A Punished Baby (Reddith83r)

A foal cheeps at the ragged corpses of its family members.

Its immediate group of family and friends are configured into twisted, bloody parodies of living form. Had the perpetrator spent a few more minutes of depravity upon the helpless imbeciles, they would have been rendered indistinguishable from processed meat run through a grinder, left splayed out on a grimy alley floor. The victims were reduced to smeared organs and flesh, barely identifiable aside from the tattered remnants of pelts clinging to the disemboweled guts painting the surroundings shades of red. The bloodshed left a rancid smell in the air. And now there was only one fluffy left to observe this carnage and drown in the terror of it all.

The shadow creeping over its frail frame caused the foal to twist around to face the evil in the shape of a man. Quaking fear began to take its hold over the creature as its undeveloped mind raced to conceive of the concept of mortality. Yet, even an adult fluffy is unable to internalize the plains of eternity; the so-called ‘forever sleep’, so the foal is left to wallow in its ignorance and fear without any hope or comprehension.

“Am onwy widdow babbeh! Am onwy widdow babbeh! Nu huwt! Huggies an’ wub! Nee’ huggies an’ wub!” it cheeps and chirps in hopeless desperation as compelled by its baser instincts and mental predisposition ingrained by its corporate progenitors.

The figure in dark clothing looms without works or motion, seeming to revel in the panic and disorientation of the defenseless artificial being. In time, the foal conjures enough of its limited wits to continue, “Am onwy widdow babbeh, din’ do anyfing wong! Wai huwt famiwy!? Wai gib wowstest foweba sweepies to famiwy!?”

Finally, the man moves. He went down to one knee in a slow, shade-like manner. Despite this, the terrified foal blundered over itself and flopped onto its back. While the fluffy blubbered anxious cries and tried to scoot away from the reaper, its sphincter contracted uselessly in an attempt to prevent that which fluffies are infamous for. With a disgusting ‘spurt’, the foal released its wasteful bile all over its tail, ruining the minimal hair it was able to grow up until present. And the mess only grew from there, a semi-solid streak of nastiness leading back towards the lukewarm sanguine pools.

The perpetrator could only chuckle at the scene.

“Look at you. Look at where you live. ‘Live’,” the man repeated the word with a sarcastic bite, “you’re worthless and you’re filthy. We kill your kind off in droves, and only the senile and sentimental keep the ‘best’ of your kind around for their amusement.”

The man was talking for his own sake, rather than any desire to answer the foal’s sorrowful questions. The fluffy could not tell the difference, and took the words spoken at it as for what they were. “Am sowwy fo’ bein’ bad fwuffy! Famiwy sowwy fo’ bein’ bad fwuffies!”

“Hmm?” the man was brought out of his introspection, and he went over the foal’s words in his mind again. Then, he grinned widely. “Oh? Now, what makes you so certain that your family is sorry? Your family is dead! Dead! D.E.A.D. Can you even say that word? Is it too scary for you?”

“Huuuuu huuuu, nu wike dat wowd! Is bad wowd!”

“You’re surrounded by the bloody bodies of your dead mother, father, brothers, sisters and whatever else relative or friend you might have had ten minutes ago! You’re still concerned about bad words!? How much do I have to hurt you shitrats until you start behaving like reasonable animals!?”

The berating words earned another involuntary bowel movement. “Am onwy widdow babbeh! Am onwy widdow babbeh!” the foal whimpered before it started to suck on a hoof.

“You’re just a little (Reddit-word), is what you are.” The man drew the instrument of his hatred from his coat: a humble mallet, stained red, with viscera still clinging to its steel exterior. Then, he leaned forward. The rapidity in which his body eclipsed the foal’s vision made it wail in fright. It peed all over its belly fluff.

“Here, you can have this. It probably smells like everyone you ever knew, still. Even with all the blood.”

The man set the mallet down head first beside the foal. The fluffy scrunched its eyes shut and recoiled away from the accursed object. He was right. It did smell like all the fluffies the foal ever loved. Horrible tears wracked its small body. The tears lodged in its throat, suppressed by the hoof, and they created a terrible choking sensation that left the fluffy’s throat feeling raw.

“Give it all your love. Get your hugs from it. This took everything you had away from you, and now it’s all you have left, little (Reddit-word),” the man said tauntingly. “Little lonely hammer wants to be your everything, little baby (Reddit-word).”

