(Inspired by this wonderfully cruel piece by the viciously skilled Pastry_Knight, enjoy!)
The tiny foal opened his eyes for the first time in his life, looking around in awe as his tiny barely-functioning brain took in all the amazing sights he saw. A pile of straw, a box full of smelly brown lumps… and his mama. He didn’t need to be told it was her, he just knew instinctively. It was mama, all warm and safe and loving. She picked him up and cooed at him, and the foal let out a peep in response.
“Mummah wub babbeh, babbeh wub mummah…” She sang softly. The foal swung his tiny legs without any rhythm or pattern as mama sang, chirping along wih the tuneless number.
The foal’s tummy let out a loud, angry grumble, and the foal chirped. Mama heard the sound and knew the chirp was one of hunger. She lowered the foal to her swollen teat, and was just about to press him to her nipple when there was a voice.
“Yeah that’s the one, the green one.”
“Green?”
“Yeah, they specified, they wanted it green, so, y’know…”
“Sure, whatever you say.”
There was a click. Mama and baby turned and saw two humans looking into their warm cosy home.
“Huwwoh mistah!” Mama said brightly. The foal chirped along with her. “Wook!” She said, holding her foal up in the air. “Mummah hab babbeh! Bestest gweeny babbeh! Just wike mu-”
Then everything went wrong.
The foal felt itself torn away from mama’s warm, loving, gentle embrace and squeezed tight in a cold, hard fist.
“NU! GIB MUMMAH BABBEH BACK!” Mama screamed.
“Shut up, bitch.” One of the people said, pushing mama back into her straw nest and slamming the cage door closed. “He’s not yours anymore, he’s been sold.”
The foal began crying, pissing, chirping, flailing… anything it could do to free itself from the horrible tight grip that was carrying it away from mama.
“God, did it just piss on you?” The other person’s voice asked.
“Yeah, they do that a lot. That’s why we have to wear these rubber gloves. Horrible little bastards, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, but they make money, so, y’know…”
“True, they do.”
The foal could hear the words, but couldn’t process them. Money? Horrible? Piss? What did any of it mean?! It was so scary, not knowing anything!
Then the gripping fist opened suddenly, and the foal fell a very short distance into a cardboard carton, landing on a bed of several sheets of toilet-paper. Then, before it could let out a single chirp of protest, the box was closed and, with a horrible tearing sound, a length of strong clear tape was applied to keep the box closed.
The interior of the box was completely black, save for a few tiny pinpricks of light that sifted in through some very, very, very tiny holes that had been poked in the box some time ago. The foal couldn’t move to any of them, it couldn’t even walk yet, at best it could flail and scrabble and wobble around, but with the soft toilet-roll bedding under it’s hooves, it’s flailing got it nowhere at all.
Outside the box, it could still hear talking, but it was muffled now, only carrying the briefest of words through the holes in the cardboard.
“…extra… …food… …toys…” The man said.
“…unnecessary… …business… …ornament…” The woman replied.
“…costs… …delivery… …tools…” He said.
“…Etsy… …Christmas… …sale…” She said.
Then the conversation was over, and the box was lifted up. The foal inside continued to chirp and shriek and wail and whine and sob and cry and scream and grunt… but nothing changed. He was still trapped inside the box.
Unhappy and uncomfortable, but too exhausted from thrashing and screaming, the tiny foal fell asleep in the dark box, uncertain of what fate awaited it…
The box wasn’t opened until an hour later, where the foal was violently awakened by a burst of light pouring into it’s box. He let out a chirp of protest, but the light refused to go away.
“Ah, there you are.” The woman’s voice said, as she reached in and picked up the foal. The foal, once again, resented being touched, but the woman’s hands were softer and gentler than the horrible glove of the man who had taken him away from his mama.
…but that didn’t change the fact that he still missed his mama!
“Well, no limbs broken in transit, no existing injuries… yeah, I think you’ll do.” She said after looking the foal over.
It started with a gentle wash, involving a cloth soaked in a bowl of warm water being used to massage the foal’s body, softly rubbing it while warming it thoroughly. The tiny green foal cooed in happiness at the sensation, while the woman lightly scrubbed at it’s body.
Soon the foal was clean of any lingering urine stains and smells, and then the next step came: feeding!
