Day 1
The Orange and Blue toughies watched Chris drag their brown fluffed friend away and spent nearly thirty minutes listening to his pathetic screams echoing from the barn. It shook them, although the brown toughie was their lowest ranking enforcer, he was one of the herds strongest. After what felt like an uncomfortable eternity, Chris came back and tossed the mangled body of their friend into their pen’s shit pile. It was unreal to them, to see all that damage their capture had done to him. The Orange and the Blue fluffy screeched and tried to flee but were very suddenly grabbed by Chris. His grip on their neck scruff was incredibly uncomfortable, they wriggled their legs and desperately tried to break free. Pathetically, the two fluffies screeched and begged for Chris to not hurt them because they were, “Good fluffys”. It’s this kind of behavior, that he absolutely hated about these fluffies. Not a moment ago, they were demanding that Indy be brought back, so they could further use him to release their frustrations. Whether or not they meant it or simply wanted to get a rise out of Chris no longer mattered, the sheer arrogance they had in demanding such a thing was sickening. They saw nothing wrong with demanding a near dead foal to be used for “enfies” and somehow had to cognitive dissonance to still view themselves as the victims.
Chris brought the screeching fluffies to the barn, closing the door quickly behind him. He slammed both fluffies onto the table hard, the pain knocking the wind from their tiny lungs, stunning them. The gasped in pain, they could not even muster a sound to articulate the agony of being slammed hard onto their ribs. As they desperately tried to collect themselves, Chris went to fetch a few tools to further assist him in the discipline of the herd. A Hammer, pliers, rope, and a lead pipe were all the tools Chris needed, to ensure their final days would be miserable. As the orange fluffy tried to stand again, Chris forced him back down again. He readied the hammer and smacked it as hard as he could on the orange fluffy’s hind leg, shattering it. The Orange fluffy wailed in pain, its leg twisted in an unnatural way. The orange fluffy tried to crawl away, hyperventilating, but the pain was way too much for the lazy enforcer that he succumbed to unconsciousness. The Blue fluffy tried to quietly crawl away, he nearly made it to the edge of the table but unfortunately was grabbed by Chris.
“Going somewhere?” Chris said coldly as he brought the fluffy back, slamming it down again as he readied his hammer.
The blue fluffy sobbed pitifully and pleaded to Chris, “Bwue fwuffy su sowwy, nu am bad fwuffy! Fwuffy Nu huwt babbehs!”
Chris glared at the overweight blue unicorn, pulling his neck back by his mane. Chris slammed his head back down unto the table, he said firmly to the blue fluffy, “You really think I’m that stupid? I saw what you did to my foal, flurry”. Chris grabbed the pliers from the table and clamped them around the blue unicorn’s horn. Chris then said to the blue unicorn, “I saw you rip her wings off on camera, I know you did that deliberately to hurt her”. Chris smirked as he began to squeeze the pilers down, twisting and pulling as hard as he could. Unicorns, much like pegasi and alicorns, have tons of nerve endings inside their horns. Although they could use them to fight, having pressure applied to them in such a way was an unbearable pain. The blue unicorn cried and screamed, as Chris shattered his horn. The one thing that makes a unicorn so unique, was permanently ruined. The Fat blue unicorn sobbed over the loss of his precious horn, how unfair it was that Chris denied him of the single attribute that (in his mind) made him better than an Earthie or Pegasus. It didn’t matter though; they were all nothing more than glorified oxygen thieves and foal rapists in Chris’s mind.
Chris tossed the pliers down and grabbed the thin rope, he knew exactly how he was going to punish these two bags of shit. He tied the rope securely around their testes, fortunately neither fluffy fought back terribly hard. Chris yanked on the middle of the rope firmly, to test its durability waking up the orange fluffy and causing the blue one to moan about his special lumps. He looked upon the nasty miniature horses, grabbing by the scruff of their necks brought them outside to the old tree on his property. The tree was rather old, possibly being on the property loner than his own house was. The leaves had fallen from the tree a long time ago and Chris had noticed that there was a prominent insect infestation on the tree. It took Chris a few minutes to find a branch that was both low enough and sturdy enough for him to use. He then flung the orange toughie over the branch and let go of the blue fluffy, the rope draped over the branch and dangled both toughies painfully from their testes. The sudden jolt of pulling on the orange fluffy’s testes gave him an insurmountable pain, causing him to violently scream and shit all over himself and the blue toughie.
He sobbed “huhuhuhuhu Wai Huwt Guud Fwuffy, Speciaw Wumps Huwties”! The blue toughie also cried, begging for the smarty to somehow save them.
Chris watched them flail and squirm, the more they move the tighter the rope gripped onto their testes. Chris went back into the barn to grab the lead pipe he had left behind, as their shrieks of pain echoed across the farm. He returned back to the tree; lead pipe held firmly into his grip. He looked at the terrified fluffies and calmly spoke to them.
“Hey foal fuckers, we’re going to play a game. You’re going to be the piñatas, and I’m going to be the birthday boy. Y’all better have some candy inside”!
Chris readied the lead pipe and swung the pipe hard into the orange fluffies face, knocking all his teeth out. The momentum knocked him horn first into the leg of the blue fluffy, piercing his hind leg and causing him to send an eruption of nasty shit all over themselves. Gravity eventually forced the blue one to swing back, smashing his ruined horn against the eye of the orange fluffy. Chris then swung his lead pipe several times against the two fluffies, changing the direction and the angle often to fairly dole out the agony. After nearly ten minutes of this vicious beating, Chris tossed the bat down and began punch the blood soaked fluffies with his bare hands. Eventually he had found himself satisfied with the damage he had caused them and left them there dangling from the tree. The fluffies coughed and hyperventilated from the severe beating they received, terrified of what would become of them next.
