The stallion waddled to the litter box. It was an arduous affair; between having only three legs and having his nethers ravaged by the machine. He endured it, whimpering and stifling tears all the way. If the fluffy let an accident occur, he could only imagine what the pain to come would be like.
The nerves in his bandaged stump-leg never stopped screaming. He couldnât sleep like he used to-- sleep did not afford him rest anymore. And when he finally reached the litter box, the stallion could not contain his agony anymore. He screamed as he relieved himself, if such a phrase could even describe the act of his urination adequately. The stinging was unbearable. Blood dotted the stream and stained the sandy refuse inside the box.
The pain came with waves that matched the timing of the stallionâs shuddering as he cried bitterly. âWanâ huwties to stahp! Wanâ hewp! Neeâ hewp! Hewp!â he panted to himself hopelessly.
The girl sat in her beanbag chair with her attention fixed upon the large television set before her, in the darkness of her office study. The light from the room outside her half-open door cut across the floor. She ignored the grunts of effort and stress that were progressively getting louder.
âMunsta-wadyââ
âWhat did I tell you about calling me that?â The girl did not look away from the screen. Her voice was grim with hostile intent.
âN-n-nicie m-m-m-mummahââ
âThatâs garbage too, but whatever. Listen, if I have to stop watching my show because of whatever youâre about to say or do, it will not end well for you,â the young caretaker warned the fluffy creature.
âF-f-fwuffy am huwt weal badies! Neeâ hugs and wub foâ feew beddah! Pweasies wub fwuffy!? Fwuffy no wanâ foweba sweepies!â
âItâs not nearly so serious. And nah, you wonât die. Suck it up, you pussy.â The words were spoken so cavalier, yet with a sweetness that removed the insulting and uncaring edge.
âP-pweaseâŚ?â the stallion choked out as tears poured down his cheeks, the truest expression of desperation thus far.
The girl took a deep breath in. Then she stood up from her seat, shoulders square and tense. She marched over to the fluffy, who recoiled in terror and curled into as tight a ball as his fat body would allow.
âYou. Are. Such. A. Bad. Fluffy.â
Her foot collided with the stallionâs gut with hateful force and sent him sliding across the floor. Had he not just used the litterbox, the mess would have been astounding. And the beating would have been that much worse. But the fluffy had been lucky for once, and his caretaker went back to watching her program while he wheezed laboriously, winded.
Aggressive Neutralbox Pt. 2
Some time later, the caretaker brought the adult fluffies their food bowls and set them down on the carpet. The dishes were generous servings of brown sugar oatmeal, as delicious and fit for human consumption as any other brand of instant mix on the market. Despite being many times more nutritious than brand kibble, the fluffies were never enthusiastic about meal time.
Before, it was because they craved spaghetti noodles and sweet tomato sauce. Now, it was because they had endured the things they had.
The caretaker did not take it personally, naturally. She prepared their food as lovingly as ever, and they eventually ate it all, the gluttons that fluffies were. Sure enough, the two beleaguered fluffies converged on their respective bowls to eat. One slower and clumsier than the other.
âHuuu huuu huuu, dis nu am faiw!â the stallion whined impetuently. âFwuffy nu can maâe gud wawkies!â
The girl simply shrugged. âBad things happen to bad fluffies.â Then, with a glint of wicked wryness flitting across her eyes, she added slyly, âI wouldnât have even known about your misbehaviour had it not been for your foals crying all the time!â
The girl hummed as she skipped innocently away, leaving the stallion to process what he was told. It took a while, but the rusty gears of his thoughts finally parsed what he believed her meaning was:
âBabbehs⌠maâe munsta-wady gib⌠huwties to fwuffy? B-babbehsâŚ?â
Tears stung his vision and his heart quaked with a suffering unlike the healing cuts on his skin, or the unending tremors of his severed nerves.
