“PWEASE NU MOW BAD UPPIES FOW BEBBEHS!” a pastel yellow unicorn screamed up at you sobbing relentlessly as she she stood on her back hooves banging on the child gate you put up to separate the front hallway from the kitchen. “PWEASE DADDEH! GIB BEBBEHS BACK TO MUMMAH! BEBBEHS NEED HUGGIES TU MAKE HUWTIES GU AWAY!”
Your name was, who the fuck cares, let’s call you Chad Thundercock. On the table in front of you sat her charred poopie baby on top of a clay brick which you had just burned from the inside out with a thermite enema. The Stray mare, fluff graying from the fine dust that coated cities, was dumb and defiant enough to insist that “Aww bebbehs desewb miwkies an wub!”
The chirpy pegasus filly in your hands was white and peeped and flailed as you held it by it’s tail. Scaredy poops trickled down its belly back into its mouth. A diet exclusively of milk had zero fiber and all the litter could produce were little streams of diarrhea.
They remaining foals tried to climb up into the mare’s belly fluff unsuccessfully and kept flopping back down into pools of their own sympathetic poopies that they made hearing the screaming chirps of their siblings. There were seven in total, an exceptionally large brood and the mare was desperate for any food to make milkies for them all.
Despite your disgust for fluffies and pathetic strays, this foal had a nice pelt, and it was getting ruined by it’s disgusting liquid shit. You walked over to the sink and hosed it off with the water gun attachment, the sharp jet of water irritating it’s skin and making it chirp in pain.
“NUU WAWAS BAD FOW FWUFFIES!” and other such nonsense came from behind the gate. “DUMMEH WAWW! WET MUMMAH GET BEBBEHS!”” She was truly retarded, the front hallway, kitchen, and living room were all connected by open walkways, and she just had to walk an extra twenty feet around the corner to get into the kitchen since none of the other entries had walls. Even a golden retriever understood this.
You plopped it down on the table and began to make quick work with your exacto knife, making sure not to dig too deep and sever an artery, not to keep the filly alive but to keep too much blood from staining the pelt. After a few scores across the belly, neck, and around the limbs you grab the filly by the tail yet again.
Its shrieking and the pounding of its mother’s hooves on the gate are so loud you had trouble concentrating and accidentally performed a tracheotomy on the filly. Her chirps and peeps got even more ragged as its destroyed vocal chords forced sound out of the wrong hole.
With one quick yank, the skin separates from the body and begins to slide off like a sock. The filly lets out the most bloodcurdling screeching possible, so loud it even drowns out it’s mother’s pleas for a minute. You plop the flailing shrieking mass of flesh down on a tray lined with newspaper while you walk back to the sink to rinse the blood off the inside of the pelt and twist the wings off.
You hang it above the sink from a string and a clothespin deciding to finish tanning it when the apartment is a bit quieter. The Filly keeps flailing and shrieking. You had seen animals survive some insane shit on gore websites but even a squirrel on meth would have died by now.
“Pwease Daddeh!” The mare was exhausted from kicking the gate and yelling demands. Her pleas had grown quieter. “Mummah need to hug bebbbeh! Bebbeh hab suu mannie heawt huwties!” She held her dirty hooves up towards you, her eyes pleading for compassion she neither deserved nor would receive.
Murdering entire families of strays had become more of a chore than a hobby. You were a bit tired of this routine by now, and a though crossed your mind. “You know what? Fuck it! How ‘bout this? I’ll let you hug your baby. And if it gets better, I’ll give you all a safe room and toys and skettis! How ‘bout that?”
Her expression immediately did an about face, her mouth turning into the widest smile you had ever seen, and you walked past Fluffmart, and FluffTV, and Fluffcare, and Fluffbrand Sketti, and Fluffy etcetera advertisements with their shit eating grins plastered all over them on a daily basis.
Her foal is of course still screeching in agony, but this doesn’t dissuade her change in mood. “Weawwy!?” You know it won’t work so you decide to give her an out, just to be fair before you break your word and torture the rest of them to death anyway.
