The abuser was an old hand at what he did. Torturing fluffies, either physically or emotionally… he considered himself something of a pro in the field. He’d been doing it almost since fluffies had first arrived on store shelves.
And he’d just come up with a great new idea.
But it was specific. Very specific. It would need something very special… hence why he’d taken to prowling the local alleyways late at night, listening out for childlike babbling as he tried to find what he needed.
And, after several days of looking, he finally had.
He turned the corner into the alley, following the simpering childlike voices, until he found a knocked-over trash can, spilling it’s load of rotting garbage onto the ground. He peeked inside, and saw exactly what he needed.
A green mare who had just recently given birth, with three foals snuggling up to her. A yellow pegasus, a pink unicorn and a blue earthy. The pegasus and the unicorn were already talking and looking around, but the blue earthy seemed to be still struggling with that.
Perfect.
“Oh dear.” He said, pulling back from the trash can and going through the same speech he’d used almost every time. “What a shame. What a pity! What a terrible terrible tragedy! I have all this spaghetti, and such a nice warm home, and lots of pretty new toys… and no fluffies to give them to!”
At the sound of his voice, the fluffies in the trash can had gone silent immediately, even the babies… but at his mentioning of toys, a home and ‘sketties’, whispering had begun.
“Mummah? Nyu homesy?”
“Toysies?”
“Ssh, babbehs! Maybe mistah be nyu daddeh!”
The man smirked, and continued.
“Oh, if only I had some fluffies! Like, I don’t know, a mama, and maybe some darling little foals! Oh, if I had them, I’d love them forever and ever! What a shame that I don’t! Here I am, all alone, without a single fluffy to hug and love!”
He waited, turned away from the trash can but listening carefully. He heard some quiet foosteps, as the mama trotted out of the filth, looking up at him.
“Uh… hewwo…?” She asked nervously.
“Oh, the heartbreak! The sadness!” The abuser continued loudly, driving the point home with his big finish. “I am so, so, so sad! If only I had a fluffy pony! Just one would do! More would be better, but all I want is a fluffy pony! To hug and to love and hug and love and hug!”
“HEWWO MISTAH!!!” The mama squeaked at last, having been won over by his final desperate cry.
The abuser smiled to himself, and turned to look at his prize.
He threw his hands to his face in mock surprise.
“Why, I do declare! What is this before me?! A fluffy pony! Just like I hoped and prayed for! Oh, but you’re only one…”
“NU! Am mummah! Hab babbehs!”
“What?!” He asked, leaping back in shock. “Babies?! Why, babies are the best thing ever!”
Mama smiled. She’d said the same thing herself many times, she knew she’d been right to run away from home after all!
“Yus! Mummah hab babbehs! Nyu mistah gib housey fow fwuffies?”
The abuser smiled at them, his shrivelled black heart crackling with sadistic joy.
“Of course, darling fluffy! I’ll give you and all of your foals a home! Come on, let’s go now, you and your babies!”
The abuser walked into his home some short time later, carrying the grubby mama in his arms, her three foals nestled into her back. Blue still wasn’t talking or opening it’s eyes yet. That was good. It was crucial to the abuser’s plan.
He carried the fluffy mare and her foals to his own safe-room. Really it was just a spare bedroom, but he never had guests over, and had tortured enough fluffies over the years that he knew the importance of keeping up appearances to win their trust early on. So he had taken the time in the past to provide a litterbox, an old dog-bed, and some food and water bowls, along with some basic baby toys for them to play with.
As he carried them in, the mama immediately lit up in excitement.
“Ooh, pwetty woomsy!” She babbled, looking around at the dull coloured walls and the years old carpet, trodden flat from numerous feet and furniture items weighing down on it over several decades.
“That’s right, mama.” The abuser said, placing the mama on the floor. “This is your room now! I’ll be in every day to fill up the food and water, and make sure your babies use the litterbox correctly, okay?”
“Otay daddeh!” She said brightly.
“But first, I’m going to have to give you all some medicine.” He said. He’d been nice enough, it was time for his plan to finally be put into action.
“Meddy-sin?”
“Yes, it’s something used to help fluffies feel better.” He said gently. “Don’t worry, it’ll be okay. I just need to take you all away one by one, give you your medicine, and then you’ll be taken back. You’ve been out on the street, in the dirt, you might be sick!”
“Mama sicky?” One of the foals, the yellow one, piped up. “Nu! Nu be sicky, mama!”