The foal blinked it’s eyes open and saw a huge nipple in front of it! Okay, so it was just a rubber nipple on a baby-bottle, but that didn’t matter! The foal latched on immediately and hungrily slurped at the warm contents in the bottle, rapidly filling it’s tiny tummy. Even then, when it was full to the point of almost bursting, it continued to suck and slurp at the nipple, until it was forcibly pulled away by the woman.
The foal didn’t like that, but couldn’t do much beyond chirp pitifully and reach for the quickly retreating nipple with his tiny hooves.
Of course, what the foal didn’t know is that the milk had been laced with a very light dose of sleeping pills. Not enough to knock him out, just enough to dull his mind and limit his movements.
Because the next steps were going to be very tricky.
The woman placed the fluffy down on a dark green cutting mat and opened one of her drawers of crafting supplies, taking out a fresh tube of superglue and a tiny plastic cone-shaped cork.
With the foal cooing contentedly while massaging it’s swollen belly, she squirted a small dose of the superglue onto the tip of the cork. Lifting the foal’s rear legs up to fully expose it’s anus, she suddenly rammbed the cork into place, forcing it into the foal’s anus.
The foal let out a surprised yelp (well, squeak) and began chirping in distress, but the drugs were kicking in and it’s high pitched cheeping was now more like muted drunken babbling going from an ear-splitting ‘EEE’ to a low-pitched ‘blurgh’.
The woman held the cork in place as the foal weakly thrashed around, waiting at least three minutes before removing her hand. Sure enough, the cork was glued in place good and tightly. Not a single drop of shit would leak from the foal’s anus ever again.
Then, the next step.
The woman reached back into her drawer and picked up a set of nail-scissors from an old manicure set. Gripping the tiny foal’s tiny penis between her fingertips, she readied the scissors and snipped.
Now the foal’s chirping was coming back, propelled into full-blast squealing from the agony pouring through it’s body at the sensation of having it’s penis and testicles snipped clean off.
The woman ignored it and applied a wad of tissue paper to soak up the blood, then pulled out her sewing kit. This part was always a nightmare…
Several minutes later, and it was done, a simple ‘X’ sewn into the foal’s skin over where it’s genitalia had once been. One last squirt of superglue over the top sealed the deal, just give it a few days and the fluff would grow back over it, and nobody would ever notice it. Plus, it helped prevent any urination.
Meanwhile, the foal was miserable. It hadn’t stopped crying since the cork had been pushed into it’s anus, and it was still chirping up a storm. Fortunately the woman had been doing this for some time, and was already prepared for the next step.
She reached into her drawer again and pulled out a small cotton ball. When filling the milk bottle, she had poured some of the drug-laced milk into a small dish, which was sitting to one side. Wearing a disposable latex glove on the required hand, she dipped the cotton ball into the milk, rolling it around and squishing it until it was completely soaked in the spiked milk. After that she grabbed the glue again and applied a small amount all around it, being careful to avoid her gloved fingertips.
With the cotton ball prepared, she used her ungloved hand to grab the foal’s head.
The one upside to all that chirping, she always thought to herself, was that it left their mouths wide open.
She stuffed the soaked cotton ball into the foal’s gaping, chirping mouth, forcing it into place between it’s tiny, toothless jaws. The foal was unable to push the ball back out on it’s own, and the glue quickly took hold. Before long the cotton ball was completely fixed inside the tiny green foal’s mouth. It was still able to breath, but could barely make a sound anymore beyond a very quiet mewling sound.
With the cotton ball glued into place, the woman finally removed her headphones, having been working to a playlist of Led Zeppelin’s greatest hits.
“Okay, that’s the hard part done. Now let’s get you dressed.” She said to the foal.
Ten minutes later, and things were somehow even worse than before.
The foal’s entire torso had been covered in a layer of regular school glue, which matted it’s fluff and smelled horrible, but any attempt at chirping in protest was long gone now.
Before long though, the smell was replaced… as a tiny red jacket was forced onto the foal’s fluffy body, being pulled tight around it’s belly and held in place until the glue dried. Now the foal wasn’t just scared, wasn’t just in pain, wasn’t just uncomfortable, but it was hot and itchy too!
Then it happened again! A huge blob of white glue was poured onto the foal’s tiny head, and a big red cap was added. Then again, this time on the foal’s face! A big stringy trail of glue was added around it’s mouth and nose, and then a big white thing was pushed down onto it. It smelled awful, it was itchy and it made the foal far too hot, but he couldn’t do anything to fight back. his limbs were still wobbly from the drugs, and the cotton ball in his mouth continued to keep him dosed up just enough to keep him easy to manipulate.
