Prologue
In a day like any other, a woman entered a FluffyMart, the door chime inciting a barrage of ‘pick Babbeh!’ and ‘be nyu mummah?’ from the foals for sale.
That woman was Anita Hanjaab, a local breeder looking for a replacement LitterPal, Jr after her most recent one died from choking, likely self inflicted. On the shelves though, lay a single adult LitterPal, unrecommended to use for foals, which she was taking care of while finishing a sale. After noticing her, it stared at her with lightless, defeated eyes. She decided to take him, anyway. What was the worst that could happen? Moving to the cashier, a man with a plain and unremarkable face, she placed the LitterPal on the roll
“Is that all, Ms…?”
“Hanjaab”
“Hand Job?”
“HANJAAB”
“Ok, that’ll be 99 cents”
While she went for her pourse, she noticed the man staring at her breasts. He wasn’t even trying to disguise it
“Excuse me, where are you looking at?”
“Your breasts”
“WHA- Are you an idiot, or something?”
“Yes”
Anita was at a loss for words. She decided to just leave the store, almost forgetting to take the LitterPal. It was the right choice, as the man was about to ask if he could touch her bust
We now follow the LitterPal, a male earthie with chocolate coat, mane and tail, around five minutes after he was left in the breeders safe room. While he spent his days on the top of that shelf he, like many fluffies in similar positions, started to think. This is unusual among the small ponies, as they are generally to hyperactive to do deep introspection, but being left immobile leaves little else to do
He thought about his life. He was the ‘poopie babbeh’ of his litter, being rejected by both his parents, uncles and aunts, and other close relatives. His only salvation was his foster 'mummah’, the poop eater of the herd. He hated having to rely on her for milk, since she only had them because she was also the ‘enfie mare’ of the herd, being impregnated, and thus making milk, only to miscarrige when they gave her ‘bad special huggies’. When he became a proper stallion, his herd was attacked by a group of ‘barky monsters’, and he ran away, only looking back for his mother. She was mauled to death, gruesomely. He only found solace when he met her, his 'special friend’
She was the light of his life, his everything, his reason to live, and when she told him he was going to be a daddeh, he felt like the world had become brighter, the smells sweeter and that everything was to take a turn for the better. And then it didn’t. In a litter of four plus three babbehs, two became nummies for stripy munstahs, one froze in a particularly cold dark time, two starved when he didn’t find enough nummies for mummah to make milkies, and he gave forever sleepies to one after mummah died from hoomin munstahs. His lastest babbeh only survived because, for some reason, he grew his teethies a lot earlier then his buddahs and sissies
It wasn’t much longer, however, until they were both snatched by some hoomin munstahs, being placed inside a sorry box, and brought to the ‘fwuffy mawt’, where they took both their leggies, teethies, and gave the worstest hurties to their talky place. They couldn’t do so much as a ‘peep’ or ‘huuhuu’ after that. He was placed on that high shelf, where he got a perfect view of his lastest babbeh, who was placed in the play pen
He had to watch, everyday, as his last ray of light withered away for having to num poopies, drink peepees and suffer the worst forms of humiliation from the other babbehs inside, only being granted relief when they were fighting amongst themselves over who was the real ‘bestest’. He died not long after the light vanished from his see places, being immediately replaced by another similar looking babbeh, who was sure to suffer the same fate
As far as fluffies went, he was a failure, a complete and total failure. He failed his mummah, his special friend, his babbehs, his lastest babbeh. He could only feel spite for himself. His thoughts were interrupted by the loud yawning of the two waking foals whom the safe room belonged to, coming into view shortly after as they left their enclosed sleeping area
The word ‘premium’ couldn’t quite describe those foals. Being the result of aggressive selective breeding and eugenics, they had virtually every unique and desirable characteristic that could be found within the mystery that was the fluffy genome. Heart shaped pupils, hearts beneath their hooves, curly, long and glittering coat and tail and mane, and patternations. They also had larger doll-like eyes and stubier legs and neck. Those were two very exotic, very expansive, very inbred fluffy foals
“Wook buddah!” said the older of the two, “Mummah bwing nyu dummeh wittapaw fow bestesh, pweetiesh babbeh!”
“w-wai mummah bwing nyu witta fwen’?” asked the second one, a lot shyier then the first, “wha’ hapen tu owd ‘un?”
“Dummeh buddah!” said the first foal, before slaping his younger sibling across the face, completely shocking the LitterPal
“Owwie! Wai buddah giv sowwy hoofsies? Huuhuu” he said as he hugged his cheek
“Cuz’ dummeh buddah say dummeh wittapaw am ‘fwen’, das’ wai!”
