“Mummah! It am babbeh time! Mummah babbeh time!” These were the words of Posh, an orange & purple mare who was bothering her owner in the living room. Posh’s owner was quite used to this because after all, the time her and the other fluffy in the house spent together was something she looked forward to all day.
“OK. But try to keep yourself from getting too excited.” Replied Livia, a middle-aged woman with a tight auburn perm. She wore a sweater with fluffies on it that said ‘HUGGIES N WUB CHARITY RUN’, though judging by her fat rolls and how she always wore sweatpants she’d just been a sponsor of said event. Stepping up from the couch with a grunt and groan, she waddled over to a door which had a rainbow colored sign hanging cheerfully from it.
‘Banjo’s Clubhouse!’ is what the sign said, though it was clear what the room really was when the door swung open to reveal it’s sole occupant. Infection stench and antiseptic clung to the air heavily, a cloying mixture of tissue attempting to die and the tool being used to prevent it. FluffTV constantly blared on in the background, and the walls were covered in posters of fluffies playing or giving one another hugs. The focal point of the room was a stack of baby cots stacked on top of one another, the topmost mattress covered with a plastic sheet stained with bodily fluids and feces stains.
Banjo was on there. The sad remains of what was left of him. Once a colt who loved to explore, with vibrant blue and yellow fur, now just a withered monster. You see, one day while his owner was frying up an entire bag of frozen chimichangas for herself, Banjo had played a trick on her. Jumping out from behind a chair and yelling ‘BOO!’ which he thought would be funny. Instead she had dropped molten hotcanola oil on him. The espowin’ babbeh had the oil sink down into his fur, cooking away his skin. Of course the fur sloughed off along with his flesh after it’d become superheated. That in particular was a distant memory to him. He didn’t remember much of what happened initially.
He was a stallion now. Or should be. Even a trained eye would be hard pressed to determine he was a fluffy on first inspection. The flesh which had grown back was raw red and withered. Cracking and prone to multiple infections. The foul puss wept from wounds which would never go away, because that’s all he was now. A wound. The teeniest of hairs poked out though he’d never have fur again. The creature’s lips had practically dripped right off of his face and left teeth always clenched and fully displayed. Now that it mattered much: An oxygen mask was always secured over his face due to the fact that even his lungs had been scorched. Both ears were twisted and fused to the side of his head and although he could hear, it was dim. Every few days his owner had to come and drain the fluid out.
“Babbeh Banjo! Mummah wub yew!” He heard mummah’s voice. At first he loved mummah. More than anything. That had decayed over time though. Now he hated her. She was the wowstest mummah.
Banjo knew what was coming next. A hug. Every fluffy loved huggies. It made everything better. Not for him though. His eyes got wide with fear and anticipation as they did every day, Posh scampering up to the cot he was on and enveloping him in a hug. Wowstest huwties. That skin would never heal properly. It always seemed to be in a state of near-completion and then it would stick to his mummah’s fur and peel off with a sickening noise. Tears rolled down his eyes.
Pwease stop
That’s what he thought. He tried so hard to make mummah see what words were in his thinky-pwace, but she never did. Their owner would simply ball up a wet wipe and clean Posh off, giving small tsks.
“You need to be gentle with him, Posh. He’s a heawin’ babbeh.” Yes, Livia was the kind of person to use the baby talk.
“Teehee…buh wub babbeh su su muchsies.” Posh cooed, nuzzling her grown-up child. Banjo pushed breath out with all his might. Tried to get fried lungs and a lipless mouth to form words that didn’t come.
HAECHU. FWUFFY HAECHU. NEBBA WUB YEW MUMMAH!
That’s what he wanted to say. Instead all that came out were pitiful rasping grunts and whistles past the oxygen mask.
“Look, Banjo. Dancie Babbehs! Your favorite show. Let me turn it up for you!” That had been his favorite show, when he was a babbeh. He wasn’t anymore. Not that he could protest what Livia was saying.
“And look! It’s feeding time.” A bottle of Sketti flavored nutrient liquid was flashed in front of his eyes. More pain. Livia bent down to unfastened the diaper that clung to his cracked hips, peeling it away. The oil had burnt away his no-no stick and speciaw wumps. Now it was the same tangled mass scorched together flesh. No mare would ever want him. No babbehs for this fluffy.
Measuring out the proper amount of the foul smelling sketti flavored nutrient mix into an enema bag, Livia would feed a tube up his poopie place. That hurt. It was embarrassing. Even more so that his mummah sat there the entire time and watched.
“It am otay babbeh…yew hab poopie pwace nummies.” Posh told him in what was supposed to be a comforting voice. He found nothing but shame from this still.
It always burned as the liquid poured into him. Upset his tummy. It didn’t always happen, but sometimes it did. An accident. A roiling, gurgling inferno that seized over his bowels. If he still had a tail, it’d be curled over in agony of what would come out of him. With explosive force, what was supposed to be his daily meal exploded out of his ass and painted the wall.
“Babbeh su stinkeh!” Posh said, giggling. Livia began cleaning up. Tears of utmost shame and humiliation made searing trails down his sucked-in cheeks.
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After Livia had cleaned up, the two of them were sitting in the room and keeping Banjo company. Just as she always did, their owner brought up a contentious issue.
