatriots were at the gallows and just didn’t know it yet.
“GIB SMAWTY SKETTIES AND BWITE TEIM NAO MUNSTA WADY!” The cartoon horse the size of a lunchbox demanded. Red with gold mane, a hotfluff, no wonder it was a smarty, special edition biotoys always ended up as smarties unless it was beaten quite literally out of them.
“Hello fluffies. My name is gra-”
"WOCKET NU CAWE WHA MUNSTA WADY NAMESIE IS! WOCKET WAN WADY TO DO WHA WOCKET SAIS! The toy cutting grace off before she could even finish the mandated introduction. She sighed and quietly understood where the little punk was coming from. She’d not want to be at the gallows either, her thoughts interrupted by a new interjection from the hotcars crossover. “WOCKET SAESYS DAT WOCKET HEWD NEE DOWRSIE OWPENZ OR MUNSTA WADY GET SOWWY POOPIES! WITE NAO!”
Grace looked at them with annoyance in her eyes. It wasnt going to be an easy day today, still, she’d try the diplomatic option first, at least as diplomatic as an executioner could be to a talking horse that had a lisp and a voice higher than Michael Jackson’s hee hee after slamming his fist into his groin. “Hello fluffies. My name is grace. I’m a state sanctioned fluffy veterinarian who is going to be preparing you all to go to skettiland.” She managed to half heartedly speak to the herd. The joy or life from her voice was gone. It was her job to try and make this easy on herself to herself, and by extension the chimera of red and yellow infront of her.
The word sketti set the herd into elation, their smarty had promised them sketties after all! He must be the bestest smarty if they were going to go to a land made of sketti! All but a single brown and gold talkie babbeh were so excited.
You’d heard of sketti land before from your mummah, you’d heard it was a place fluffies went after they went fowebah sweepies… maybe smarty was right! Maybe your nyu mummah was a munsta wady! You wanted to say something to the herd but they were so loud that nobody would hear you and your scardie chirps were all you could make your mouth say!
Grace noticed the lack of excitement from the foal, mud brown and gold earthie, fetching colors in her own opinion. She let her mind wander if he’d be able to be re-homed if he wasn’t a feral, maybe in a state with looser laws on the things like Maine or California. But not here, here he was slated for execution via grace unless… maybe she could… no. She had a job to do. If she made an exception for one she might be fired for being a hugboxer, not that they could legally do that but they’d find something to fire her over. Or maybe they wouldent? Perhaps she could say he was a runaway domestic and save the poor little guy? Or maybe… she could- “SMAWTY GIB TIWW NAO TO GIB SMAWTY WAH DEY WAN. TAKESIES SOWWY POOPIES!”
Grace’s mind played the next minute in slow motion as the stallion raised his tail, and started to turn around to surely spray her with a squirt of shit (seriously were these things part skunk?) She reached down and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, his head swiveling as he thrashed about in her grasp trying to bite or kick or… anything really ultimately giving up and screaming. A very loud reminder that she didn’t have to be gentle with the toys per her job description and could in fact, just snap his neck here and now and be over with it. And was this little bastard tempting her to do just that, it’d be easiest for her… no. No no no, there was procedure, even if just your own to give them a nicer death than some of the abusers she worked with.
And so the injections started. Some complained about pointy hurties, some were too excited over the prospect of skettiland to care. One mare asked why her and her special friend had to go to to skettiland before her babies and was promptly fed the lie that skettiland had to see their mummah first before her babies could go that Grace had practiced time and time again, the real reason being the mother fluffs could smell a dead foal even if it was in a sealed box that was set for incineration as soon as everyone in the room that couldn’t move their thumbs was dead and would panic. Grace moved with practiced hands, putting needle to vein and letting them drift off as she carried them to a small cardboard box with the words “skettiland delivery service!” Wrote in comic sans and colored letters with a green hill all printed on the side, standard issue but it did the trick to keep the herds controllable when they were being drugged with the cheapest ethical mixture that was confirmed to kill them, (a few pain pills crushed and dissolved in saline as far as grace could tell) a small blessing, but a blessing none the less.
Once the adults were dealt with, it was time for the foals, she hated this part, loathed it even, she wanted to just, let them be raised as good fluffies, maybe they could make it as some kids pet? or as at least live long enough to justify putting them down. But alas, there was no such quarter to be given by the institutions that put food on her plate, clothes on her back, a roof over her and her boyfriend’s heads, and a metaphorical gun in her hands. foals weren’t grown enough to be euthanized via injection safely, the needle could break their bones in pegasi or miss and rupture an organ in others causing more pain than was allowed.
