I work at a local Bulk Shelter. One of the real scuzzy places they shove in poor neighborhoods because nobody they care about will have to see it. I have one job, and I’m the only one who does it. Even did it through the quarantine. Got sick and everything. Now I can’t smell. Kinda makes work easy, what with all the shit.
I cull the fluffies.
Yeah, I kill the adults who’ve had their time, but we’re overcrowded so we have to cull all ages. Technically speaking all we have to do is chuck them in the incinerator, don’t even gotta kill em first. But the furnace is old and kinda shitty, leaks sometimes, so i usually snap the little fuckers before they go in.
To put it bluntly, the other employees don’t have the stomach for it. I guess listening to babies beg for their lives bothers some people. Lucky me, my job is easy.
Adults get fourteen days, foals get seven. Newborns either get the standard fourteen if we’re at normal occupancy or we kill them after they’re weaned if we have space. Keeps the mares from getting infections from “tuu much miwkies.”
Right now, I’m processing the babbehs. The way it works is they get seven days to get adopted. Then on the eighth day I kill them when I get to them. If they get adopted before that, they’re lucky. If they don’t, they’re not.
I’m in the back smoking when I hear a ruckus from the foal bin, a plastic tub we keep the last chance foals in. Someone’s crying and someone’s yelling.
I put out my pipe and go to the front. There’s a very chubby and very foofy pink pegasus. He’s hiding behind his hooves and crying while a blue unicorn yells at him. “Dummeh wingie babbeh! Wai awways twy steaw nyu mummah fwom bestest babbeh? Hatechu!” Christ. I don’t have time for this.
I lean in over them and clear my throat so they look. “What’s all the yelling about?” The pegasus chokes out a meek response. “Meanie was yewwin at…at babbeh fow twyin’ get nyu mummah!” I nodded and made an understanding face. I love this part. “Pointy babbeh? Is this true?” He snorts and stomps, but his eyes can’t hide his terror. “Babbehs hafta get nyu mummah ow daddeh wite nao ow gu fowebba sweepies! Nice wady twy wook at fwuffy, an dummeh babbeh scawe nice wady an she gu way!”
“Well I was gonna let you all have another day to get adopted, but it sounds like I should just take you back now.”
The screaming started. “Nuuuuu! Pwease, wet babbehs hab wun mow bwite time!” Some of the ones who hadn’t been involved were particularly upset. “Wai babbeh hafta gu fowebba sweepies? Nu eben du nuffin wong! Onwy udda dummeh babbehs!”
I set the bin down next to the furnace. I have a system I like to use. I pick up the first babbeh, the little shit who was whining about being uninvolved. “Time for you to sleep forever. If you give me a hug and thank me, I’ll give you sleepies without hurties.” He makes huggy legs at me. “P…pwease fankyu fow gif babbeh fowebba sweepies…huuuuhuhuhuhu…” His legs hang in the air. If nothing else, he can have this. Have one hug from a human.
I twist his head around one full rotation. His mouth is still sputtering and his eyes darting around in controlled panic when I toss him into the furnace. He bounces twice and comes to a rest under the cold burner.
Huh. Guess I forgot to turn it on. Oh well, oughta sound cool when a couple shitheads get tossed in alive. I pick up the one who’d been yelling at the pegasus earlier and look him in the eye. “Hey buddy, are you ready to die?” He screams, fire in his eye. “Meanie munstah hoomin! Nu cawe bout babbehs! Ou awways pway wif babbehs wike we nu am awive! Wike we jus toysies! Ou am dummeh poopie munstah hoomin! Nubuddy nebba wub meanie munstah!”
Original. I crush his balls and drop him on his head. He starts howling in pain and lamenting the loss of “speciaw wumps an nunu stickie!” Christ. I pick up his victim. He starts hugging me immediately. “Pwease nu huwt babbeh! Wan sweepies quickies! Nu wan suffew!” I gently stroke his mane and hold him up to my face. He smells like soap. He’s been cleaned recently. Someone loved him.
Not enough, though. I grab a roll of duct tape and tear a strip off. Holding him inside the furnace, I tape him to the wall by his wings. He’s up above the opening, so he’s got roughly five feet to fall. He’s shrieking in pain and terror about his wingies. “Owwwies! Wingies huwties su muchies! Pwease wingies, sabe babbeh! Nu wan faww, am tuu high! Suuuu scawed! Wan mummah!”
Christ. Long day ahead.
The next few don’t try to hug me. They saw me ignore it. I speedball them in and they bounced hard off the back wall. I hear them whining and chirping when they land, but they fade quickly. “Owwies…nu wike…dis pwace nu smeww pwetty…tuu much booboo juice…an…an poopies?”
Time flies. I hardly register the next few as I just get in the zone I guess. By the time I’m holding the last one, I decide to treat myself. This one will get mercy, of a sort. I hold out my finger for him to suckle. His soft teeth and wet tongue moosh against my skin. I push further and further in. Once he realizes what I am doing, it’s too late. He’s batting impotently at my finger but I’m already two knuckles deep down his throat. I hung my finger over the edge and ready my other hand. Then I flick him in the nose and fire him off of my finger like a terrible rocket.
There’s only weak chirping now from the dark furnace. Damn. Guess they were worse off than I thought. I can still hear wingie babbeh, though. “Huuuu head huwties! Wan gu sweepie…feew sickies huhuhuhuuuuu…” He’s a whiny pussy, but I think he’s got the right idea about sleep. I’m more out of it than I thought. Guess the day caught up with me.
I fumble with the control panel as I prime the starter. I flick it several times. I hear a click, but nothing. Oh, okay. That’s what must have happened. When I went to start it the starter must have failed and I didn’t notice. I laugh at my sloppiness. Glad nobody saw it, I try to look competent in front of my coworkers.
Oh well, I’m not dragging the whole fucking igniter assembly out. I’ll grab a matchbook, toss that in. I’ve done it with a burning foal before, what’s the difference? I pick up a book of matches and light it with my Zippo. As the flames engulf the matchbook I’m mesmerized for just a moment. Fire really is beautiful. It consumes all around it, but it feela no malice. It doesn’t kill because it hates. It kills because it is fire.
That’s why I like it for executions. It’s all encompassing and fair. I toss the matchbook in and wait to see if it cat-
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Breaking News: Gladstone was shaken today as the Clay Chastain Memorial Fluffy Shelter violently exploded without warning. Local officials are coordinating with other fire and police departments across the metro, and at this time it appears to have been a gas leak. Details at 11, and after that, is Parkville being invaded by an army of dogs? No! It’s the first annual Parkville Puppy Parade!