[Pap, pap, pap]
Between the ever-present tinnitus ringing away and my headphones it took a long time before I noticed the new sound.
[Pap.. pap.. pap]
If I didn’t know better I’d say that was fluffy hooves. I’d heard the sound enough times to recognise it, but I didn’t get random shitrats knocking at my door. Nobody in the country did, time and climate change had only rendered Australia even less hospitable to that least functional of quote “animals.” Still, intrigued I pulled myself up to investigate.
It’s important to know that I live alone, and even by the standards of the country I’m fairly isolated. The Bunya mountains are a sub-tropical tourist trap devoid of almost all human development. Given over to a handful of insular, generational locals and national parkland there was simply nothing here, and the distance from anywhere developed enough to support a feral population only made this little visitation even less plausible. So it was with no small curiosity that I pulled my front door open, and discovered something special.
“H-hewwo nice hooman..” Demurred the fluffy, not taking his eyes from my feet. This one was young, a colt from his voice and half-grown body. His hide, an ugly mixture of mottled greens and brown that spread across his mane and tail in a single uniform coloration, reminded me of camouflage. The little bastard was probably fairly decent at hiding like that. His.. brother, less so.
“PEEP! PE-EEPEE! CHIRRRP..” As shocking as this one’s shrill chirping was, his colours were almost worse. Eye-watering, tradie fluorescent yellow with a shock of purple mane that seemed designed to catch attention. Worse, he was so fat it was a wonder he’d managed to waddle to my door. It looked.. wrong. It’s muzzle was flat, like someone had kicked it in the face. It’s eyes seemed off as well, slated far enough inward to give it a retarded aspect that bothered me. It didn’t seem able to close it’s mouth, and when I met its dull eyes, I realised what was wrong.
Fuck Wept. This thing was an actual, living Sensitive Baby. I’d never seen one in person and only uncommonly online. How the hell did one exist all the way out here?
The little mutant babbled and peeped incessantly. Hardly seeming to register my presence while his camo pattern brother tried to get my attention. “N..nice mwista, p-pwease no hwerties. Worstest babby an spwecal brudda 'nee nummies 'an wuv..”
I had to admit, this fluffy deserved at least a little praise for keeping a completely dead weight sibling alive out here and for finding the courage to beg me for salvation. That kind of effort warranted at least a little kindness, and my curiosity demanded indulgence. I promised the creature nothing, telling him in no uncertain terms that I would only feed him and his brother, and that IF I chose to keep them, it would be something I decided without his input. Clearly this wasn’t the answer he wanted- but he seemed to accept the small win. Nodding unhappily “Otay.. 'dis way bruddah.. 'dis way.. Hewe bruddah” It took four or five tries to catch the little retards attention and coax it into lumbering motion. As the pair crossed the threshold into my kitchen I noticed with some displeasure that the retard was trailing piss the entire way. Making a rumbling “chu-rr-rrr” that sounded uncomfortably like purring. If his camo sibling noticed, he said nothing. Just continued to look back as I led them inside. I was no expert, reading humans is a struggle, much less kitbashed mutants bred in a lab to appeal to toddlers. But, even I could see how rote this routine seemed to be. Poor bastard had probably been caring for his sibling all their lives. That realisation set off a light in my mind, and I made my decision.
After telling the coalt that I’d be right back with something for them to eat and receiving a slightly more upbeat “otay mistah. Fwuffy wait” I retreated into my pantry to set my newfound scheme into action. I’m not a particularly clever man. But I am capable of idle cruelty and felt far more sympathy toward the capable fluffy.
I didn’t have much in my pantry. Just a few ancient MRE’s I’d picked up cheap on the way out here and a few random medications. The former I was pleased to see, where spaghetti and the latter included some melatonin gummies, and the silica packet that came with them. In that moment, an idea was formed. After cracking the MRE’s and almost burning myself I tore each open, sprinkled the entire silica packet over one and palmed a single gummy before heading back out. Prize in hand.