“Buh-buh wittapaw am fwuffy, an’ fwuffies awe ment tu be fwe-” He was cut by another sharp slap, causing more huuhuuing
“NU! Dummeh wittapaw am poopie fwuffy! An’ poopie fwuffy cum ou’ fwom diwty poopie pwace! Nu pweety spechaw pwace! Su nu am weal fwuffy! Dummeh wittapaw am onwy gud fow poopies, jus’ wike miwkie mummah am onwy gud fow miwkies!”
Curious, the LitterPal looked where the foal pointed with that last phrase, and there he saw a mare, or ‘miwkie bag’ as most call them. He had seen one already, back at the FluffyMart, but this one looked more distrought then her, and didn’t have any fake ‘milkie places’. While she did have good colors, he learned that the ones with S F on their fluff weren’t liked by humans
The foal then walked up to him, even more wobbly and ungraceful then the average fluffy, and shoved his anus in his face
“Nao dummeh wittapaw wick poopie pwace! Mak’ bestesh, pwetiesh babbeh smeww pwetty an’ hab gud fews!”
He stared at the colt, who sounded more like a filly due to his atrophied sexual organs, another result of excessive inbreeding, and could only pity himself. Was this truly his life? Is this what he will be doing for the rest of his life? Licking the poopie place of meanie fluffies, who had everything because they were pretty?
Was this truly it…?
…
While this was happening, Anita was in her living room chatting with her buyer online. She had been working as a breeder for almost a year now, and still she could hardly believe just how much her life had improved. She went from a college debt ridden wage slave living in a shaggy apartment, to being self employed and financially sustainable, living in her own house. All the while her college friends, kindly referred to as ‘hugboxing losers’, were still in similar situations
After a while though, she started hearing noises coming from the safe room. It sounded like a faint thudding and crying. Was Uno bullying the new LitterPal? again? She got up, after asking her client to wait a moment, and went to the safe room. As she got closer, the crying became louder and more discernible, something about ‘buddah’, probably Dos. She finally got to the door and entered the room. To her right was the source of the crying. Dos, the younger of the foals, was hiding near the foal’s sleeping area, with ‘hiding’ meaning covering his eyes with his hooves
To the left was the source of the thudding, now a wet squelch. The LitterPal had, somehow, grabbed hold of Uno and, with what little space for movement he had, was repeatedly slamming him on the floor, his eyes filled with a mad rage. Anita was paralyzed by the gruesome sight, only returning to her senses after hearing Dos’ crying
“Huuhuu! wai mummah nu sav buddah?! Huuhuu!”
After that, Anita dashed and kicked the stallion, who dropped Uno as he flew into the wall. She picked up Uno who, unsurprisingly, was dead. His pretty multi-hue fluff stained with red, jaw hanging only on one side, broken spine and ribs, and a missing eye, located near the milkbag. Anita looked at the LitterPal, now her eyes bursting with anger. He was still winded as she picked him up and rushed out of the room. What a fucking shitshow
“Huhuu, haf wostest heawt huwties an’ saddies…” said Dos, as he waddled to the milkbag, “Wan Mummah miwkies, mak eby-ting bettah”
What no one noticed during the entire ordeal, was how the milkbag looked at the scene. Of course, she couldn’t see much due to being mostly blind, but the faint smudges and sounds left little to the imagination. She felt, to a smaller degree, the same anger LitterPal felt, having these babbehs drinking the milk meant for her own babbehs. Despite being imobile, she summoned all her strength, untill
PRFFT
“Scree!”
She let out a loud fart, scaring the little foal
“huhuu, wai am miwkie mummah an wittapaw su meanie? huhuu”
If her vocal cords still worked, she would be laughing, very loudly
Anita could barely contain her anger. Six whole months of selective breeding and hundreds of dollars spent breeding that fluffy, now all down the drain along with his corpse. And all because of that stupid LitterPal, now standing on her garage, looking at her with fake courage
“Do you have any idea how much you just cost me, you shitrat?”
He didn’t answer, of course. LitterPals had no teeth, and thus couldn’t speak, and she knew it
“DO YOU?!” she screamed, slamming her hands on the balcony. He was left unimpressed
“Oh, playing tough are we? Well how about…” she got up, reaching for the sorry stick she had, “this!”
She quickly swoshed the stick into view. Yet the LitterPal remained unimpressed. Anita couldn’t let him keep this up
“you little shit, i’ll show you”
She rummaged through her old tools; not really hers just came with the house, until she found a hammer. She then brought it down near the LitterPal, with enough force to make loud ‘bang’ noise
“Then how about i smash ALL your ‘leggies’? How does that sound?”
Instead of looking scared, he just raised an eyebrow in confusion. Only then did she remember
“…right, LitterPals don’t have legs”
This made the LitterPal smile mockingly, with the movement of his neck suggesting laughter, only inaudible due to his lack of vocal cords. Anita decided she had enough. With a grunt, she grabbed the LitterPal and took him into the air. Next, she grabbed a battery powered drill
“LitterPal, meet the ‘Whirly Munstah’!”
