The small room was white tiled, cold, and stuffy despite the air conditioning. The chairs were made of hard plastic and felt cold, like the uncomfortable chairs used in a classroom. The overly white fluorescent lights were needlessly bright, to the point where it made one’s eyes hurt. The room smelled of antiseptic and illness. The room was full of shiny, intimidating medical equipment.
Two men sat across from each other in this room, separated by a large faux-wood desk. One man, draped in a long white coat with a nametag that read “Dr. Crazystein”, seemed frustrated. He seemed nearly ready to give up on the conversation. The other man, the one the doctor was irritated by, wore a faded red t-shirt and ripped blue jeans. He ran his hand through his gelled black hair tiredly, and stared at the replica of a human brain that sat off to the side of the desk. He slouched in his chair dejectedly.
“I’m sorry Mr. Tillard, but this is an official diagnosis!” Crazystein tapped the small packet of papers he was holding and set them on the desk, sliding them over to his client. “You can’t just brush it off like it’ll go away on its own. This is a severe case of depression I’m seeing. You need to see a therapist!” The patient, a man in his early 20’s named Brian Tillard, blinked slowly at the packet as if trying to discern whether it was worth the effort to read.
The results of his blood test and mental evaluation had come back. He had, thankfully, tested negative for any physical illness or disorder, but when it came to mental health he hadn’t been so lucky. There had been tests, evaluations, and seemingly endless questions that nearly sent his brain spiraling on their own. He’d been diagnosed with Persistent Depressive Disorder. Nothing else explained his near constant years-long feelings of intense self hatred, sadness and loss of interest in what he used to love. Sometimes it was bad enough for him to have the urge to harm himself.
Brian ran his hands through his black hair (He had forgotten to wash it the night before, it was uncomfortably greasy) and sighed. He wasn’t surprised. He then decided, right at that moment, to save all these mental health issues for another day. He was tired of this. He needed some sleep; Nevermind that he’d slept nearly 12 hours the night before.
Brian stood from the hard chair and left the tiny room that smelled vaguely of rubbing alcohol. The doctor sputtered, not expecting his patient to just up and leave in the middle of a sentence. “M-Mr. Tillard, where are you going? There are places where you could get help! I can tell you if you’ll just listen!” The doctor scurried out of the room and handed him a post-it note he had written on earlier. “Here. Please, at least try and get some help. It really does get better.”
Brian sighed, took the slip of paper and waved the nosy doctor away. Without even a glance at the note, he stuffed it into his pocket absentmindedly and kept walking. “… I’m fine.” He knew he was lying, to both himself and the doctor.
Later that day…
Brian lay on his battered faux-leather couch, staring up. How long had he been lying there, counting the discolored spots on the white ceiling and finding shapes in the popcorn-like texture of it? He didn’t know. He was hungry, but he had no desire to eat. “Nobody cares how you’re doing anyway, so why get up?” His brain whispered to him. He blinked, and something ran down his cheek. He wiped it off and looked at it. A tear. He was surprised, since everything felt so numb at the moment. He shuddered at the thought of what his parents would think if they saw him now. He didn’t truly love them, but he still strangely felt the urge to please them, even after he’d hastily moved out at 17.
For as long as he could remember, both of Brian’s parents had been cold and distant, as if they had never wanted him at all. They never held him, played with him nor comforted him. Whenever he would cry, no matter what he was upset about, his parents acted belittling and hurtful. They would say things like, “Boys don’t cry. Man up.” and “Stop crying or we’ll give you something to cry about” and worse. It didn’t matter whether he was crying over a scraped knee or the death of someone close.
He was never allowed to show extreme emotion when his parents were around; Even jumping around excitedly was frowned upon and he’d be scolded. He was forced to be like a rock for as long as he could remember. The last time he’d had a genuine cry was a few weeks ago. And before that, it had been years.
It was a horrible thing he went through those three weeks back. His dog named Soot, a small breed with long black fur had escaped the backyard for the third time since he got her. He had nearly caught her when a pickup truck hit her in the road, right in front of him. The driver never apologized, slowed down or even showed signs of remorse. The driver sped off, tires squealing loudly as the asshole fled from responsibility for what they’d just done.
She’d died in his arms before he could even get into the car to speed to the vet. Brian had sobbed in anguish and clutched her limp, still-warm little body. He swore that someday he’d find the driver and beat him so bad he’d be sent to the hospital. Who the fuck runs over a pet and just drives away, especially right in front of the owner?
Brian halted his thoughts, shivering, and shot up from the sofa. He couldn’t take it anymore, he needed to get help or he would do something to himself he’d regret. He trudged to his computer and typed in one of the URLs the doctor had written on the note. He filled out some online paperwork, sent it in, made a first-time appointment for a therapist and sighed. He’d be able to start therapy in a few months. It would feel like forever, but he knew he’d make it. He just had to hold out until then and save what little money his job gave him so he could afford it.
