Hoarse heaving created an odd, raw sensation in the fluffy’s throat. The shuddering that ran down his body was painful. Not just for the involuntary spasm spurred by fear, but they pulled against the restraints that bound his hooves. The belts of leather held his limbs apart unnaturally and uncomfortably.
Despite himself, the fluffy whimpered, “Fwuffy be gud, daddeh!” for the umpteenth time. His strained voice was much deeper than what one would expect from a fluffy. It too was distorted by the desperate terror that kept his weak heart racing.
“F-fwuffy wan wub daddeh! Ged pwetty namesies an’-- an–” The worst part about this had to be his torturer. It was a figure in casual clothes save for the rubbery, featureless mask clasped to their face. The fluffy assumed the person was male, because of course he did.
This person did not speak, and simply allowed the fluffy to wallow in pitiful pleading. Another human had given the fluffy to the monster in a crate. The crate was small and lonely, but the fluffy would have given anything to return to that special kind of torment instead of living this one. At least the crate was plain in its neglect.
The table the fluffy was strapped to was under the ominous point of a long, thin knife. It was almost the size of a full rapier! The monster in the mask held it point-down over the fluffy’s stomach, the sight being so implicitly terrifying that the creature started to protest and beg immediately. It did not matter that the fluffy did recognize the weapon for what it was; it could have just been a shiny sorry-stick for all he knew, but the threat was nevertheless conveyed.
“P-pwease, nu huwt fwuffy!” As he spoke, the fluffy squirmed and wriggled his back. He rose a fraction of an inch off the table when he arched his back painfully and whined.
“Nu wike dis! Nu wike dis!” The fluffy started to weep fresh tears while shifting restlessly from side to side. “Huwties! Scawedies! Stahp pwease!”
Half-obliging, the person lowered the blade. Just enough for its point to sting the fluffy right in his middle. His rectum puckered and then dilated reflexively, but there were no feces to expunge from his bowels. There was no urine to spray. The fluffy could only squeal pathetically and cry.
“Huhuhuhu!” came the outburst from a snout contorted into a frown. The frown then peeled back into a scowl as the fluffy rolled his head backwards dramatically. “HUUHUUUHUUU, MUNSTAH WAN HUWT FWUFFY!”
The hysterics were coaxed out by the fact that, every time the fluffy pulled in a shallow breath, the point of the blade pricked his sensitive flesh. Seeing as he was just about hyperventilating in his panic, his inadvertent suffering was making his brain frenzy.
The fluffy was devolving into a wet, pitiful mess, but the mask betrayed no sympathy. The monster did not say anything. No words of comfort. No sneering malice. Silence was the worst part of it all.
“WAN BOX! WAN FWUFFY SOWWY BOXIE! NU WAN DIS!”
The fluffy gagged on his own petulance before bodily heaving and regurgitating a frothy filth without any actual substance. His stomach was well and truly empty save for a diminishing volume of fluid.
Eventually the fluffy calmed down through sheer exhaustion and panted through slime-covered lips. His reddened eyes peered up at the gleaming steel looming its deadly intent.
“Pwease nu huwties…? Pwetty pwease…?”
The lack of answer was maddening. Again, the fluffy succumbed to tantrum, but his fleeting energy meant that this one was not only tamer, but also shorter, than the last.
“Huuu… Huuuuu,” the fluffy droned miserably.
And then, while he was too preoccupied with his own emotional response to the predicament, the masked one plunged the blade through the fluffy’s entrails, and it was stopped by the table with a decisive thwump.
The fluffy screamed; a sound as abrupt as grating thunder, before cutting out. His vocal cords had nothing more and they could take no more either. Impotently he thrashed and “wailed”-- his gaping mouth screamed silently into the oppressively dark room he found himself in. The dim lamplight directly behind the monstrous person was the only source of illumination.
Perhaps it was a mercy for the fluffy that he could not see the blood seeping out of him. But, with every frantic breath he took, the fluffy felt more of his flesh splitting around the metal impaled through his body, so mercy was perhaps a concept forlorn.
The fluffy croaked and rasped some wordless sentiment. Then he gasped, sobbed, and let himself go limp as the pain overwhelmed him. His tail twitched as his body relaxed. If he was not throughly drained in all sense of the word, the fluffy would have certainly made a mess of himself.
Instead, there was just the cooling puddle of red staining his fur and running along the surface of the table.
With that, the fluffy drew his last, and died.