Byron looked desperately to find another job. It was no use. He was getting auto-rejected by all the applicant tracking systems. All the dealerships in the area already had enough mechanics, and besides, they wanted mechanics fresh out of trade school. He began to drink more often. Even Tangerine’s relentless attempt to hug the depression out of him did nothing. The soon-mummahs in the garage finally gave birth, and Byron let them nurse their young for about a week. Once their eyes opened, Byron collected all 12 chirpies in an old grocery bag, along with one of the feral’s that tried to bite him, and made a visit to Bill.
Bill had been worrying about Byron. He knew he lost his job, and Byron didn’t seem to be taking it well. Bill offered to hire him on part time, but Byron wouldn’t even let him finish his offer. He stormed out that day shouting. Byron never accepted charity from anyone.
Byron took another swig from his flask. The cheap vodka stung as it went down, but it seemed to cool his nerves. It had been almost three weeks since Byron stormed out of Bill’s Deli. Bill was mindlessly wiping down the display case in front of him, his attention fixed on the old CRT television playing reruns of Nascar from the stone ages. After a certifiable eternity, Bill turns his head towards the door and sees Byron there.
“I didn’t expect to see you here so soon.” Bill scoffed, curtly. “What do you want?”
“I’ve got somemore fluffies for you. One adult and a bunch of chirpies.” Byron said shakily.
“Wet fwuffy gu meanie dummeh poope…” the purple mare in the bag howled and thrashed about.
“Bring them in the back.” replied Bill, motioning with his hand.
Byron followed Bill into the backroom of the Deli. Various cuts of meat were hanging from the ceiling and some sausages were curing in the corner.
“In the sink” Bill pointed to the sink.
Byron dumped the fluffies out of the bag and into the sink. The purple mare kept bitching, and turned with its asshole puckered, preparing itself to do sorry poopies.
Bill was talking to Byron, but he wasn’t listening much. He stuck his arm out and forcefully pushed Bill over to the side a few feet. Bill, unprepared for this slipped, and barely caught himself on the sturdy oak prep table. A jet of poopies flew through the air. Byron could feel his face flush. Bill was still recovering from his slip. Byron lunged into the sink and ripped the purple mare from the foals. He violently shook her over the sink, and two more foals tumbled below. He took and slammed her on the prep table.
“Sorry Bill, this one’s not for sale…YET.” said Byron, with an edge to his voice.
“What are you doing there Byron?” said Bill, more curious than anything.
Byron picked up the meat cleaver, and chopped each of the four legs off of the mare in quick succession. The mare scree’d and huuhuu’ed but little did she know, the torments of her pain were but a sweet symphony to Byron’s ears. He set the meat cleaver down, and took a smaller knife from the knife block. Holding the mare’s jaw open with his left hand, he quickly severs the mare’s vocal chords with the other hand. The mare started to make gurgling sounds. Byron tipped her upside down over the sink and let the blood from his botched surgery run down the drain. The mare’s eyes crossed and uncrossed a few times. Byron set her back into the grocery bag, which was now covered in shit.
“Gonna take her home and milkbag her now.” Byron replied, a sense of calm returning amidst a slight headache from his impending sobreity. “Fuck it, gonna let one of my stallions fuck her, then let her act as a milkbag for her own babbies.”
“Byron, just relax man, luckily the health inspector isnt in today.” Bill chuckled.
“Right, so how much for the chirpies?”
Bill hands Byron two twenty dollar bills. Byron thanks Bill, and begins to depart. He hands a twenty back to him. “Actually, get me a pound of the honey glazed ham and half a pound of the cheddar and a dill pickle for good measure.” Byron says to Bill
Bill starts to package the meat, cheese, and pickle. He hands them to Byron, who immediately unwraps the pickle and begins eating it. Byron walks over to the door to leave.
“Hey, come take your change!” Bill shouts.
“Leave it on my tab, I’ll be back.” Byron says with a wink
Bill’s scowl softens and he chuckles to himself.
Bill drives home and makes himself a ham sandwich to be damn proud of. He’s mostly sobered up at this point, which is starting to negatively affect his mood. He reaches into the refrigerator, almost out of habit, to grab another beer. He slams it shut with some force. Instead, he takes the purple mare out to the garage. He throws her onto the workbench, and proceeds to do a more thorough amputation, removing any trace of any stumps. Begrudgingly, he uses a scant amount of generic insta-heal gel. The mare’s eyes still spin in all directions, Byron hoped he didn’t derp her, but didn’t much care, she couldn’t fight back anymore so her mental state was irrelevant. Byron rigged up a milkbag stand out of some lumber laying around the garage. He didn’t bother to sand the wood or paint it. By the time it rotted, the mare would be either dead from trauma or from lack of viable eggs, in which case Byron was planning to mince her and feed her to the smarty. Byron worked tirelessly, stopping only to pee and get some ice cold water from the fridge. He marveled at his worksmanship. A tube went from the mare’s mouth down into the stomach, and he permamently melted another tube into her asshole and urethra, which looped back around into the food intake. Byron took the smarty from his pen, and forcefully jerked him off. After a few pitiful seconds, Byron’s hand was covered in fluffy cum. He took his hand and thrust it into the mare’s vagina. After a thorough washing of his hands, Byron went to the kitchen and grabbed his old duffel bag and another old can of spaghetti-o’s and left for his nightly fluffyhunt.
Something was amiss tonight. It seems Byron had to walk for a long time before he found a feral herd. In truth, he only walked about six blocks, but that was becoming increasingly laborious with the drinking and isolation melting away his broad muscles. He captured this herd easily, and, for added measure, withdrew the can of “skettis” at the last second. The duffel bag was only half full, so Byron went and found another herd nearby. He did the same trick again, except this time, he had to stop a few from trying to escape. He let them have the sketti’s this time.
Byron took them home, and voided each fluffy before washing them with the cheapest, most abrasive dishsoap known to man. He took some twine and took each fluffy as it was washed and dried, and tied all four legs together tightly, then took a rubberband and looped it around the fluffy’s snout tightly. This time, he counted twenty fluffies, including four soon-mummahs, which were transferred to the breeding cages in the garage.
Time passed. Byron slowly started to live more soberly. He eventually started to help Bill out at the shop. Cleaning up, setting the meats out, washing the knives, easy shit at first. Eventually, Bill taught Byron how to sell and cut meats and cheeses, at which point Bill started to leave for short periods during the day. Byron kept him stocked with fluffy meat, which more and more people kept asking about. He went home, played with Tangerine and her foals for a while, and sat down to watch some television.
“Breaking news tonight. The feral fluffy population in the eastern section of Old Detroit is coming under control as a good samaritan is seen here luring feral herds into a bag with the promise of spaghetti. It is unclear what happens to the ferals after they are bagged, but one can only assume that this is their death.”
The television bared on, showing clips of Byron out fluffynapping ferals. Thankfully his face was being concealed.
“Whoever this man is, is doing the LORD’s work. This is the best community service ever, I mean a real service to the community.” An older black lady rambled, being interviewed by a newscaster.
Byron realized that soon he’d run out of ferals to easily abduct. He’d have to start breeding, and soon. It was already starting to get cold again.
Gonna probably stop writing these idk. Just not doing much for me anymore. Put this down at the bottom to see if anyone is reading my shit. If so idk leave me a fire emoji or some shit idk
