A chirpy colt happily suckles milk from his mother in a small den in an unused plot of land. She sings him and his siblings songs and hugs them all constantly. He is two days old and is used to her voice and smells. While he doesn’t understand what she is saying, but he knows he and his siblings are loved. In fact, that is all he knows. This is probably what true happiness feels like.
Then he hears it. His mummah is making sounds that he never heard before. He hears one of his siblings peeping in terror. Mummah is screaming and crying. Something about babbehs and needing mummah. Then another, deeper voice yells at her and grabs the poor colt. All he can do is cheep and flap his wings frantically while the monster has him by the scruff of his neck. He then fell into a hard box with his sibling, and one by one the other three joined them. His mummah’s voice got louder and louder, her begging and pleading just making the chirpies more terrified. Then there was a loud crack followed by silence.
Now, many forevers later, the chirpies were sleeping. Their crying had tired them out, all except for the colt. He was listening, trying to hear mummah. He wanted her back so much, but didn’t realize what had happened. How could he? His eyes weren’t even open yet. Sounds of loud bangs and voices eventually caught his attention. He recognized that they had to be fluffies! Maybe they would know where is mammah is. But all his peeping did was make the voices be replaced with a thwack followed by crying.
Suddenly, he heard a rushing sound. His curiousity about what it could be quickly dampened, literally, as waster soaked him and a nice smelling liquid was rubbed into his fluff. Then the warm water hits him again, leaving him cold but less stinky. Each of his siblings go through this as well. Once they are all dry, he hardly recognizes their scent. They seem to chirp happily, so hi guessed they knew him as well. The little chirpy starts to move around on the towel, looking for his mummah. His peeps and chirps met with silence. Eventually, he meets the edge of the box he is in and follows it round and round, not realizing that there is no escape.
Even more forevers pass and the chirpies are hungry. The colt was the last to feed when they still had mummah, so his tummeh-huwties aren’t as bad. Then they hear the voice that took mummah away. Its owner picks them up and places them in a place that smells very familiar. The colt recognizes it as mummah! He cheeps happily and tries to hug her, but she ie a little flatter than he remembers. Eventually he finds her milky places and starts to suckle. Both the milk and teat don’t taste right. They weren’t bad, but different. Then he hears a fluffy singing, but it isn’t his mummah’s voice. It calls itself mummah, but isn’t her. He ignores it and finished eating, moving aside for a sibling to eat on instinct.
Days would pass like this. The not mummah would sing, the chirpies would eat, and the colt would fruitlessly try to hug flat mummah. Occasionally they would be taken out, washed and returned to a clean smelling mummah. This thinly held facade fell the second the colt opened his eyes. His first sight was his still blind siblings. They were happily snuggling in a fluff pile with him. Looking around, he didn’t see mummah or the mystery mare. He could see a couple of cylinders with white liquid in them attatched to what looked to be something like a milky place. Taking a glance down, he saw mummah’s pretty yellow fluff.
Crawling over to inspect the cylinders, he noticed the smell of milk and latched on without hesitation. As he drank, the mare began singing. This woke up his siblings, who started crawling towards him blindly. With his newfound eyesight, the little colt searched for the mare who was singing, but all he saw was his siblings and more see through boxes holding foals like him. Some bigger, some smaller but all of them with flat mummahs.
Almost on cue, a tall pale human with with long black hair walked in as the last chirpy finished filling their bellies. The colt was staring at him. “This had to be the thing that made his mummah flat. Maybe he could fix her?” he thought. Cheeping as loud as possible, the little foal tried in vain to get the man’s attention. All the man did was take each foal out, clean them, then take out their flat mummah and spray her off. The foal was pondering why the flat mummahs didn’t have heads or legs when the man took notice of him.
“Well, what do we have here?” The man smiles and picks the little colt up. He looks intently at the foal’s eyes. “Well now, no wonder your eyes opened first. Other than being an alicorn.”
“Chirp chirp cheep?” The colt was confused. ‘What was an alicorn?’ He asked through a series of cheeps. The man just smiled.
