Day 1
After Chris had finished stringing up the two toughies, he walked back inside his house to take a short break. He poured himself some ice-cold water and sat at his kitchen table, his body ached, and he was sweating. It had been a long morning dealing with his home invaders and to be completely honest Chris was unsure he was doing the right thing. Although they had caused Chris such anguish, was it really the right thing for him to make them suffer like this? Considering that they had lost all the ground they took, was it still worth torturing these animals to death? Chris looked around his kitchen, utterly ransacked from the scavengers and the stains on the other end of the table from his desperate attempt to save his own foal Indy. Chrisâs mind dragged him back to the other day: The extensive damage to Indy, his scared and frantic cheeping, how he had to remove his flayed leg. These thoughts further dragged Chris back to that awful day in the Helmand province, remembering that poor marine bleeding to death in his arms. Anger swelled inside Chris and he threw his cup against the wall, shattering loudly and littering the floor with shards of glass. Chris collected himself and made his way back outside, no matter what happened now he was determined to finish what he had started.
Chris had made his way to the Smartyâs pen; it was small and isolated from the others on the far side closest to the barn. Chris looked down at the hateful, red menace he had captured the day before; further making his blood boil. The smarty was sleeping soundly, without a care in the world. The imprisonment of his herd meant nothing to him and clearly neither did the damage he caused to Chrisâs home and foals. Chris stormed angrily to the barn and crabbed a bucket, which he filled with Ice cold water. He walked back out to the smarties pen and doused him with the frigid water. The sudden shock jolted the smarty awake as Chris screamed at him,
âWell good morning to you, furry asshole; I guess Iâm glad someone can sleep so easilyâ.
The Smarty glared at Chris and stomped his hooves in a rage, he was severely irate that Chris had woken him up from his daily nap. He angrily bellowed at Chris,
âStoopi hoomin! Wai Wake up Smawty fwom bestest sweepies?! You wet hewd go and gib nummies nao!â
Chris chucked the bucket as hard as he could at the smarty, causing the miniature red pony to grunt in agony. He stared directly into the smartyâs eyes and said to him in the coldest and most condescending voice he could,
âYou donât get it do you? You murdered my foals-my babies. You destroyed my home; you destroyed my god damned life! Youâre never leaving here; youâre all going to die here!â
Chris jumped over the gate in the pen and grabbed the smarty, throwing him hard against the ground. The Smarty gasped loudly, as it felt the wind being knocked out of his lungs. Chris grabbed his foals old sorry stick and began to beat the smarty mercilessly with it. The red horse screeched in agony, as Chris only smacked him harder and faster with the sorry stick. After an intense two-minute beating, Chris was tired and out of breath. He looked down at the sniveling, red monster on the ground and glared at him with contempt and disgust. Chris climbed back over the pen when he heard the smarty sob. It was a pathetic display of water works, but this emotion the Smarty felt was probably somewhat legitimate. The Smarty said between sobs,
âhuuuuhuuuuu wai huwt smawty? Am onwy wan bestest wand foâ hewdâ
Chris Snapped back at him,
âYou murdered my foals, fuck faceâ
The smarty sobbed louder and said,
âBabbehs hab bestest wand, wauwm housies, bestest miwkies, bestest toysies, dey no deserb it! No gib toysies ouâ gib nummies! Nuu faiw to hewd! It am aww hewd wand!â
Chris felt himself shake with anger as the smarty lay there in its own self-pity, justifying why his foals deserved to suffer such a horrific fate. They were jealous of the home he made for his foals and tortured them to death for it. His foals were gentle and kind babies, who only wanted to give and receive love. Yet this monster viewed them with such hatred, that he made their final moments of life a living hell, all because they were jealous of their home. As he tried to process the vile nature of this creature, dark thought entered Chrisâs head.
Chris had remembered that although the Fat Bitch was this bastardâs mate, he had other foals from other mares. He turned back to mare and foal pen, eliciting some screams from the populace. Chris took the small notebook out from his pocket and flipped through the pages to verify the foals he was about to grab. His notes had mentioned at least two other foals that were guaranteed to be the Smartyâs, one was a light blue and red maned weanling filly and the other was a green and orange maned chirpy baby. Chris had grabbed both of the terrified foals, cheeping, and peeping for their moms to save them. Terrified foals in hand, chis made his way back to the smarties pen and said to the nasty creature,
âHey asshole, I thought Iâd give you a little companyâ
The smarty looked at Chris in horror and said, âOdah babbehs?!â
Chris glared at the red horse and said, âOh, you think I didnât know? Well, I decided youâre fat enough as it is, so Iâm cutting down your rations to two portions for the weekâ.
