A series of short stories
Merciless Abuser
A thick brown smear was sitting in the middle of the room. Daffodil hadn’t noticed it until she was done watching the TV. She was so engrossed with the cute babbehs on the screen that she hadn’t even noticed it happening.
But it happened. Poopies. Outside the litterbox. bad poopies. They smelled really bad. Bad poopies always smelled bad when they were outside the litterbox, not that they smelled particularly nice within, but without the sand to hide them, they were especially bad. Daddeh would not be happy.
Daddeh was never happy. Not anymore. Ever since he started leaving the housie at a different time. He said that his job “let him go”. You didn’t know what he meant at first, but you thought that maybe the meanie job was the reason that he went away all the time, so you told him that you were glad that his job let him go! But he didn’t seem happy about that either. He just groaned and went into his room, leaving you on the couch. That was a long time ago. He’s even more not-happy now.
A clicking comes from the door outside your room. Daddeh was home! You feel happy, but also a little scared. Then you remember the bad poopies, and you get really scared. You start tearing up a bit.
“Ugh. God damn it.” You hear daddeh through the door. He’s in the big room with the big TV now, watching human TV. Human TV is sometimes fun, but it’s mostly scary, and you don’t like it. You only like watching it when daddeh is around to protect you, but he never watches human TV with you anymore. He never does anything with you anymore. You start tearing up a lot.
Daddeh lets out a big groan. He does that a lot now. That and drink the bad smelling water. He acts differently when he drinks it. Meaner. One time he even hit you. You don’t like the bad water.
After a long time, daddeh turns off the TV. You get up, anticipating that he’ll come in.
Creeeeaak
The door opens. It’s daddeh. He looks really tired.
“Daddeh! Yay! Daddeh am back!” You cheer.
“Ugh, yeah, yeah-” He stops. Looking at your poopies. Your bad poopies. He points at them.
“Daffodil, what the fuck is that?” He says.
“D… Daffodiw hab bad poopies…” You mutter.
“Buh was-” You start.
“You shit on the fucking floor again? Do you think my apartment is your own personal fucking litterbox?” He spits.
“D-Daffodiw-”
“How hard is it? You shit in the god damned litterbox. The big red fucking box with the fucking sand in it! What’s so fucking hard about that!?”
“Buh bad poopies jus’ come out! Daffodiw nu knu dat bad poopies come! Was seeing babbehs!” You plead.
“Enough of your fucking excuses. You tell me always tell me some stupid bullshit every time you shit up my floor. I’m sick of it.”
“What kind of fucking GMO pet needs a litterbox anyways!? Was hasbio too busy teaching you how to beg for ‘sketties’ and screech like a fucking banshee about ‘babbehs’ to make sure you didn’t spew disgusting shit everywhere you go?”
Babbehs were a bygone issue. You once told daddeh that you wanted babbehs when you saw them on TV for the first time, but he made an annoyed expression and said that you were never going to have babbehs, because the ‘lease’ only let there be one pet in the house. You tried telling him that they were babbehs, not pets, and that he should get a nicer lease that lets you both have babbehs, and he told you to shut up. For some reason, the idea that there would be no babbehs was really awful to you. So awful that you started screaming over and over again that you wanted babbehs! Then daddeh hit you.
He picked you up while you were crying and told you that bad fluffies who scream for babbehs don’t get housies, that you were never having babbehs if you didn’t want to go out in the ‘street’, and that nobody would ever love you if you had babbehs. You cried yourself to sleep that night. And the next night. You never thought that you would never have babbehs. Or that daddeh wouldn’t love you anymore if you did.
“God, I do not need this shit right now. Fuck.” Daddeh mutters.
“Daffodiw sowwy daddeh…”
“Fucking save it. I don’t even want to hear it. You always tell me you’re ‘sowwy’, and then you shit on my floor again. It’s old.”
You tear up even more. Daddeh was never nice to you anymore.
“Daddeh?”
“What?” He says
“Haf bad poopies…”
“Yeah, I saw them.” He spits.
He stares at you for a few seconds. Silent. You’re scared at first, but you finally manage to say something.
“Maybe… Daddeh make poopies gu way? Pweeze?”
“Yeah, there it is. Now you want me to pick up your shit. Gee whiz. How could I fucking tell.”
“Pweeze daddeh! Poopies nu smeww pwetty! Woom nu smeww pwetty!”
“Wow, imagine that. It’s almost like actions have fucking consequences or something.”
“Buh-”
“You know what, I don’t even give a shit. I’m not picking up fluffy shit today. Deal with it yourself.”