“Huu huu… nu wike namesie… Widdow Fabbo sounds meanie namesie…”

The man laughed heartily, which made the fluffy whimper and curl up into itself. “Well damn! Isn’t that just adorable? Maybe I could see why people want to keep you fucking things around!”

The foal peeked up at the horrible man. “M-m-mistow be Widdow Fabbo nyu daddeh?”

“Fuck no, idiot! But as much as I want to see you vermin dead, I’ll leave you alive. I never named a fluffy before, you see. I think the moment is something worth cherishing, regardless of whether you starve or retard yourself to death!”

The foal, now identifying itself as “Little (Reddit-word)”, curled back into its defensive ball as the man stood up, cackling to himself. Little (Reddit-word) heard the sound of his boots fading as he walked away down the alley, although his laughter carried along the brick and metal corridor. After some time, the foal was left to its own. The relative quiet of the city-- for it was never truly quiet-- returned to the alley. The constant hum of electricity coursing through lamps, the drone of rubber on asphalt in the distance. Any number of other incidental, urban ambiences.

However, in the midst of this constant noise, was the palpable silence and physical absence of the fluffies turned into grisly mush on the pavement. Little (Reddit-word) wept and wept, curled into its pitiable ball. Its forelegs wrapped around its hind legs in a pointless self-hug as it cried. Unbeknownst to the fluffy, there were other things with just as good-- or better-- of a sense of smell as it possessed lurking out of sight. The blood in the air traveled, and they came.

Little (Reddit-word) would have been a goner as it was; far from ready to run-- if one can call any kind of fluffy agility “running”. Or even “agility”, for that matter. Far too consumed in grief to even try, at that. The timing of the hounds at the precipice was a matter of serendipity, though.

For they were actually hounds. Stray dogs, left to suffer in neglect, starving for any morsel they could scrounge up. Their keen noses and hungry stomachs led a good number of them to converge on the site of the slaughter. Maybe the foal would have been eaten first before the still-flesh was consumed. Maybe the dead would have taken precedence over the foal alltogether.

There was no saying for certain what would have happened, because the dogs detected each other first. As they drew nearer and nearer to the place of contention, the snarling grew all the louder. The sound piqued the ears of the foal, and fluffy cowardice inspired its drive to struggle once more.

Little (Reddit-word) scrambled to its hooves and did a double take at the alley. Its breaths came as rapid panting with its tongue out, not unlike the canines that wished to feed. A foam started to build up at the sides of the foal’s mouth, before vomit flowed tepidly from its gut. Little (Reddit-word) paid little mind to it. The foal had to hide somewhere!

The nest-place did not prevent the others from taking the forever sleep, so Little (Reddit-word) knew it could not rely on it. Credit where credit was due for something with such limited intelligence. The foal spotted the spout of a rain gutter, and without any other immediate alternatives, it hurried over to it. Face-first, naturally. It was a tight fit, and the foal barely fit the full length of itself into the drain.

In such a confined space, the stench of the feces in its coat was nigh unbearable. Little (Reddit-word) sobbed and muttered its misgivings to itself. As undesirable as its position was, the foal found fixating on its own suffering and sadness was a pleasant alternative to listening to the dogs battling just outside.




Guttural, bestial noises. Then the yelps and whimpers of pain as their powerful jaws did their deadly work on each other. Some scampering paws as the defeated hounds fled for their lives. Eventually there were only a select few remaining, and through nature’s gladiatorial methods, the dogs had earned each other’s respect. Enough to share the spoils that summoned them.

Little (Reddit-word) kept on complaining so that it wouldn’t have to hear the slobbering. The wet smack of teeth ripping into meat. Of tongues lapping up blood. Enough passed that even the victors of the battle moved on, and Little (Reddit-word) drew up the courage to leave the drain.

Courage. And disgust, which was really something for a filthy feral. The foal turned a begrudging eye to where its family used to be. Hardly anything was left of their ruined bodies. Even the hammer was disturbingly clean of their remains.

Little (Reddit-word) choked back some more tears. “Bawky munstas took famiwy an’ fwends! Bawky munstas… and munsta-mistow! Nu wike! Nu wan’! Wan’ fwuffies backsies! Am onwy widdow babbeh! Am onwy… Widdow Fabbo… huuu huuu huuu…”

Depressive anguish came over the foal once more, but it knew it could not remain in its familial alley anymore. Fluffies did not remember much, young fluffies especially. Any joyful memories it may have had of its herd were already overwritten with imagery and sounds of ruthless executions, and the loathsome words of the one who had done the wicked deeds.