“I have a special place for fluffies like you, and a new mummah that would love to meet you.”
“Cheep Chiirrrrrpp.” the colt was even more confused and was desperate to ask the man to help. “M- cheep mummah!”
“Oh that’s not good, you really shouldn’t be talking yet.”
“P-irp pwease cheeeeeeep hewp mummah chirp.” Straining his under developed vocal chords, the foal finally got his voice out. Even more desperately now, he pointed to the incubator he lived in.
Giving the colt a few pets, the man says in a serious tone, “that’s not your mother. That’s just her skin and fluff.” The foal immediately got the image of his mother cold and alone. “She’s dea- er gone forever-sleepies.” Somehow, the foal understood what he was saying, and immediately started to cry. “Now now, no need for tears. You’re getting a new mummah that will love you no matter what.” As they were leaving the colt chirped and reached for his sibling’s cage. It would be in vain as the man simply didn’t care.
After a short walk, they were outside a new room. The foal could hear the sounds of fluffies coming from inside. These did sound happier to the colt. Opening the door and stepping inside, the colt was greeted by the sight of three fully grown fluffies. An orange earthie mare with a green mane is currently singing to a group of four slightly older foals. Meanwhile a large black alicorn stallion with a silver mane and yellow pegasus mare with a rust colored mane are playing with a ball. The orange mare perks up at the sight of the man immediately. “Daddeh daddeh! Babbeh am abwe tu use wittah box by sewfies!”
“That’s good news Pumpkin. You’re such a good mummah. So good in fact, that I have a surprise for you.”
The mare gently sets down the foal she was hugging and waddles over to the man and the colt. “Am dat anothah babbeh dat nee’ tu weawn tu be gud fwuffy?”
“Yes and no. Unlike the others, this one will be staying here when he gets older. He’s like you, Ralph, and Anna.” He gently hand the colt to the new mare, who immediately hugs him. The colt missed this so much. His mummah hugged him all the time before she became a cage liner, and this new mummah’s hug felt just as nice.
“What am babbeh’s namsies?”
The man thought for a moment and looked at the navy blue alicorn, with the start of a snow white mane. “Hmm, how about Elvis.”
“Chirp, Ewvish wub cheep namsies.”
She gasps,“b-babbeh can tawkies wen dis smaww?!”
“Yeah, he was so desperate to get help that he forced himself to talk early. It’s rare, but it can happen.” He chose not to reveal that this could cause him problems later on. Most likely, the foal would loose the ability to speak if he wasn’t careful.
“Otay daddeh, ‘ou nee’ anytin ewse?” The mare clearly wanted to take the foal back to the others and introduce them.
“No girl, now go have fun.”
“Tank ‘ou daddeh!” With that, the man left and Pumpkin introduced him to his new foal friends.
In the other side of the house, Bob continued to take stock and examine the foals in the incubators. These foals are blissfully unaware that they aren’t here out of the kindness of Bob’s heart. He has been busy hunting down and raiding feral dens to try and find more cannibal fluffies. The ones that weren’t good enough to be potential breeders for the shop he was working on, or posses the cannibal gene, would be culled.
“Let’s see, group five needs to be labeled as potential gene carriers. Groups one and two are total failures with nothing of value and need culled. Three and four need a few more days.”
He grabbed the twelve foals he deemed as failures and placed them in a box. All of them were cheeping happily and babbling about loving the nice mister. They had no reason to fear the man who gives them nothing but kindness. Fortunately, Bob’s good mood from finding another cannibal for his menagerie meant they would get a simple death. Nothing long and drawn out.
The biowaste bin is full at the moment thanks to a feral heard getting plowed into by traffic, so Bob drops them and the box into a large metal barrel that contains a few random fluffy parts and a living pillowed smarty. After adding some lighter fluid, he drops in a match. The symphony of pain fills the air and Bob gives a wide smile as it dies down. A smarty and his herd have just entered his yard, and Ralph and Anna need some exercise.