Daddeh walks back to the door and opens it. You try to stop him!
“Nu! Nu weave daddeh! Daffodiw nu wike! Nu wike poopie woom! Nu wike meanie tings! Why daddeh nu gif Daffo-”
Suddenly you’re jerked up! Daddeh’s holding you by your neck fluff, like he did when he hit you! You’re so scared!
“EEEEK! Bad upsies! Nuuuuu!”
“You ungrateful little shit! Who do you think pays for the rent and the heat and the cable and the stupid fucking blocks and toys and disgusting fucking litterbox that you use!? Do you think that shit just falls out of the sky or something!?”
“Nuuuu! Nuuhuuhuuu! Pweeze nu huwty! Daffodiw sowwy! Nu huwt Daffodiw! Uhuuhuuhuuu!” You scream, covering your eyes with your hooves.
Silence descends.
You brace yourself for owwies.
“You know what? Fuck this.”
He drops you.
You land on the ground with a soft thud. The small owwies it causes quickly fade away.
“You’re not worth it.” He spits.
You’re so sad. Daddeh didn’t hit you, but you really thought he would. You have big heart hurties now.
“Pweeze nu mowe heawt huwties daddeh… Daffodiw sowwy…”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Daffodiw sowwy…” You mutter again.
“…Daddeh stiww wub Daffodiw?”
“Great fucking question.” He says.
You sit up and make huggie leggies. He doesn’t pick you up. He just stares down at you in disgust.
“Pweeze… Just wan huggies… Please wub daffodiw daddeh…” You plead.
He turns and walks out the door.
“Fucking worthless pest.”
SLAM
Silence descends once more.
You’re in the room now. Alone. Daddeh might not come back. Even if he does, he’ll just give you more heart hurties. You can’t take it. You curl up in a ball, crying.
The bad poopies are still in the room. They smell even worse now. Daddeh doesn’t love you anymore.
“Wan die.”
Noise Pollution
You’re a mummah! A fluffy mummah! You have two pretty babbehs! They live in your box housie with you! But things have been bad lately. You used to have seven babbehs, but you couldn’t find enough nummies to make milkies for them all, and 2 of them had forever sleepies. You had biggest saddies, but then they were easier to feed. It wasn’t over though, soon, a human munstah came by, and…
and…
…
Your eyes start to water. You can’t think about that right now… Your babbehs need you… The ones he let you keep… The ones he didn’t… You have to focus.
Now you only have two babbehs left. But you love them so much! And you found nummies! Now you can feed your babbehs! It’s a good thing too, because it’s been getting really cold outside, even in your box housie. But it’s not so bad, because you’re almost home! Soon-
“SCREEEEEEEEEE! NU! NUUUHUUUUHUUUHUUUUU! NU FOEVAH SWEEPIES! BABBEHS! BAAAAAAAABEEEEEEEHS! UUHUUUHUUUUUUUUU!!!” Blares a scream in the distance.
…That was nearby…
You hear that kind of thing a lot now… There’s a lot of screaming now that everything is cold… Usually about babbehs.
Cold is bad for babbehs, but your box housie always gets warm if you lay in it for a while! You made sure that your box housie was nice and warm when you left it!
You close in on your meager home.
“Babbehs! Mummah am back!”
No response.
“Babbehs? Mummah haf miwkies! Nu mowe tummeh owwies fow babbehs! …Babbehs?”
You get back and look inside. Your babbehs are on the ground. Their legs are curled up, but one of them is on their back. The housie is cold.
“B-Babbehs…?”
You pick them up. They’re hard. And cold. So very cold. And still. Something inside you clicks. This cold you feel in them… It’s forever sleepies.
…
You’re a human. You’re Dale Waller. And you’re trying to fucking sleep.
8 hour shift down at the paint factory and all you want to do is relax and get some sleep, but unfortunately, you live next to shitrats.
They’re constantly making noise at all fucking times. Either babbling, or giggling or arguing or shitting or fucking. Or raping. You’ve heard plenty of that too. Weren’t these things supposed to be toys or something? You’re pretty sure there’s kids living in this apartment…
The useless landlord wont do anything about them because he doesn’t own the alleyway, so it’s someone else’s problem. The other land owners seem to think similarly, because all of them refuse to do fucking anything. So here you are. Some days, you have half a mind to go down there with a machete and go rambo on them yourself, but you just know that someone’s gonna snitch. Besides, it’s not your problem either.
So here you are. Listening to the bitching of retarded horserats. It’s especially bad in winter. Your bedroom window doesn’t do shit to stop sound, so you get woken up at least twice a night by fucking screaming. Either about a dead “speshow fwen” or dead “babbehs”. Usually the latter. With all this high pitched screaming, some serial killer could be murdering a schoolbus of 10 year olds and nobody would even think to look.