She seemed to have completely forgotten the chirpies at her feet that had all pooped themselves out, metaphorically and literally, trying to reach her udders which hung just an inch above their faces. “But! If you don’t fix your baby with hugs then I will hurt the rest of them too!” You wag your finger at her for comedic effect.
She looks up at you with her hooves resting on the gate, eyes shifting back and forth as she does the math. “Otay… Mummah stiww wan hug bebbeh! Bebbehs need sawfe woom an toys an sketti miwkies fow biggest heawt happies!” She lifts her hooves again towards you.
You lift her and set her on the table next to her still screeching foal, wing nubs with exposed bone protruding, that looked more like a prop for ‘Hellraiser 27: The Hellraisening’ than the living stuffed animal called a biotoy. She looks down at her foal in confusion ”Su manneh boo boo juisies…”
The gears turn for way too long before she looks back up at you. “Wewe bebbeh’s fwuff gu?”
“I don’t know, but you better start hugging before I hurt your other foals.” This puts a fire under her as and she descends on her filly, hugging it tightly. As it’s face came clearly into view in her hooves she continued “Bebbeh see pwacies open? Mummah hab big heawt happies!” The eyelids of course had been peeled off with the rest of the pelt.
Singing a little huggy song as she cried, her salty tears stung filly’s exterior. Her soft fluff may as well have been steel wool to the filly as the fibers dug into her raw flesh. The ragged chirping got louder and louder as every pain receptor of the filly’s muscles was rubbed.
The mare’s hugs did not comfort the filly and in fact made it’s final moments even worse. The pain was so intense that the chirping became peeping. The mare’s actions had successfully gotten a chirpy baby to mentally regress, into a chirpy baby. Chalk that one up on the list of medical firsts.
The peeping stopped as shock finally drove the filly to pass out and begin seizing. “Bebbeh? Bebbeh! Nuuuuu!” The filly succumbed to cardiac arrest and flopped limply in her mother’s bloodstained hooves.
“Well, you know our deal.” You smacked the mare off the table, she flails helplessly, sending her filly flying. She lands face first and begins stumbling in circles crosseyed as she tries to follow and stop you. Of course, she can’t and walks headfirst into a cabinet, passing out from her fresh neck injury.
The rest of her good color foals have been skinned with their pelts joining the white filly. The others experiencing more creative deaths: you put one on an electric wisk and let centrifugal force push all it’s blood into its head giving it an aneurism, another was loaded into a nerf ‘rocket launcher’ and fired out the window onto the roof of the adjacent building where it joined a dozen other foal skeletons mummified in the sun. The last got shoved in a ziplock bag and beaten to death with a rolling pin.
You decide to crack open a few brewskies and watch the big game while you waited for the mare to wake back up. Sometime towards the end of the fourth quarter she began shrieking for her babies. Damn, just when it was getting good you thought.
“Bebbehs! Wewe bebbehs? Bebbehs need dewe mummah!” You were done with her shit, you scruffed her and she began to twitch and piss as you aggravated her fresh neck injury. Opening the window behind the sink you held her at arm’s length. She had noticed the pelts hanging there and was too focused trying to reach and hug them to notice how high up she was. “Bebbehs hab bad uppies! Mummah sabe bebbehs!”
She finally realizes she is outside and looks down. “Whu-" she briefly realizes her new predicament and not a moment too late. You let go. "BAD UPPIES!” Are her last words followed by a long “SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE” as she falls twelve stories into the alley behind your building.
You wait for the bang of her landing in the dumpster that is just under you window, but it doesn’t come. You poke your head out to look down and see the dumpster has been moved a few feet to the side. Instead, the mare has managed to land squarely on top of another fluffy, both exploding in gore from the impact.
You would say it was a million in one shot but given how little the hugbox mayor did to deal with the feral problem, it was at worst a ten to one shot.
From a carboard box in the splash zone, a rotund and immobile mare begins shrieking “Spechow fwen! Nuuuu!”
Well, at least you, Chad Thundercock, will have a new mare to torment soon.