Chris dropped the foals into the pen, the chirpy baby falling into some mud, while the weanling fell hard on her hind leg breaking it. The weanling sobbed and cheeped a high-pitched screech of pain. The smarty tried to crawl over to the comfort of the hurt and scared foals but found himself in too much pain to move. Chris looked at the pain and the fear inside Smartyâs eyes, he felt himself shiver as it reminded him about how he found Indy a few days back. He shook his head and made his way back into his home, he was done dealing with the ferals for today.
Day 4
It had been an agonizing few days for the smarty, as Chris never let down on spontaneous beatings. He would come outside early, using an air horn to suddenly wake the smarty and begin to mercilessly beat him with the sorry stick over and over. The loud noise set off the Smartyâs two foals, who would then scree at the top of their little lungs in fear. Once awake the weanling filly would moan and complain about her broken leg, further degrading the Smartyâs quality of sleep. The smarty and two foals were rapidly losing weight, as Chris had been true to his word that he would limit their food supply. Unfortunately for the foals, their Smarty daddy did not prioritize their needs at all with the food rations. The smarty had eaten every ounce of food on the first day, leaving both the foals hungry. Not that it would have mattered much for the late-stage Chirpy baby, who is only capable of suckling milk. He had grown severely emaciated, and very sickly. The weanling was forced to subsist on her fatherâs shit, the vile taste making her sick and barely able to keep it down. Unfortunately, this is not new in nature, the smarty had come to accept there were good times, as there were bad times. They simply had to, once again, endure a potential bad time. There was one thing though, that made it extra unbearable, the incessant chirping.
Since they came into his pen, both the chirpy baby and weanling complained and sobbed the whole time. They cheeped from the hunger, the pain, their fear at all hours of the day and night. Its not their fault, after all their only babies, with the oldest being only two months old. However, their chirping was like a constant jack hammer on the side of their fatherâs head, who was injured, hungry, and hadnât slept well in days. Every so often, he would yell at his two foals to be quiet, or he would give them âsowwy hoofsiesâ, but that only made them shriek for their mothers and make his headache worse. Finally, in the early hours of the morning it became too much for him to deal with and he just snapped.
The smarty walked over to the emaciated chirpy baby, still desperately cheeping for even just a drop of milk or comfort from its mother. The smarty glared down at the desperate baby and began to stomp on it. The baby screeched and chirped for help, as the smarty kept stomping on it screaming âNu chirpies! Nuuu Chirpies!!!â. A nasty squelching noise was heard from the chirpy baby, driving the smarty into a further fit of rage. He bent down and put the babyâs head in his mouth, and took a hard bite, decapitating his foals head. He then proceeded to cannibalize his foal, devouring the babyâs corpse. His other foal looked on in horror, cheeping pathetically for her mother to save her. The Smarty looked at her and screamed, âSmawty Say NU MORE CHIRPIES!â. The Smarty chased the weanling across the pen until she was cornered. She tapped desperately on the wood of the pen, crying for anyone to save her. Sadly, she would find no salvation and was viciously eaten by her father.
Chris had just got to the Smartyâs pen when he saw that display. Although he had intended on the smarty to eat his foals for survival, he did not expect the smarty to eat them in a fit of rage. His own children werenât safe from being victims of his anger, and on a whim, he ended both of their lives. He suffered not from watching his children die, but because they were annoying him so much. It became abundantly clear to Chris that this sociopath in fluff, did not care about anything other than himself. His subjects, enforcers, mate, and even his foals meant nothing to him if they inconvenienced him in the slightest way. If Chris couldnât make him suffer by hurting the ones closest to him, he would have to hurt the only fluffy he really cared about, himself.
Chris walked away from the pen, to go find something in the barn that he could use to hurt the Smarty. He scoured the barn for any tool that he could use and after nearly fifteen minutes of searching he finally found something. It was an old barn spike, it had probably been sitting unused in the barn for nearly a century. It was essentially a large, jagged, rusty iron nail with a flared head at the base. It weighed nearly three pounds, and was nearly four inches long. Chris then grabbed his head resistant gloves, his blow torch, and a hammer. He walked back to the pen to look at the Smarty, and noticed the bastard was sleeping soundly. Perhaps getting a stomach full of foal after not sleeping for a few days, finally caused him to drift off into sleep.