In fact, you just got woken up by some shitrat screaming about “foevah sweepies” and “babbehs” and doing that “huu-huu-huu” shit they’re always doing. You used to feel bad, but the years and the constant overexpousure have dried all that up. hearing a bereaved mare screaming in grief is a tragedy the first time, annoying the thirtieth time, and straight up noise pollution the hundredth time.
No shit, no sooner did you get back to sleep after that than did you hear another one start screaming about it’s dead fucking babies. Right under your god damned window no less! You get out of bed open the window up. You are so sick of these fucking shitrats…
“HUU HUU HUUUUUUUU! PWEEZE NU BE FOEBAH SWEEPIES BABBEHS! HUUUUUUUUU!!!”
“Hey! Shut the fuck up! Nobody cares about your dead fucking shitrats! You fucking vermin!”
You throw an empty beer can at her. She cringes when it hits her, but keeps fucking screaming and doing that retarded huu-huu bullshit.
“I said shut up! You’re a god damned pest!”
You throw more bottles. Glass this time. They shatter around her and you’re pretty sure you see blood.
“UHUUUHUUUHUUUUU!!!”
She waddles underneath an upturned box, still screaming. You can’t hit her anymore.
“Fuck!” You yell, as you close your window. At least she quieted down a little bit. Still annoying as hell though.
There’s got to be someone you can bring this up to. This has to be some kind of noise pollution.
Maybe you can bring it to the city. They might send some exterminators down to gas all the little shitpigs. That’d be nice.
Maybe then you could get some sleep.
Birds of Play
A mare walked happily down the street, Her last babbeh sleeping on her back.
It was a nice summer day, but you were alert. You used to have five babbehs, but a doggie munstah nummed two of them and a kitty munstah took one of them away. Your bestest babbeh was gone too. She had left the nest to go 'splorin, but she cut her hoovsie on a sharp metal thing. You gave her the biggest huggies you could, but she got sickies and eventually forever sleepies. Now you only have your last babbeh left. He has no idea that all his siblings are dead.
“Mummah! Mummah!” Your babbeh calls out to you. It looks like he woke up.
“Yus babbeh?”
“Babbeh wan pway game! Wan pway in gween ting!”
He points at a bush. You want to play too, but the bush could have a monster in it. You’ve seen them run out sometimes…
“Nu babbeh, gween pwace too scawwy, might haf munstah.”
“Otay…” He says, disappointed.
You’re sad that he’s sad, but you cant risk it. Not after what happened to your other babbehs. He doesn’t know how bad your heart hurties were… You can’t lose your last babbeh too.
“Den… Maybe mummah an babbeh make singies?”
“Nu babbeh. Munstahs… Munstahs nu wike singies…” You tell him.
You remember what happened to your first babbehs. You were so happy about them that you sang to them all the time! But one day, a human came out of one of the big human housies and started yelling at you! He called you all sorts of meanie names and used all kinds of bad words. He told you that your singies were bad, that nobody cared about your babbehs, and that you were annoying everyone! You told the mean human that you would make all the singies you want, that your babbehs were the best babbehs EVER, and that he was a dummeh and should go away! Then he did something horrible.
He pulled your entire housie up! Then he smashed it flat in his hands and threw it all the way across the not housie place! You were so scared! Then he grabbed your babbehs! He asked you if you were singing because of your babbehs, and you told him that you were. Then he threw them down! All your babbehs had big hurties, but he didn’t stop! He gave them the biggest, worstest, meaniest stompies you’ve ever seen! When he was done, all your babbehs were flat and covered in boo-boo juice. They were gone. He told you to shut up, and then just left. You cried and cried and cried forever. You had the biggest heart hurties ever. Why would anyone want to do that to your babbehs? You didn’t want to leave your home, but you had to. You saw him every morning going into the human housie. Sometimes he would glare at you. One day, he walked down the alley again. You didn’t wait for him to arrive. You ran and ran until you escaped. You never sang to your babbehs again.
“Why mummah su fwaid of munstahs? Babbeh nu scawed of munstahs! Babbeh wiww gif munstahs wowstest owwies!” He says.
You know better. Monsters can’t be fought. Only run from. It’s okay. He’ll stay safe in your fluff forever. You won’t let anything happen to your last babbeh. You won’t go through those heart hurties again…
“Pweeze mummah! Babbeh wan pway! Maybe pway fwy game?”