“Even worse, the babies might be sick too!” The abuser said, in faux horror. “So, I’m going to give you all a little medicine, and you’ll all be okay once it’s over.”
He decided to start with the mother. He carried her out of the spare room and brought her to the kitchen, where he dug out a bottle of soda. Using a pipette, he dropped a tiny droplet of the sweet, fizzy liquid on mama’s tongue, which she giggled at.
“Okay, that’s it!” The abuser said with a smile. “You’ve had your medicine, and you’re going to be safe now.”
“Meddy-sin taste pwetty!” Mama said contentedly.
The abuser smiled. It was all going according to plan.
He carried the mama back to the spare room where she immediately began cooing and reassuring her babies that the medicine was good, as the abuser took away her first baby, the yellow pegasus. Same process, then the pink unicorn, all good.
Finally, the blue earthy.
By now the family were all happy and comfy, trusting the abuser completely. Not only had he given them something important to help them stay safe, but it had been kinda fun too! Surely nothing bad could happen to them here!
But the fun was over for the sightless, voiceless blue foal.
The abuser carried the blue foal out to the shed instead and dropped it hard on a workbench, around which the abuser had assembled everything he would need.
Scissors, a screwdriver, a blowtorch, pliers, a tube of superglue, and a fully loaded syringe.
The best part about the fluffy pony craze, he thought to himself, was that it had led to so many new products being created. The stupid shitrats were so prone to injuring themselves, and no self-respecting vet would be caught dead operating on a glorified toy, that some shady Chinese websites had begun selling ‘DIY surgery kits’.
They were mostly junk, but a few would get you what you needed specifically. The abuser had gone a step further and contacted the manufacturers directly, and after a few back-and-forths via Google Translate, he’d gotten what he needed.
He picked up the syringe and checked there was no air in it. It was fully loaded with a milky white liquid, not too different in chemical composition from what actual medical professionals used to sedate patients, but very diluted and, as such, much less powerful. It would take a full syringe to knock out a fluffy pony, and it would have virtually no effect on a human unless you drowned them in it.
The abuser pressed the tip of the syringe into the foal’s left rear leg and injected it with a tiny droplet of the chemical. The moment the needle pierced the foal’s skin, it began chirping and crying, but the abuser ignored it.
One leg down. Then another. Then another. Then the last one.
The abuser let it cry for a minute while he waited on the chemical taking effect, and then, after 60 seconds had passed, he gripped one of the legs and jabbed it with the tip of the syringe again. The foal was still crying, but it didn’t change in pitch or volume. It hadn’t felt a thing after the initial four pin-pricks. The sedative had worked perfectly.
The foal’s legs were completely numb.
But on that note, the next step was the tongue.
The abuser picked up the screwdriver and blowtorch. This would be relatively easy, but he’d need to work fast before the idiot creature drowned in it’s own blood.
With the blowtorch heating the tip of the screwdriver, the abuser picked up a set of pliers and some scissors. The foal was still crying, it’s mouth wide open to wail and whine in fear… meaning it was incredibly easy for the abuser to grab the foal’s limp tongue with the pliers, pulling it out of the foal’s mouth as far as he could. The foal was, again, crying and wailing in pain, but the abuser ignored it, it would be over soon.
With the scissors in his other hand, he quickly snipped straight through the foal’s tongue, slicing off more than half of it. The foal immediately began to scream (or at least, let out a high-pitched warbling sound), which got even worse when the abuser then applied the red-hot tip of the screwdriver to the bleeding tongue-stump.
But eventually the tongue was dealt with, the wound cauterised and the baby left without it’s tongue. Now the baby would never speak again.
There was only one last step before he was done: the eyes.
The baby hadn’t opened it’s eyes yet, and the abuser sought to make sure that it never happened at all. He picked up the tube of superglue, unscrewed the cap and squirted a small amount around the edges of the baby’s eyelids. He let it dry, then added another coat, just to be certain.
Within minutes the baby’s eyes were glued shut permanently.
The abuser smiled at his work. It was perfect.
He picked up the foal and placed a thumb over it’s nose and mouth, smothering it’s mewling cries completely. He held on just until he felt it go limp, then released it immediately. The foal was unconscious, but not dead.
With it now ‘asleep’, he carried it back to it’s mama who gratefully took it in her stubby arms, nuzzling and cooing and cuddling her beloved ‘sweepy’ baby.
And with that, the abuser left the room, going to sleep with a very big smile on his face.
This plan was going to take a while, but by god, was it going to be worth it!