âBabbehsâŚ?â
The fluffy father glared, an ire quickly consuming the sting of betrayal. âDummeh⌠woud⌠dummeh⌠babbehs!â
He gasped afterwards and shook his head as fear washed over him and threw his fury into icy darkness. He couldnât step out of line, or that horrible woman would hurt him more! But then, werenât the foals bad fluffies who conspired to make him suffer!?
The fluffy father sobbed and gritted his teeth. He was so confused, so conflicted, and most of all, indignant. Something had to be done!
That tiny spark of cleverness shone in the cold shadow of doubt.
He would make the monstrous woman see how bad those foals really were!
All the while, the dissociative fluffy mother was oblivious to the simmering stallion beside her, reliving fleeting moments long gone while she ate. The other fluffy joined her in greedily scarfing down his meal, the malady brewing dark thoughts in his small mind.
From across the colorful blanket, near the red stain where one of their own met their demise, the skinny foals watched on with envious eyes and empty stomachs. They clustered together into a pile in their yearning for warmth and affection, but found neither in each otherâs company.
After he was finished eating, the father fluffy leered at the pitiful fluff-pile and honed in one the first foal he locked eyes with. He snorted and huffed, and hobbled over to the foal. the other foals began to shift uncomfortably, unnerved by the frightful visage of their father. The selected foal began to chirp as instinct dictated it should, to engage with the parental tendencies of its sire. This interaction meant nothing to the spurned fluffy, however. He plucked his offspring away from its siblings and hobbled back to his food dish to plop the little thing inside.
Right on cue, the others began to squirm and whine about this apparent special treatment. It did not matter then that their father was scary-looking, or anything. They called out against this privileged foal, while the father fluffy did his best act of puffing out his cheeks and looking inconvenienced. âHmmph! Hmmph! Hmmmph!â he grunted while glaring at the foal.
The foal shrunk down into itself, confused and scared of this supposed disapproval. What had it done so wrong? It glanced around the food dish, and found a few crumby scraps of oatmeal left over from its fatherâs gorging. âBabbeh hab nummies? Babbeh num, so daddeh be happies? Huu huu⌠onwy hab miwkies, buh no wanâ be bad babbeh!â
The foal scooped some of the lukewarm sustenance into its mouth. Surprise made its eyes go wide. âDis nummies am tasties! So yummy-nummy!â came the delighted response, which ignited a frenzy from the other foals.
âMUMMAAAHHH! MUMMMAAAHH! WANâ NUMMIES TOO! WANâ NUMMIES!â The pile came apart in a cacophony of crying, "screee"ing and bucking as the tantrums spread from one young fluffy to the next. The father fluffy gasped, which presented a lapse in his apparent anger at the one foal. This was working so much better than he intended! The foals were being the absolute worst fluffies ever!
âHehehe, dummeh, stoopi babbehs!â the father fluffy gloated to himself.
The caregiver cleared her throat from behind him. âWhat was that, idiot?â she asked pleasantly. The father fluffy tensed. After a moment, he sprung about-- despite missing a leg-- and spilled a torrent of words to save his hide.
âHuuuu, niciest-wady, babbeh num fwuffy nummies, anâ-anâ-anâ oddah babbehs gib huwties! Huwties! Bad babbehs! Bad babbehs! Bad babbehs!â The father fluffy had practically thrown himself to the girlâs feet to grovel. The foal inside the dish broke into the sorriest tears the young girl ever witnessed and heard.
âDaddeh, wai!? Babbeh wanâ wub! Mummah! Mummah! Mummah wai nubodies wub babbeh!?â
The mother fluffy was too busy languidly running a tongue down her shoulder and foreleg in some strangely feline manner to respond. Or care, for that matter.
The girl stared at the stallion with a look that was both blank, yet imperious. It made the fluffyâs stomach upset with nervousness. Everyone in the room could hear his stomach rumbling as he battled internally with his outright dishonesty, the guilt that came with his dishonesty, and the fright that came with the notion of being caught.