Chris turned on the blow torch and heated up the tip of the barn spike, until its point was red hot. He placed the hammer into his pocket, holding the spike in his hand as he hopped the fence and snuck up onto the sleeping red bastard. He Kneeled down into the mud, firmly placing his hand on the smartyâs head and ramming the red-hot iron spike into his anus. The smarty jolted awake from burning pain in his anus, screening at the top of his lungs and flailing his legs. Chris slammed the smartyâs face into the earth and began to hammer the spike into his anus. The air filled with the scent of singed fur, shit, and searing agony; as Chris began the arduous process of hammering the spike into the flailing beast. It ended up taking five swings of the hammer to become perfectly flush inside the smarty, much to the red stallionâs agony. Chris turned the evil creature over onto its side, and smashed the hammer into the side of its jaw, shattering all the teeth on the left side of its face. He took the claw of the hammer and dragged it across the smartyâs body, ripping out fur and cutting him up. By the time Chris was done, a quarter of his fur was gone, leaving the smarty a whimpering and sobbing mess.
Chris left the red bastard to sob in his pen alone, he had wasted too much time on this worthless creature and had things to take care of around the house. As Chris was leaving he heard the red bastard mumble to himself between sobs, âhuuuuuâŠhuuuuuuuâŠnu wan be smawty no moâ fwuffy hab too many owies, wann mummahâŠhuuuuâŠâ. Through driving the spike into Smartyâs anus, he had finally broken the malicious creatureâs spirit. Chris walked back to his house, as he noticed a commotion on the other side of the pen. His pitiful moaning made the rank and file fluffies panic in fear, they no longer had a smarty to lead them through this nightmare.
Day 7 (The Early Morning)
In the early hours of the morning, something was not right in the Carter household. Chris tossed and turned violently, he shook and gripped the sheets in his sleep. He had not been sleeping well for the past week since the home invasion happened, and his post traumatic stress disorder symptoms were constantly flaring up. Panic attacks, bouts of uncontrollable anger, and the constant nightmares were getting to Chris. Every so often Chris would find himself slipping back to finding his foals being murdered, or the terrible live saving procedure he had to do for Indy, or that awful day back in Afghanistan, and even now he was being plagued by the torture he was putting the fluffies through.
In Chrisâs nightmare, all these events seemed to blend together rapidly, the fluffies all severely wounded in Afghanistan amongst the soldiers and enemy combatants. The wounded marine Chris always fails to save, suddenly flashes in form into Indy and says to Chris, âPlease, I donât want to die!â. The remaining dead soldiers take the form of his other foals: Flurry, Pyra, and Truffle. They were mutilated horrifically, but somehow still alive. They started to crawl at Chris, flashing between foal and dead marine chanting, âYou canât save anything, all you can do is hurtâ. Chris fell to the ground and backed up against the humvee, the enemy combatants began to flash between fluffy and insurgent, bloodied and half decayed. Every morbid creature began to chant at him, âYou let us die, Murdererâ. The flashing bodies began to crawl over Chris, gnawing at his skin, each bite pulling chunks out of his skin as he felt the Marine-Indy-corpse, tearing out his throat.
Chris woke up screaming, his heart was beating rapidly in a frenzy. He was hyperventilating and sweating profusely, he rolled out of bed and frantically began searching for his anxiety medicine. He stumbled around in a frenzy for a few minutes, until he found the bottle. Chris opened the bottle and tried to pour the contents into his hand, but the pill bottle was empty. âFuck!â Chris threw the bottle against the wall, and lay on the floor trying to control his breathing. He said his mantra to himself to calm his breathing, it took about five minutes for him to finally calm down.
Chris got up and walked to the bathroom, filling the sink up with water and splashing his face with it. The cold water helped him clear the sweat away from his face, and when he was finished he dried his face off with the towel. Chris stared at himself in the mirror, he looked like absolute shit. Chris had become a sickly pale and gotten noticeably thinner, the bags under his eyes were deep set and brownish purple. He hadnât shaved in days, and his hair was unkempt and greasy. He sighed and made his way back to bed, Chris could only hope that he could get some iota of sleep tonight.
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 the execution of the fat bitch, the brown rapist, and the two remaining toughies. It was finally on to the main event, Chris would have to take care of the herdâs alpha; the smarty.
Chris walked over to the pen and saw the smarty laying on his side listlessly, occasionally whimpering. He had lost significant weight, with many of the cuts on his body having become infected from lying in nasty mud and fluffy shit. The barn spike was still deep in his anus, which let no shit pass out of his body. Although his ribs were showing, his lower half was swollen from being so backed up with shit. Chris looked over the pathetic creature, for a moment he felt a little pity for it. Cast out from the amazing land that was Chrisâs house, to have his whole herd systematically captured and his closest allies tortured to death. However, Chris had a job to do and needed to see it through.