“Mistah.. mistah gib 'sgetti?” Camo asked, disbelief choking his voice as I set the steaming slop down with a smile I didn’t quite feel. I explained it was only fair that I give them something nice if I wasn’t going to keep them. This seemed to break the colt and he threw his skinny legs around my ankle and sobbed great, shaking tears into my foot while his idiot sibling happily threw itself face-first into a poisoned meal. The little freak didn’t seem to taste it and hardly even chewed. Just gulped and shovelled itself into the pasta while I gently pried it’s sibling off my foot and urged him to eat. I even showed him the gummy, explaining it was a treat for after his meal.
Nothing much happened while they ate. I watched the Sensitive Baby almost choke a few times. Gagging and thrashing until it’s brother headbutted it in the chest and got unchewed noodles vomited across his back for the trouble. It was around this point I set my trap. I praised the fluffy for his patience and courage. Told him that it was a special fluffy who’d look after a brother that only made his life harder. That not any fluffy would sacrifice everything for a brother who couldn’t thank him and needed to be looked after every single day. With every word I watched his ears droop and his little shoulders slump inward. I needed him in a bad headspace and by the time I offered him the gummy, I could see the misery behind his eyes.
Melatonin works quickly enough on humans, for a half-grown fluffy the effect was almost instant. The camo colt went from chewing to unconscious in all of fifteen seconds. Leaving me alone with the retard at last.
“Pepeepee chir-rrp!” he babbled as I put my foot to his spilling belly and shoved! Rolling him onto his back in a flailing tangle of yellow and a low, hollow fart that seemed to distress it more then I did. “CHIRP! CHIRRPEE!” Already it was starting to cry, spasticly trying to mash a hoof into it’s mouth. I’d have to work fast. Pins where out of the question, instead I found a paperclip and, after a few seconds twisting and bending I’d produced four small lengths of wire. My heart sped up uncomfortably when I grabbed a fat leg and began to push the edged metal into his hood pad, until now my abuse had been impersonal. Leaving nature to torment, I’d never done it myself and the way the little shit thrashed almost made me let go. Until it began to scream.
“SCREEEEEP! EEEEEEEE! CHURR! CHURRRP! HAF..HAF SCEEEEEEEE!”
There was surprisingly little blood as the twist of wire sunk past “hide” less durable than cardbord and embedded itself in muscle. After the first I found myself increasingly less bothered, and within moments I had four bits of wire stabbing into the creatures hooves. Each length bent at the end to ensure it would be putting weight on both the invasive metal, and a point digging into it’s hoof. This I hoped would make trying to move a nightmare for my little camo prospect. The silica-laced spaghetti on the other hand, that would dry the shitrat’s guts out in less than an hour. If it was lucky it’d need to take the mother of all difficult shits, more likely was an intestinal blockage and rupture. I wasn’t finished though. I wanted the fat mistake to suffer in ways it’s inability to communicate would render fatal.
Next was that revolting flat muzzle. I’d spilled enough miniature epoxy on myself to know that shit burned. So it was with no small pleasure that I pinched the retards nostrils shut and liberally applied a coat of chemical reeking glue to wet skin and held the slits closed until flesh began to melt and fuse together. “CHRRRR! EEEH EEH EH EH EH!” It’s eyes bulged, blood vessels rupturing with pain and dumb animal panic when breathing became harder. Without it’s nose it seemed less able to make noise, so that was something.
My final abuse was simple. Smothering the freak’s mouth I lifted it away from it’s unconscious brother, angled it to keep both ends away from my person, and began to SHAKE! Violently wrenching the fluffy mutant this way and that until my arms began to ache and the creatures already frantic thrashing took on a seizure quality. I watched, amused as it began to convulsively jerk and try to curl in on itself. It’s stomach gurgled unhappily and from between teeth I was holding together a froth of pink, acid stinking foam trickled. It kept trying to curl, some biological programming no doubt. So I held fast, watching the stupid thing almost drown on it’s own vomit before some vestige of survival instinct forced it to swallow the sticky bile and paste back down. By the time I dropped it to the floor it was sobbing. Shuddering and twitching so violently I had to wonder if I’d actually given it a seizure. Without nostrils it could only make lower-pitched gasping cries while I amused myself by getting down to it’s level and screaming. Slamming my hands to either side of it’s head, moving quickly and baring my teeth. Whatever I could think of to frighten and overstimulate it until it’s eyes where bloody spheres, pupils contracted almost to nothing. It was around this point my colt began to come around. Groggy and clearly unhappy at the noise.
