Steve’s family weren’t terribly upset after his death. There was nobody close to him after he’d lied, stolen, and manipulated to try to get the money to fuel his addiction. Nobody had been surprised or saddened when he was found dead in an alleyway from an overdose. The most emotional anyone had gotten over the whole affair was the squabbling over who had to risk their feet cleaning his run-down syringe-ridden dump of a house.
Nothing of any interest was found throughout most of the house. Everything had been sold; even the copper in the walls had been stripped out. The basement, however, had contained a surprise, although not a pleasant one: various fluffy bodies and dismembered parts in various stages of decay. And in a cage, his mouth matted with the filth he’d eaten to ward off starvation, was a little yellow foal.
…
Years passed. Lemon, the yellow foal, was all grown up now, and Steve’s family had felt they owed it to him to ensure he found a good home, so he was lucky in that respect. He still had bad dreams about his old daddeh, about the screams and the blood and the stench of death, but apart from that he lived a happy life with his new mummah.
The house he lived in wasn’t luxurious, being a small house in the suburbs, but he was happy nonetheless. His mummah deeply cared for him, so he didn’t mind if the house wasn’t very big. She always took him out for walks anyway, although she always told him to never eat anything while outside on walks, something that annoyed Lemon a bit, since there were so many things that looked so delicious.
The shrubs in the garden in front of the house were in bloom, covered in white flowers. Even the most observant of onlookers wouldn’t notice that a single stem was bereft of a bloom, and even the most sentimental of observers wouldn’t have cared. After all, what difference does a single flower make?
…
Lemon awoke in a cold, damp place, resting on the hard floor. When he opened his eyes, it was as if he hadn’t, for the darkness was all-enveloping and impenetrable. He didn’t understand. Why wasn’t he in the saferoom? His mummah always told him to stay in the saferoom, so she couldn’t have moved him. Did he wander off somewhere in his sleep?
A creaking noise alerted him, and he sniffed the air, but all he could smell was mold and damp. He began to panic, partially from confusion and partially because of the innate fluffy fear of darkness. He had to find a way out, had to get back to his saferoom!
A cold, cruel laugh sounded in the darkness, and the room was suddenly dimly illuminated by a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. Lemon could see that he was in some sort of basement, and the realization sent awful memories flooding into his mind. But standing there, looking down at him, was his mummah. Maybe he’d be okay after all.
His hope died when he saw the expression on his mummah’s face. Fluffies aren’t the best at understanding human expressions, but even he could tell that the smile on his mummah’s face was anything but kind. It was the same expression his old daddeh had worn during the Bad Times.
“Mummah? Whewe am Wemon? Am scawed.”
“Oh, you’re a bad little shitrat, aren’t you? I know all about what you did, and I mean to make you pay for it.”
“Wemon nu undastand. Wy am mummah caww Wemon bad? Wemon nu du anyfing wong! Pwease, mummah, Wemon am scawed!”
“Nothing wrong? That’s not what your old daddeh told me. He told me that you watched as your family died, and did nothing.”
Lemon gasped. She’d talked with his old daddeh? Why would she do that? He was the worst daddeh ever! Suddenly the rest of what she’d said processed in Lemon’s mind, and he was struck once more with the horror and guilt.
“Wemon wan hewp famiwy, bu’ wewe onwy wittwe babbeh! Nu coud hewp! Pwease, mummah, Wemon am gud fwuffy!”
“You never even tried to help them, did you? Every time one of them was being hurt, every time one of them died, you were just happy it wasn’t you. You’re the worst fluffy that’s ever lived.”
“Nuuu huu huu! Wemon am gud fwuffy! Nu wan wet famiwy git huwties and forebah-sweepies! Nu coud hewp!”
“You know that’s a lie, Lemon. You watched them all suffer and die, because you didn’t want to make your old daddeh angry. Because you didn’t want to be the next one to die. But now, Lemon, it’s time for you to have your turn. I’m going to let you experience what they all did, and nobody is going to help you, just like you wouldn’t help them.”
“PWEASE NU! WEMON NU WAN HAB HUWTIES! NU WAN GU FOREBAH-SWEEPIES! PWEASE, MUMMAH!”
He received only a cruel laugh in response, and his mummah left, leaving him in darkness once more. Slowly, his sobs turned into chirps, and then chirps into into desperate begging. He knew now that he was doomed, and there was no way out.
“Wemon am sowwy. Wemon am su sowwy. Nu wan wet ‘ou get forebah-sweepies. Bu’ Wemon wewe onwy wittwe babbeh. Pwease, fowgive Wemon. Pwease, nu wet Wemon gu forebah-sweepies!”
But there was only silence in the dark. In his mind, he could almost feel his mummah’s gentle hand on his mane, could almost hear her whispering kind words. But now he knew that she would never love him again, because he was the worst fluffy. After all, he hadn’t even tried to save his family.
…
“…Kinder to just let him go.”
“I don’t believe that. He will pull through, I know it. I won’t give up on him.”
“You don’t know how much suffering you’re causing.”
“I won’t just throw him away.”
“I hope you’re willing to accept the consequences, because this is not going to end well.”
Part Two
16 Likes
Posionous flower giving really bad hallucinations and permanent side-effects I take it? Poor little Lemon. The survival’s guilt must be soul crushing. 
5 Likes
I considered that, and considered calling the story “A White Flower’s Curse,” but the direction I ended up going with was a little bit different. You’ll have to wait and see.
6 Likes
Do I need to read a previous arc/arcs to understand stuff in this series better?
No, it’s standalone. Most of my work isn’t related.
1 Like
Good to know. I might still start from the top of the catalogue and work my way down now anyway. xD