Chris Grabbed the Smarty by his scruff, he shrieked from Chris giving him âbad-upsiesâ. Chris brought the smarty to his face, and noticed it recoiled in fear pissing all over itself. It was a shell of its former self, the once fearless tyrant now no more threatening than a snivelling child. Chris walked out of the pen with the fluffy, and showed it the sorry state of its herd. He said to the cowering ball of red fluff in his hands,
âTake a good look at your handiwork, this is all because of what you did that awful day. You donât care though, I know you donât really give a shitâ.
Chris sighed and resumed speaking, âNone of you learned anything from this encounter, you only pretend to be sorry because you got caughtâ.
The red stallion tried to muster out some words, but was drowned out by Chris continuing to ramble on.
âIâve executed each and everyone of your friends, your mate, and all of your foals. I struggled to think of the way I was going to execute you in particular, but I think I know a wayâ.
Chris brought the smarty to the table and slammed him onto his back onto the table, he grabbed the thin ripe he used on the two toughies and wrapped it tightly around the Smartyâs testicles. The red cowered squealed in pain, complaining about his special lumps giving him the, âwowstest huwtiesâ. When Chris finished tying it, found an old thirty pound kettlebell weight, and tied the other end of the rope to it. He yanked the rope, painfully pulling the smarty back down off his legs by his testes. Chris looked at the Smarty dead in the eyes and said, continuing off from his earlier words,
âI can only imagine the complete and total fear my foals felt when they opened their precious little eyes to see you leering down at them like pieces of meat. Their last moments of life were completely consumed by the fear that you monsters instilled in them. I decided for your execution, your last moments will be consumed with fear tooâ.
Chris cleared his throat and said, âRed baby fucker, you have brought nothing but death and devastation to my home. Although your toughies and mare had killed my foals, this whole event was orchestrated by your wanton desire.â
Chris continued on, yelling at the quivering red bastard, âThe greatest irony of it all you dumb fuck, is if you had just asked, I would have given your herd the barn and taken care of you allâ!
Chris paused for a second to collect himself. His hand was shaking violently, and his voice had been strained from yelling at the top of his lungs. He calmed his breathing and continued on with his speech to the former home invader,
âI sentence you to death by drowning, your last few moments will be terrifying desperation for your final gasps of airâ.
The Red stallionâs eyes widened as Chris lifted up the kettle bell, the smarty tried to run but tugged too hard on his strung up balls and fell off the table onto the floor. Chris dragged the rope, the smarty trying to grip the grass pathetically with his weak hooves, screaming and sobbing for anyone to help him. He screeched at Chris, â Pwease! Fwuffy am sowwy! Wawa Bad Foâ Fwuffies! Nu wan foweba sweepies!â. Chris tugged harder against the rope causing the fluffy immense pain, as he screamed and sobbed for his special friend, his foals, and even his deceased mother to save him. The two minute drag to the large pond on Chrisâs property, must have been the most agonizing moments of his life. The red fluffy clinged to Chrisâs leg, sobbing and shaking uncontrollably pleading, âPwease nyu daddeh sabe babbeh! Nu wan foweba sweepies!â. Chis chucked the kettlebell as far as he could into the deep end of the pond, making a large splash. The rope tugged, gripping the smarty by his testes causing him to let go of Chrisâs leg and get dragged quickly to the pondâs edge. The Smarty screeched at Chris, âFwuffy Hatechu! Hatechu! Hatechu! Hatcechu!â until he was pulled into the water.
The smarty desperately flailed in the water gasping for air, and screeching at the top of his lungs. The Kettle bell had sunk to the bottom, with the rope just long enough for the fluffy to barely keep his muzzle out of the water. He shrieked, and screamed, and hyper ventilated as his arms grew tired. Water would spill into his mouth as he gasped for air, he desperately tried to stay afloat, but the heavy spike in his ass just tired him out too quickly. His arms grew tired and he sank further into the dark water, his eyes gazing up at the sunâs reflection on the water. As the smarty began to slowly sink deeper into the darkness, the final bit of air left his body filling his lungs with water. The smarty sunk all the way to the bottom of the pond, drowning with a look of horror on his once smug face. The smarty was no more.
Chris glared at the water in the pond and when he saw the final air bubbles, sighed in relief. The unwelcome bastard that set off this horrific chain of events, had finally met justice and his foals had been properly avenged. Chris sat down in the grass and let his mind wander off for a moment, it had been a long and difficult week. He thought about the preceding days and wondered to himself if it had truly been worth it. Before Chris could find out the answer to his question, he felt a familiar vibration in his pocket. He grabbed the phone, quickly answering it, saying to the caller, âHey, this is ChrisâŠâ.
hope to see the finale.