Little (Reddit-word) wandered onwards without a goal, except for the stubborn directive to “live”. But what life was there to be had for a lonesome baby in this world where monsters descended on fluffies and splattered them across the concrete? Where monsters came in the dark to eat their remains without care?

What was life outside of the two enclosing walls of an alley, where there was nothing to subsist on other than garbage?

What was life for things that were not hated?

How did people live?

Little (Reddit-word) wanted to know these things as it hobbled into the unknown with teary eyes and an aching heart. It was still alive in body, but the spirit was already sleeping forever, it felt like.


Written as a one-off. Depending on reception, may become a series.


I bet that guy has a really shitty living situation.


Definitely doesn’t have a dope ass gaming setup. Definitely doesn’t have an internet connection, otherwise he’d be lurking and trolling this site. What a sad piece of shit indeed.


I assume that simply because berating a filthy fluffy you found in an alley about their living situation kind of feels like projection.


Could be. I enjoy when people find meaning in the details left intentionally vague in these stories. In a way, they take some ownership of them in doing so.


A series to follow Widdow Faggo’s life sounds like a good idea. Great work explaining how his limited preprogrammed mind tries to handle all of his struggles and trauma.


Thank you for reading!


If it isn’t yet weaned, starvation is its fate.


A sadbox series like the series of unfortunate events would be sick. Maybe even a hugbox ending if you’re feeling merciful


Hey @Reddit-Word_H83r , you know there are liable to be people that get upset about the copious use of the word “faggot” in this story, right?
In my opinion, so long as you’re not using the word to attack members, it’s not that big of a deal.
But what would you think about moving this story to Controversial to cut down on arguments?

I haven’t made any decisions one way or another, but I’d like to hear your side of the issue.


I feel like it works here to show how despicable the human is. Truly a redditor.


I’d happily censor the usage to Reddit-Word because it amuses me to do so.

Edit: I have done this thing.



Use of this word got me banned from Reddit the first time, so it’s forever ingrained as the (Reddit-word) to me. To see someone completely unrelated to that incident make the same connection is so unexpectedly delightful.


Oh please give us more, you’re a god damn wizard at writing suffering fluffies, I NEED MORE


Alrighty then!



The idea to ask you two to look at this one came a while ago. Even now, I am unsure if this is something I should do. But in many ways, I realize this story is the thematic inverse of Long Haul. Unintentionally so.

If you get through to the ending of this story, do tell me what your takeaway is. If not, understandable.

This is my usual brand of depravity. :^)


I felt very detached from the overall story. That’ll happen with me and abuse stuff quite often, and one of the reasons I don’t read much of it. I think the oppressiveness of the situation for the foal was more than I wanted to get into.

I had nothing invested to lose, nor much sense of loss as I couldn’t connect with the foal, it’s family, etc. It’s that detached numbness I can feel when seeing “X many people died in an accident” on the news. It’s all intellectual.

That’s not to say it’s poorly written or anything. It just didn’t land for me.

Do appreciate “Reddit Word.” It’s interesting in that it’s something that would be unacceptable in the main two social groups I’m in even though they’re quite opposite each other (ie, my more liberal leaning friends and online friends versus my conservative Christian friends many of whom are not pro-LGBT). Even when I was in the South it wasn’t tossed around or used much.

Regarding abuse: I like @Stwumpo stuff because he’s saying something or aiming at a target. I like @BFM101 for the rich characters I can dig into. So it’s not that I won’t read and enjoy abuse heavy work. But there needs to be something else there for me, and in this case I couldn’t find a hook for me to latch onto. That is, of course, TOTALLY a personal taste thing and has no bearing on the quality of the work (which again, was good but not for me).

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Thank you for taking the time to entrain the request!

I will be take your response as an opportunity to explain what I meant by this story being a thematically inverted Long Haul, without writing an entire essay:

Long Haul was a coming of age story, while this one is about a foal senselessly denied the opportunity to grow up. The loneliness both endure superficially is the same, but resonates differently with the connotation of the respective stories.

I think that is an interesting thing to observe.


so wait does that mean your name translates to “faggot hater”?

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