Preempting the fluffy loosing his feces all over the nice carpet, the girl scooped him up to hold him like a baby, and petted his soft mane lovingly. âSuch bad, bad babies indeed!â
âBad babbehs! Bad babbehs!â the stallion parroted with his shaky voice, hoping with all he had that his lies would be believed.
The girl nodded along. She felt the fluffyâs muscles relax in her embrace, and she smiled. A twisted, gleeful smile. âBut, you must realize as a responsible fluffy-parent, that your children are far too young to be held responsible for their own actions, right? And that any bad behavior they exhibit is a direct reflection of yourself, right?â said the caregiver with a sense of faux regret in her tone.
The fluffy father sobbed. He did not know what most of those words meant, but he knew enough to realize that when the girl started talking to him like this, something terrible was going to happen.
âBut these foals are so bad! You did not make them bad after our little talk earlier on purpose, did you?â
âNUUU! NEBA DAT, NICIEST-WADY!â The father fluffy was hyperventilating and his speech was hysteric.
The caretaker smiled at the unraveling creature and set him gently onto the floor next to his food dish, with his distraught foal curled up on one side and suckling its hoof. The stallion began to shake, and his tail steadily raised to release nervous gas. The fluffyâs anticipation of consequences was almost as satisfying as administering them, the girl thought. It made her chuckle.
She put her hands on her hips and thought out loud in a mockery of usual fluffy behavior. âThis canât have been your fault.â
âYUS! FWUFFY GUD.â The stallion clenched his glutes to keep from doing what fluffies were prone to do regardless.
âThis was clearly their motherâs doing.â
âYUS! MUMMAH BAD FWUFFY! MAâE WOUD ANâ BAD BABBEHS!â
The declaration stung the already neglected foals. It actually made them silent. There were only so many tears they could cry from all this pain, and they were already low on energy to prolong their commotion. It took some discipline for the caregiver to contain her laughter.
âYep. Itâs mother-fluffyâs blame to own.â
âYus! Yus! Yus!â The father fluffy started to shift his weight between hooves in some strange tapping-dance of elation. He started giggling-- he was so clever! He had that stupid monster enwrapped in his masterful deception!
As the last of the stress left his frayed nerves, so did the last of his regard for not making a mess. Thus, with a wet flapping expulsion of flatulence, the stallion released his bowels. Right into his food dish. Burying his hapless baby.
Sound seemed to leave the room, amplifying the muffled retching and begging emanating from the collection of feces. The deepest frown contorted the father fluffyâs expression. NU HUWT. NU HUWT.
The fluffyâs face spoke volumes where his voice failed; where his ability to speak abandoned him in the pits of absolute terror.
âWell. Thatâs convenient,â the girl appraised after a few distressing moments.
She went to the disconnected mother fluffy and yanked her by an ear. The mare screeched incoherently in protest, but the caregiver did not relent in dragging her to the pile of waste that was swiftly killing one of her foals.
A stern whipping of the girlâs palm on the back of the mareâs head seemed to arrest the fluffyâs attention, if only fleetingly.
âEat that shit,â the girl instructed with her smooth way of speaking, âOr, you lose another one of your babies.â
âBabbeh is in poopies!? Poopie babbeh!? Nu wan poopââ
A quick closed fisted jab to the ribcage put an end to that nonsense. And right as the mare gasped for the breath knocked out of her lungs, the girl shoved her snout into the food bowl so that she would literally inhale her mateâs waste.
The stallion collapsed onto the floor and covered his eyes. Though he could not see what was transpiring, it affected him deeply to hear the mare vomiting and screaming forlorn sorrow, while the scapegoat foal grew quieter and quieter.
It was becoming clear to him, from this pointedly orchestrated pain, that he had never pulled the fluff over the monstrous womanâs eyes. He was just smart enough to internalize this.
Yet, his only regret was how bad it made him feel.
He had little regard for the mare choking on his poop, and the loss of another child.
She would always be there to make more.