Grace’s mind wandered yet again as she took the smallest of the foals, runts, chirpies, the like, and put them on a towel lined tray before sticking it into a small carbon dioxide chamber, soundproofed as to not cause the remaining foals the distress of hearing their younger siblings deaths. “what is the threshold for pain that can be okay for an execution? for a culling? for sterilization of a pest? was it the creature showing pained expressions? it couldn’t be, the chirpies suffocating looked in agony. but maybe it was babies crying like how human babies did when they were hungry and they didn’t feel anything other than separated from their mothers?” she didn’t know the answer, nor did she want to know how someone found it if she was honest with herself.
The remaining five foals watched her anxiously, almost begging for their turn to go to skettiland, all but one, Grace’s eye’s teared up slightly as she looked at the poor thing, huddled away behind the others, she’d leave it for last, as she knew what happened next wasn’t a good time for anyone involved. Talkie babbehs, as they called themselves, were left till last as they’d not notice anything wrong, but they were also too big to go into the dioxide chamber that sat on the counter, but still too small for an injection, meaning it had to be done some other way. That way being a bolt to the back of the head.
the first of the five foals was picked up, a purple and blue filly was picked up by the scruff of the neck before Grace turned around and placed the plastic cap to the back of her head, positioned over a bio-waste basket, the foal started to squirm feeling the unfamiliar object pressed against her, smaller than a normal bolt gun as it was made by the lowest bidder that met standards specifically for the state to euthanize fluffies “humanely” however it was still large enough to require a bit of dexterity when used on foals if you didn’t want a bloody mess on your hands.
“m-mumma? wha am fingie?” the filly asked somewhat nervously.
“it’s a tool that will make it so that you get to skettieland faster than the other fluffies by giving you special medicine” grace lied through her teeth at the soon to be corpse, it pained her to do so, but, she had to or it’d just panic and cause the other four to panic, she wanted to tell it the truth, that she wasn’t going to skettiland, that she was going to die, and that was it, even if it was a soulless automation of a creature, she was a good woman at heart and hated having to lie to them, especially the foals.
“WEAWWY?! NYU MUMMAH AM BESTEST!” The filly exclaimed happily, her words tearing at grace’s already weakening mental state more than the creature would ever know.
The shot rang loud in grace’s ears, amplified by the prior words to a point she almost couldn’t go on with the rest, but she had a job to do, she had to put food on the table, she had to be a girl that was strong for herself, and for those around her, she had to be a grown up woman and not the little girl in her head who just killed a child that called her the best mother she’d had, she had to be strong, she HAD to because nobody else was going to save her if she fell, not in this lowest of moment. her hands shaking softly as she dropped the foals intact corpse into a “skettiland” box, sealing it shut before grabbing the next foal
“mummah? whewe am fwilmore? whai babbeh smew boo-boo jwuice?” The green and brown pegasi asked grace cautiously.
Grace stayed silent, she’d made the mistake of speaking to the damned once today. she wasn’t about to make it again. she couldn’t, she wouldn’t. Not even for the brown and gold foal curled up in the corner… crying… oh no they were crying, that’s not good, they must know what happened, quickly, quickly, soothe green and shoot, soothe green and shoot! Her mind SCREAMED for her hands to do, if only her body would listen and listen it eventually did, a fresh corpse in her hands not even getting the answer they wanted, she took a moment to steel herself, placing the foal on-top of its probable sister before moving to the next.
“uppies bah fow fwuffy” The puke green and grey colt said in a matter of fact tone
“but i need to give you uppies to give you your special medicine little one.” Grace half lied in response, not wanting to upset the last two more than she had to purely because so far, it’d gone textbook and she wanted to go home after, or at least call Dylan for a bit on break. anything to take her mind off of how she felt, how sick to her own stomach she was with what she had to do because it was the thing she had to do.
“otay nwice mummah, plwease gib weafy hims med-i-cwins” The foals words ate at her, what time was it? she didn’t know last she checked it was about noon, that meant her lunch break was soon. She could call Dylan on her lunch, that’d help, yeah.