Then, the final step.
Some more glue, this time on the foal’s hooves, which were then pressed against either side of a small colourful box.
And then it was done. The little red jacket had a hook sewn into the back of it, allowing the woman to lift up the foal and look him over.
“There we are, perfect. How do you feel, little guy?” She asked.
The foal tried to chirp, but couldn’t. The foal tried to scream, but couldn’t. The foal tried to thrash, to flail, to escape… but couldn’t.
All it could do was mewl in pain and torment, which (through the cotton ball in it’s mouth and the beard glued to it’s face) came out very much like ‘HMM!’
“Well, that’s good enough for me.” The woman said, hooking the foal onto a rack. The foal, weak and slow-moving, managed to look briefly form side to side, and saw numerous other foals just like itself, all dressed the same, all looking equally miserable and agonised.
“C’mon guys, cheer up!” The woman said, smiling at them all. “Tomorrow you get delivered… and I get paid!”
Tomorrow…
The green foal spent the next ten hours in a drug-fuelled haze of confusion, uncertainty, fear and pain. The next time it was able to clearly look around, as the drugs were finally wearing off, it was in a completely new place.
It was being carried by someone very tall, as two smaller people (‘children’, it’s brain said to it) were walking alongside it.
“It’s so cute, can I play with it?!” One of them asked.
“No, I wanna play with it first!” The other said.
“No you don’t! You’re just sayin’ that 'cos I wanted to play with it!”
“Shut up, no I’m not!”
“Kids, both of you settle down. This isn’t a toy, it’s an ornament for the tree.” The big man said.
The foal looked around, and could see a huge green tree standing in the middle of the room, covered in all kinds of sparkly pretty things! There were big round ball thingies, and long shiny string thingies, and twinkly light thingies… and at the very top, there was a big pretty star thingy!
The foal looked at the tree in awe, and figured maybe things weren’t so bad, if he at least got to see this tree every day…
Then the foal was lifted out of the man’s hand, and turned around, facing away from the tree.
He was held up and, after a moment of fastening the hook to a branch, the foal was attached to the tree, suspended below a set of twinkly light thingies.
“There we go!” The man said, stepping back to admire it. “Doesn’t it look great?”
“I love it, daddy!” One of the kids said.
“It’s stupid.” The other one said, glaring at the foal. The foal felt shame in it’s heart, and wanted to let out a tiny squirt of scaready pee-pee… but then remembered it couldn’t.
Because it’s no-nos had been taken away.
The horrible reality of it’s situation suddenly came crashing down on the foal’s mind like a ton of bricks, and it let out a series of shrieking, wailing chirps… or at least tried to, but they were all muffled by the cotton ball glued into it’s mouth.
“HRM! HRM! HRM!” The foal croaked.
“Daddy, listen! It’s saying’ ho ho ho’!” The little girl said.
“Shut up, no it’s not.” The boy said, glaring at the foal again.
“Tyler, don’t talk that way to your sister. Now c’mon, I think your mother needs some help in the kitchen…”
The trio walked away, leaving the foal attached to the tree.
The cork in his anus hurt.
The huge ugly stitches in his crotch hurt.
The cotton ball forcing his mouth open hurt.
The itchy red jacket pulling at his glue-soaked fur hurt.
The hook on his back, pulling the jacket tighter by the principle of gravity, hurt.
The empty space in his tummy, which would never again be filled with milk, hurt.
But most of all, what hurt his tiny heart most of all, was the memory of his mama.
Only a day ago, the tiny green foal had been curled up in mama’s warm fluff, drinking her delicious milk, and hearing her sing her lovely song to him… and now he would never see her again.
The foal began to sob, his entire body twitching as the tears poured out of his eyes, as he remembered mama’s voice.
“Mummah wub babbeh, babbeh wub mummah…”
“HRM HRM HRM!” The foal croak-sang to itself through it’s tears. “HRM HRM HRM!”
Elsewhere on the tree, another voice joined in.
Then another.
And another.
Soon the tree was producing a chorus of muffled, mewling grunts from the several foals that had been purchased and hung on the tree at various points, each one having suffered the same fate, and thinking the same thought as each other:
‘Wan die’