“Otay babbeh. Mummah an babbeh wiww pway when get back tu nestie.”
“Yay! Wub mummah!”
With the promise of future fun, he seems satisfied. Good. You were worried that a human monster might come. You walk near the alleyways and try to keep a low profile, but it’s scary… Any one of these humans could hurt you and your babbeh…
Suddenly, you hear a whoosh of wind, and your babbeh’s weight disappears from your back.
“Babbeh!?”
You turn around, thinking that a human had him, but you see nothing.
“Mummaaaaaah!” He screams at you! From above!
You look up, and you see a big black birdie munstah on top of a trash can, holding him down in it’s not hoovsie!
“Huu huu huu mummah hewp! Scawwy fwappy ting haf babbeh!”
“Nuuuuu! Dat wastest babbeh! Nu huwty!”
The birdie munstah looks at you, then back at your babbeh. It pauses, then suddenly, it shoves its beak into your babbeh’s see place!
“SCREEEEE! MUMMAH HEWP BABBEH! HUUUUU!”
“Nuuu huu huuuuu! Pweeze biwdie fwen! Nu huwt babbeh! Gif babbeh back tu mummah! babbeh nee’ mummah!”
The birdie ignores you. Instead, it pulls your babbeh’s see ball right out of it’s see place! Then it swallows it! It’s numming your babbeh!
“Nuu huu huu!!! Pweeze! Pweeze! Not wast babbeh! No mowe! HUUUUUUUU!”
It’s not done. It pivots it’s head over your screaming babbeh again, and pulls out his other see ball!
“SCREEEEEEEEEEE! UHUUUUHUUHUUUU! MUMMAH!!!”
“NUUUUUUUUU!!!”
You have to do something! The birdie munstah will give your last babbeh forever sleepies! You can’t let that happen! Not again!
You would normally never try this, especially not after what happened with your first babbehs, but you have no choice! You run back to the street and risk it all!
“Pweeze nice mistah! Pweeze hewp fwuffy! Munstah haf babbeh!” You scream in desperation to the first human you see.
“Ugh, get the fuck off me shitrat.” He knocks you away and leaves!
“Nu! Pweeze! PWEEZE!” Without looking back, he breaks into a brisk walk. Your fastest waddle isn’t even enough to keep pace. You give up and try another.
“Pweeze nice wady! Ba-”
“No, no, no. Get away from me. Do not touch me with those filthy hooves.” She says, cutting you off. She wont help either.
You look back to the trash can. Your babbeh’s tummy has a big owwie in it and the birdie munstah is numming his tummy sketties! He’s barely making a sound now! You have to keep trying!
“Pweeze nice mistah! Babbeh nee’ hewp! Munstah gon gif babbeh foebah sweepies! Pweeze!”
“No, I-”
“Pweeze! PWEEEHEEHEEEEEZE!”
“Ugh. I… Fine. Where?”
“Obah hewe! Babbeh obah hewe! Pweeze hewp! Uhuuhuuuu!”
You lead him to your babbeh. The birdie munstah is still eating his tummy sketties.
“Aww, gross.”
The human waves his hand at the monster. The birdie monster flies away, leaving your babbeh alone.
"Uhuuuu… Babbeh…
“Ummm…”
He pushes your babbeh off the trash can with a finger. Your babbeh falls to the ground, his tummy sketties flop out beside him.
“Babbeh! Pweeze wakies babbeh! Pweeze!”
“Mummagh?”
“Babbeh! Mummah hewe babbeh! Dun wowwy, mummah wiww gif huggies! Huggies wiww make owwies gu way! Huu huu huuuuuu!”
“Mummack? Why mummagh… Nu hewp…?”
“Nuu huu huuuuu!!! Mummah twy babbeh! Mummah wub babbeh! Pweeze nu sweepies babbeh! Pweeze nu sweepies 'gain! UHUUHUUHUUUUU!!!”
“Shit… People are going to think I’m an abuser at this rate… I gotta get out of here.”
You hug your babbeh harder, but it doesn’t help. His tummy sketties fall out completely.
“Babbeh! Pweeze wakies babbeh! Huggies hewp babbeh!”
You hear nothing. Your babbeh is still.
“BABBEH!?”
That’s all. Had this idea in my head a while. Probably been done, but I wanted to try this kind of rapid fire abuse. I was thinking there would be more abuse per word this way, But I’m not sure, what with the separate setup required for each story.
Which one was your favorite? Mine was noise pollution. Infested cities would have a serious problem with fluffies screaming all the time. All these high pitched toddler voices screaming like they’re being murdered would probably be disturbing to most people, even if they hated fluffies.