Months later, weeks into his therapy, Brian approached the large double doors. They were intricately carved, and made of some sort of dark wood. A bit fancy for an animal shelter. He looked up above him and saw the name of the shelter. “Fluffhaven Sanctuary” it read. He smirked. A little cheezy, but alright. A happy looking light blue fluffy pranced above the letters, seeming to have a whale of a time. “Just a look for now.” Brian promised himself. He pulled one of the heavy doors open (He needed both arms to do that) and stepped inside. Why was it so difficult to drag around?
It was then that he realized that he had forgotten to read the pamphlet about fluffies his therapist had given him. He sighed. Dammit, he’d left it at home. No way to read it now, he’d be going into this completely blind. “Stupid forgetful- Stop thinking that about yourself, it’s bad for you.” He muttered to himself. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and continued down one of the hallways. Maybe looking at the little creatures could distract him from his harsh self criticism. How hard could caring for a fluffy be, after all? It was just a technicolor horse the size of a small dog. He stopped for a second at the first door. The lettering above it read, “Earthies”. “Earthies? The heck does that mean?” Brian wondered.
He stuck his head into the earthies’ section for just a moment, but none of them seemed to have a connection with him. Sure, they were cute and all, but they weren’t special like Daphne was. He made his way to the next section. “Unicorns? That can’t be right! Unicorns are mythical… Right?” He asked himself. He pushed open the door and his eyes widened with wonder. Fluffies of every color and size were held in hay-lined pens. And atop each one’s head was a horn of a single varying color that matched their little hooves. “Wow…” He breathed. He leaned down to a dark green unicorn with a bright blue mane and tail. “Hey little guy! I guess unicorns are real now…"
The unicorn gazed up at him and began to wag his bushy tail. “Yes! Fwuffy am unicown! Awe yoo nyu daddeh?” The unicorn babbled, voice pitched like a small child. Brian yelped in surprise and scrambled back, bumping into the pen behind him. The unicorns inside startled and a few crashed into each other.
“OWWIES! Watch whewe yoo goin, hyooman! Cwementine accidentawwy gif fwiend ouchies!” A small, irritated orange unicorn with a toothpaste blue mane and tail yelped. He was comforting a spooked grey unicorn with a red mane and tail.
“R-right, sorry.” Brian murmured. He turned back to the green unicorn. “F-Fluffies can talk?!” His jaw dropped. The unicorn giggled and nodded.
“Unicown fwuffy can do magic too! Wanna see?” Before Brian could answer, the fluffy sent a couple multicolored sparks out of his purple horn that disappeared before they hit the ground. Brian gaped in amazement.
He perused most of the other sections, seeing one amazing spectacle after another. Pegasi flapped their shiny multicolored wings, and alicorns sent even stronger sparks than the unicorns. They could even lift themselves off the ground a couple inches with their bigger wings! He looked through the special needs section, and although they seemed cute too, he still didn’t have a connection with any of them.
He found that none of the fluffies really clicked with him. Sure, they were endearing and sweet and downright amazing, but he didn’t really feel anything special like he had with Daphne. He had felt like Daphne was family from the start. All these fluffies were just strangers to him, and he felt no interest. He sighed, deciding to look in another shelter. But just as he was about to leave, a loud shriek was heard from a section he hadn’t been interested in glancing in on; “Parents and Foals”. A blue-uniformed blonde woman pushed past him with a rushed “'scuse me” and hurried into that part of the shelter. Worried, Brian followed her.
When he stepped through the door, he saw the woman wrestling something small away from a purple unicorn with a red mane and tail. Angry shouts made their way to his ears. “NUUU! WET MUMMAH GIVE MUNSTAH BABBEH FOWEVEW SWEEPIES! STOOPIE HOOMAN!” The purple mare snarled. The employee glared and gently flicked her on the nose, causing her to let go and fall on her butt. “Owwies!!! You gif munstah babbeh back wight nao!” She yelled, rubbing her unhurt but sore nose with her blue hoof.
The tiny thing in the employee’s hand wailed as she ran out of the room. As she passed him, he spotted light red fur and a crimson mane. She ran into the medical part of the shelter, which was for employees only. Brian couldn’t follow her there.
He strode up to the angry mare and squatted down. “Hey there fluffy, what’s wrong?” He asked.
The mare puffed out her cheeks and stamped her hooves. “Bewwy had wots of babbehs and a munstah babbeh, den one bwite time Bewwy wakies to find aww gud babies gone! Munstah babbeh nummed them! So mummah twied to make munstah go fowevew sweepies, but dummeh hooman took munstah away! Bewwy hate dat dummeh hooman!”
Brian had understood everything she said except for the term “munstah babbeh”. “What do you mean, ‘monster baby’? Was it mean to you?” Berry thought for a moment, then shook her head.
“Nu, munstah babbeh nu mean to mummah, but it had wingies and a hown! Babbehs haf eithew wingies or hown, or neithew! Dat babbeh was a munstah!” Brian was confused. Did this mare think that alicorn babies were evil? How awful! He sighed and stood, deciding to wait and see if the baby was ok. He was tempted to scold the mare, but the foal’s safety came first. While he couldn’t do anything to help the foal heal, he could at least stand watch outside and show his support for the little guy. He went and sat down at a bench in the lobby, keeping an eye on the “Employees Only” section.
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