“Have you given any thought to letting Banjo go, honeypie? I know you love him and I do too, but he does have lots of owwies.” The choice had always been given to her mare since day one. There was no problem with keeping him alive…in fact, it gave her something to do. Posh batted her eyelashes.
“Banjo am babbeh, Posh wub babbeh. Nu gib fowebba sweepies.” That’s all he wanted. Fowebba sweepies. He didn’t know what that was like and it scared him, but it couldn’t hurt worse than this.
“Of course. I respect your decision! Well, would you like to take a nap with him? I’m sure he’d love that.” Livia got up to leave the room as Posh jumped up and down on the immobile fluffy’s bed.
“YIS! SU EGSITED! BABBEH!” Getting down close to Banjo, Posh curled up against his side. He could feel her breath pushing in against one of his deformed ears, smell the kibble on her breath.
“Mummah wub babbeh, babbeh wub mummah, bestest wub fowebbah…” He hated her. The song. The way her fur felt against nerves which were laid completely bare to the world. More than anything, Banjo hoped something bad would happen to her. That a munstah would come out of the closet and num her. Or that someone would steal her away. Whatever, it didn’t matter. All he cared was that she was gone and forever away.
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Posh had slept the entire time in comfortable piece, her mummah’s song coming out occasionally. Banjo, meanwhile, sat there and stared with frozen eyes at teebee. It was a dancie babbeh marathon, how nice.
Eventually, enough time had passed and Posh got up from the bed with a small stretch and bent down to press a kiss against his head.
“Bye babbeh, mummah am suuu hungwies an’ wan pway!” Not exactly considerate given his circumstances but when had she ever been? Scampering down the ramp that led down from the bed, he was finally at peace from her presence. Well. He was about to be even more away from it.
If she wouldn’t leave, he would. The dummeh thing on his face was what kept him from fowebbah sweepies. That’s what Livia had said. If it was off his face, he could go fowebbah sweepies too.
Scawdies…huwties…
Atrophied muscles attempted to work. Even his hooves had melted from the accident, looking like burnt black plastic stumps attached to his pitifully weak legs. Giving weak twitches, he grunted and rasped behind the oxygen mask. If he still had eyelids, they’d be squeezed shut with the effort.
Nee’…mobe…
His body inched slightly. Almost imperceptible. The pain was torturous even still, but he couldn’t give up now. Even with his skin peeling off on the plastic sheets beneath him, he gave tugs away from the mask. It followed along with him, attached to a long hose. Get away from it. That’s what he needed to do. Dancie babbehs on teebee. It made him so frustrated. The sound of their dummeh dancing and the stupid giggling gave him energy to inch ever closer to the edge. Progress, a long streak of pus and blood streaked out from behind him.
It was almost too much to bear at this point. So close yet he felt so far away. All he wanted to do was sleep now, but if he did then he’d be moved back. It would be for nothing.
“Mummah! Wook, Posh am hab baww!” That was his mummah playing around. Crashing into stuff while Livia clapped. She got to have fun while he was kept in here with the wowstest huwties. Well she couldn’t have everything. He couldn’t have him anymore!
Hatred giving him the boost needed to reach the end of the cot, he peered over. It seemed so far down to that wood floor. Almost dizzying from his perspective.
Scawdies.
Flash-fried weggies cinched themselves to the edge, dragged himself the body closer to the precipice of no return.
Haechu, mummah.
He didn’t have the opportunity to squeeze his eyes shut as his body dragged down from the bed with the floor rushing forward to meet him. The oxygen mask snapped off and dangled down next to him, giving a hiss of air.
Banjo sat on the floor, bones shattered like glass. He couldn’t breathe anymore. No matter his own breathe-place tried, it couldn’t. He was winning. Rasping choked breaths knocked out of his chest. Spots began to appear in his vision. This was what he wanted.
“Mummah! MUMMAH! BABBEH NEE’ HEWP! HUWWY!” Posh had heard the sound of the other fluffy failing and eventually come in to inspect what had happened. Even as his eyes were fading out, he felt anger clutch his heart.
Nu, nu, nu! WAN FOWEBBA SWEEPIES! PWEASE!
He begged with all his might with his eyes. It didn’t stop Livia from sweeping into the room while the mare screeched and stamped her hooves for rescue.
++++++++++++++++
The stallion woke up to find he hadn’t gone fowebbah sweepies. There was Dancie Babbehs on teebee. Mummah sitting beside him. At seeing him showing some recognition, a faint light he was awake, she hurriedly got up and skittered away to find Livia.
“Mummah! Mummmaahhh! Babbeh hab wakies!” Summoned to the room, Livia would fix Banjo with a concerned expression.
“I bet you have the ‘wowstest heawt huwties’ about your fall, huh? You seem OK…a few broken bones, that’s all.” And more skin ripped off of his body, but what was that at this point? Taking something from behind her back, she presented it to him. It was a cowboy hat made specifically for fluffies.
“I got you this as a little present so you could cheer up.” The hat was strapped to his head, enveloping his shriveled walnut head up in it’s cheap material. Posh popped up beside him, tail waggling excitedly. She had a hat too, pink of course.
“Babbeh ‘n mummah am matchsies! Suuuu fun!” Getting up on her hind legs, the mare broke out in a dance!
“Oh, and good news buddy! I strapped you in nice and tight with a leather strap so you won’t be having any more oopsy-poopsie falls!” Livia gave Banjo a shiteating grin and popped out her phone to snap a pic of the two cuties.
.