“..Nh.. fwuffy.. sweepies? Ugh.. bruddah, why crysies?”
Watching him try to wrangle any kind of answer form his hysterical sibling was enough to make me grin. Over and over he attempted to gently get his shrieking brothers attention, and when that failed he started trying to hug his obese ward. This served to compress a drying stomach and put fresh pressure on a fragile digestive system that was quickly losing all moisture with a human’s worth of pasta turning to cement inside it. The result was fresh thrashing and a breathless “SCHEEEEEEEEP! S-CHEEREP! CHUR CHUR CHURRRP!”
After another minute or two of this, and at risk of developing a headache I stepped in. Telling the colt that since his brother was being difficult I was going to put them back outside. This, I explained, wasn’t his fault. It was his brother’s. If he where all alone I’d take him in without question.
Leaving that little cruelty to fester I ushered the pair back outside. My camo colt went willingly enough, dragging his feet and shooting increasingly black looks toward his sibling, who scrabbled and shrieked the entire way as my foot repeatedly kicked him into scrabbling motion, for all of a second. Once it felt the burning prick of metal shifting inside its legs and digging at its hooves it would promptly scream, collapse and thrash until I kicked it into a hasty three or four adrenaline fuelled steps.
Once back outside I didn’t see the pair again for a few days.
From the colt’s perspective he’d just been abandoned by a daddah who didn’t love his bwuddah, a bwuddah who was crying even harder than usual and seemed even less able to move. Moving him took several unahappy kicks and headbutts once it became clear he simply would not do anything but lay there and shriek without prompting. “..Worstest fwuffy hatechu” He hissed, shoving his retarded sibling into the shelter beneath a low growing bush. “Dummeh sensetie babbeh.. Nu daddah fink you am dummeh an now fwuffy am cwold 'an wet… Watah nu good 'fo fwuffies!”
By the time he’d finished the little colt was yelling. Hooves splayed and shouting at the top of his little lungs at a creature whose entire face had turned red with strain as it’s plethora of agonies gave way to a terminal need. Veins bulged across it’s temples and hoarse breaths sawed past cracked teeth as the sensitive baby reflexively obeyed an urge it had never noticed before, and pushed.
“UHUUUGH! EHH EH EH CURRHP! CHURR-HUK!”
This time when it vomited, it bought up chunks of bloody shit. Reeking of stomach acid and pale with scraps of torn intestinal lining.
“HURK! UGGH U-UUUUH! CHURRRRRRR…”
It’s bloodshot eyes crossed before, all at once the swollen mistake issued a series of faint pops. The bulging vein running down it’s brow slackened all at once and something inside it’s guts ruptured. The special baby, coddled by it’s mother and carefully, painstakingly protected by it’s brother, shit a log of blood and acid soaked pasta from it’s slackening insides, and died. Having managed to rip it’s intestines apart and give itself a fatal stroke.
Three days later my new fluffy, who I named “Major” for his camo coat, was introduced to my little herd. He was a patient and attentive bio-toy, but not once did he ever go near the mothers and whenever the foals cried, I watched his expression turn murderous. He spent a good deal of time with me, I needed my herd to grow if I was going to continue indulging my worse impulses after all.
[It’s been a hot minute. I apologize for this one not being terribly on-brand, but I’ve been struggling to make my intended story work. So, enjoy this. I know some of the spelling for the fluff-speak is off and I haven’t had time to run this through a grammar check. So it’s a 4/10 from my perspective.]