“Another corpse, another dollar, two to go. then lunch.” Her brain trailed on, trying desperately to make light of her situation only to remind her that she wasn’t hungry. The second to last foal blissfully asleep from the high energy day didn’t wake as you picked her up, another filly, yellow and a darker yellow, what was it named? dandelion? ferals weren’t creative with names usually then again they’d sometimes pick pre-programmed names that hasbio encoded them with, apparently certain shades had names automatically attached to them, not that being given a new one by a human wouldn’t overwrite them but still, one had called himself Philmore earlier after all.
The second to last shot rang out, all that was left was the brown foal its soft huu-huu’s and it being the last one let her relax a bit. Maybe she could come back after lunch? let him have a bit to himself? if she went for lunch someone else might come check the room and just kill him for her that might honestly be for the best? Her entire train of thought stopped dead in its tracks upon hearing the fluffy whimper out a question.
“whai? whai mummah send fwuffy fwends to skettiwand wifout fwuffy?” It miserably whimpered out.
“hey, hey, it just means they’ll all be waiting for you little guy! don’t cry… it, it’ll just make this worse. i think we both know that by now.” Grace finally cracked, letting a bit of empathy show to the soon to be culled foal.
“Pwoisown knu, pwoisown nu cawe, nu wan gu fowebah sweepies. pwoison jus nu wan go fowebah sweepies bwye munstah daddeh” the foal shut its eyes, tears flowing freely from them at this point as grace sighed, she figured she owed the little guy one last act of kindness before he had to be put down, runaway domestics could be re-adopted but only if they didn’t understand what happened, nobody wanted a depressed fluffy.
“hey, poison was it? just, how much do you know about what happened?” Grace holding out hope he didn’t understand what had happened here and he’d be able to be put into special population for a week to re-adjust, for her own sake as much as his.
“pwoisown nu-nu wha hawpehn odda dan pwoisown wun way fwom munsta daddeh awfteah daddeh take pwoisown wumps fow funsies” Poison opening an eye to see the door to the enclosure open and Grace sitting on the floor after he spoke. “den pwoisown nummed bwy dah whiete bvroom bvroom awnd meet nyu hewd, nhow hewd ams in skettiwand wifout pwoisown.” The brown foal hung his head, softly huu-huuing as he spoke
“So poison, do you know how a fluffy goes to skettiland?” Grace, painfully asked the poor fluff, she wasn’t willing to risk her job over keeping the little guy alive, but she wanted to at least try to give him a chance.
“Pwoisown knu, fwubbies dat gu fowebah sweepies gu tu skettiwand mummah teww pwoisown befowe pwoisown wun way.” Poison cried, thinking about his mother’s bedtime stories for the longest three minutes of his life.
Grace sighed, he knew, but not because of her. What a cosmic joke, She’d had a golden ticket to give him a better life with a new owner snatched from her clutches by the cruel twist of fate that was his mother. She spoke softly to the foal, tired, and almost desperate, doing anything to give him a last chance.
“Do you know what i did to your heard poison?” She asked, BEGGING, PLEADING he’d say no, that she’d just gave them travel to skettiland, and that he could be adopted out, just to not have to kill one more child today if for literally no other reason than she didn’t want to spend her entire lunch break crying over dead biotoys to her boyfriend again.
“Gwace mummah send Pwoisown hewd to skettiwand buh dey hab tu gu fowebah sweepies.” The final nail, there was no way, not with it all on recording at least, that she’d not lose her job for sending him off to join the recovery group foals, he’d spill what happened and none of them would be salvageable. He had to die, through no fault of his own, but rather by the signature of a document that he couldn’t even comprehend and Grace barely could in the name of profit.
“Poison? Do. Do you want to try skettis before i have to send you to sketti land?” Grace’s hand reaching into her pocket to pull out a small treat, laced with toxins strong enough to kill a fluffalo in their sleep and setting it on the ground in-front of poison, it was supposed to be used only for strays in the alleyways, but she’d made a habit to keep it on her for last foals like this, a small gesture, but one that kept her human, kept her, her.
“O-otay mummah…” The foal said weakly before trotting over to accept the treat.
The paperwork and car ride home after were near silent, her co-workers gave her a pep talk and a cheer-up but it barely helped. She knew she’d be back again tomorrow and that another group of fluffies would be sent to their deaths in the name of the department of agriculture of Montana. The only thing that made it worth it was walking in the door of her apartment, and seeing Dylan in a chef outfit and Jackie with a slice of cut sausage in his mouth as his owner oh so proudly announced it was barbecue date night, tonight!