Day 4
The two fluffies hanging from the tree in tandem were battered and starving, Chris had left them to their own devices and outright ignored their constant pleas and sobs. Occasionally, some of the nasty shit that soaked their bloodied fur would slide down enough for them to lap up, barely offering enough sustenance to keep themselves alive. The relentless beating Chris had given them, had broken several bones and tore against their skin allowing some shit to seep in and infect the wounds. The orange fluffy, although starving, toothless, with several broken bones; was doing significantly better than the blue one. The Blue fluffy had a compound fracture in his hind leg, and the orange fluffy’s shit had saturated the wound. His leg was slowly becoming gangrenous, it was evident he had a nasty sepsis infection.
The Orange fluffy complained at the blue fluffy as they dangled in tandem, “Fwuffy am suuu hungwie and hab suu many huwties, bwue fwuffy hab nummies?”
The Blue fluffy responded in short breaths, barely focused on the words of the orange fluffy, “Haf…Fwuffy….Haf……Nu…Feww…Haff…Nu Pwetty….whew…fwuffy”.
The blue fluffy occasionally violently shook, he had a high fever with a worsening prognosis. Unfortunately, this violent shaking would send jolts of pain to the orange fluffy, who’s bruised and enlarged testes would absorb every shock sent over the rope. He sobbed and complained, his throat hurt from the days of incessant complaining that fell onto deaf ears. As they dangled from the branch, the orange fluffy suddenly felt a disgusting crawling sensation all over his body. Suddenly he felt a sharp bite screening at the top of his lungs, he flailed as he felt more bites against his fluff and skin. The cascade of shit from the first day, had attracted a variety of stinging insects from the tree to try and forage what they could off the fluffy’s body. The bites were relentless and horrifically itchy, but the orange fluffy could do nothing to abate the pain.
The blue fluffy felt the bites against his skin and began to flail and began to panic. He hyperventilated and flailed hard as he could, but it did nothing to abate the insect’s relentless assault onto his body. Unfortunately, this would be too much for his feeble body as his heartbeat began to rapidly increase to dangerous levels. The blue fluffy choked on air, as his heart kept beating harder and harder; a sharp pain deep in his chest only getting worse. Suddenly his eyes rolled back and the blue fluffy’s heart stopped. He had died from a heart attack induced by septic shock, and lay limp as a dead weight against the Orange fluffy’s testes. The orange fluffy sobbed and sobbed, until he completely gave up and lay listlessly against the wind.
Day 7
It had been a full week since Chris had imprisoned his home invaders, and what a busy week it had been. The herd had been punished for their crimes, they were broken, and their morale was destroyed. Several died throughout the punishment process, though many more somehow desperately clinging to life. Although admirable in their resolve, Chris firmly believed that these fluffies were just too stupid to properly die. The week was drawing to a close and soon Chris would need to check up on Indy from the doctor. It was time to finish what he had started; it was time to finally terminate his captives. Chris had just finished burying the fat-bitch with her brood and dealing the shit-colored rapist. It was time to check in on the two toughies he left dangling from the tree branch last week, to see if they had finally died.
Chris grabbed his shovel and begin walking towards the tree, when suddenly he heard a ripping noise, a hoarse fluffy screech, and a loud thud. Chris sprinted as fast as he could to the tree, he needed to make sure that if the toughies were alive, they couldn’t escape. He wondered if the old tree’s branch had finally given out, from the constant pressure of two fluffies dangling over it. When Chris got there to his surprise, the tree branch had not broken and was in good condition. At first, he was confused on how the fluffies had fallen from the tree, but upon closer inspection figured it out. The blue fluffy had died three days before, his body reeked of the putrid scent that one would smell off of week-old roadkill. The fat fluffy was half eaten, with insects crawling all over his corpse. Half of the fluffy’s skull was visible, as was rotten muscle tissue and exposed bones. Chris surmised that he had decayed and been devoured so much, that his body could no loner handle the weight of the Orange fluffy and simply shred apart at the waist.
As Chris looked on, he heard the familiar coughing and wheezing he had become accustomed to from dying and suffering fluffies. The orange fluffy was still alive, although barely. The insects seem to have gotten impatient with his slow rotting, and simply decided to begin infesting and eat him while he was still alive. The Orange fluffy was missing huge patches of fur, was coated in bites and stings, with several infected wounds that were crawling with insects. His right eye, which was damaged from the first day, was crawling with maggots and all four of his legs were severely broken. He wheezed and cried, his mangled and half-starved body shivered in agony. The orange fluffy had suffered enough, with Chris being disgusted yet satisfied on what transpired.
Chris walked behind the rotting fluffy, placing his shovel’s tip at the edge of his neck. He took a deep breath and said to the orange toughie, “You and your herd have committed unforgivable crimes against my home and foals, I sentence you to death”. The orange fluffy tried to crawl away with its broken limbs, but it was too weak to move an inch. Chris place his foot on the heel of the shovel forcing his body weight onto the spade and in one swift motion, decapitated the once orange toughie. His head rolled over to a look of shock and fear, as blood pooled from his mangled body.
Chris tossed the shovel down and braced himself against the tree, he felt nauseous. The constant screams, blood, and killing of these nasty fluffies was severely degrading his mental health. Their suffering gave him nightmares and the gore was forcibly dragging him back to that day so long ago in Afghanistan. Chris tried to calm himself down, but he was having severe difficulty in doing so. He had stopped talking his medicine when he got his foals, and the repeated trauma of the past nine days was almost too much for him to handle. Finally, Chris calmed himself down and marched over back to the fluffy pens. There was one perpetrator left and Chris needed to give him his full attention.