With the press of a button she turned on the tool, the loud ‘WHIRL’ sound prompting a surprised reaction
“HE AND YOUR ‘POOPIE PLACE’ ARE ABOUT TO GET VERY WELL ACQUAINTED!” Anita screamed as to get over the sound of the drill
The LitterPal kept his expression for a while, but then simply closed his eyes, seemingly accepting his fate. This only serves to make Anita angrier, believing the fluffy to be mocking her
“I am not in the mood for this”
She leaves the garage, going for one of the rooms she hadn’t used in a long time. Opening the door, she throws the LitterPal in, who falls unceremoniously on his side
“Let’s see how well you keep up the bravado, when you’re starving to death” she slams the door shut
After a while spent in the dark room, the stallion’s mind began to calm down. He began thinking once more, after all, he had nothing else to do
Everything happened so fast, one moment he was staring at the dirty poopie place of the puke smelling foal, the other he could only see red. His mind was consumed by a rage and hatred he never knew he could have, and he could only think of killi- giving forever sleepies to the poor babbeh. That thought scared him, babbehs were for huggies and love! After all. Or at least, that was the first thing that came to his mind when he thought about babbehs. He never actually bothered to explore beyond that intrusive thought
He once again thought about his life. From the day he was born to his current situation, it was always the same thing. The bestest babbeh of his herd treated him like trashies, the other street fluffies treated him and his family like trashies, the foals and hoomins at the ‘daycare’ treated his lastest babbeh like trashies, all because they had poopie colors. Didn’t they know that fluffies, ALL fluffies, were for huggies and love? Especially babbehs? That couldn’t be it, because they treated each other well, so did the hoomins. That meant they only treated them like that because they weren’t preety
That thought made the anger and hatred come back, in lower intensity but much greater duration. The intrusive thought returned, but this time as a question. Were babbehs for huggies and love? And the answer was simple. No, not all babbehs were for huggies and love, some were only meant for the worstest hurties and forever sleepies. He only regrets not learning this sooner
Right now, the only thing he can do is go against that dummeh lady. He doesn’t know a word for that, but he feels like he doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction of having things her way. It is not part of his pre-programmed knowledge after all. Now though, all he can do is wait, and hope he still has fight in him by the time she returns
His stomach starts to grumble
3 days later
Anita slowly opens the door, making sure to creek it to wake up the LitterPal should he be asleep. Just as she imagined, he stood with a tired expression, breathing with his mouth, weak from the lack of nutrition. An adult fluffy needs around 5 meals a day to maintain their weight, and he had none for 3 days. He is within an inch of his life. She walks up to him, picking him up to her face. She then takes a small bulb syringe from her pocket, the same she uses to impregnate mares, but now filled with liquid food
“Hungry?” she asks him with fake compassion
Her goal is to give him false hope before ending his life in pure agony. Just as she expected, his bravado weavers, and he quickly laches to the syringe as she slowly prestes down on the bulb
“See? Things don’t need to be bad, i just need you to-ACK!”
As she was finishing her phrase, the LitterPal pulled away and spat the contents of the syringe into her mouth. She spends a few moments coughing and recovering, as she does, she sees that annoying shitrat, again, laughing at her, although much more meekly than before. She wants to be angry, to be hateful… but she can’t. This isn’t worth all the hastle, and she doesn’t abuse for fun
“Ugh… fine, you win” she says on a mocking tone rather than a defeated one
Moving to her back door she, she opens it up and throws the LitterPal in the trash
“So, you just managed to make me lose a few months of work, which won’t take me long at ALL to recover. So, congratulations i guess”
He just stares at her, the trying to maintain the same defying expression he held for most of those day he spent trapped. With a final ‘Hmpf’, she closes the door
He did it. He managed to deny her her final sadistic pleasure of seeing him suffer. Of course, it means nothing in the long or even short run, she is still gonna live her best life, while he will spend the last moments of his surrounded by rotting food, discarded milkbags and breeders and bags of shit and piss. But, at the very least, he stood deficient against the last torment life throw his way. It was A Small Victory, but it was all he could get. He closed his eyes, his weakness overtaking him
He thought about his familly
Epilogue
During the end of the weekend, a truck passed through the neighborhood to collect the trash. The collector was a simple man, not earning much from his job, but at least not having any college debt to pay
When he took of the lid from Anita’s trash can, he recoiled from the stench. Looking back, there he was, the defiant LitterPal, long dead and rotting by this point. He made a quick note on a post-it paper to fine the house owner. Seriously, why can’t people just put biowaste in the proper biowaste disposal bag?
He thought the fluffy must have been used for some pretty twisted stuff before being thrown away, probably something involving drugs
Why else would he have died while smilling?
