Contest Submission - The Bloom of Anabelle
By: Turboencabulator
Contest run by @Dragonixa
Austin has arrived at work and had already changed his clothes to a green t-shirt with a happy
trio of fluffies and ‘Joyful Shelter - Home to all Fluffies’ written on it. His morning coffee
has been slowly kicking in along the way there, although not enough to make him feel fully
awake, and, unfortunately for him, he was in such a rush that he couldn’t even have his
cigarette at this time of the day, which already made him grumpy. However, this time he needed
to set his bad mood aside, since there was a new rescue in the shelter.
The young man entered a hallway full of caged out safe rooms, where the recovering fluffies
rested after their surgeries and troublesome pasts. Some of them jerked up with happy grateful
smiles and welcomed him while cheerfully wagging their tails, some barely lifted their sleepy
heads after being anesthetized, and the others remained curled up in their corners, not able to
ever trust a human after what they’ve been through. Somewhere in the middle of the room
Austin’s coworker Gina was crouching in front of one of the cages and closely observed a new
addition to the shelter. When she heard him close the door behind him, she quickly turned her
head towards him, as if she was caught doing something she’s not supposed to do, but then she
sent him a weak half-smile and waved. He raised his hand in response and approached her with an
energetic walk.
“Hey Gina! What do we have here? I heard there’s a new baby girl with us.” He said and crouched
right next to her. Despite this joyful facade, the bags under his eyes were breaking his
cheerful disguise and showed how moody he really was deep inside. Gina has moved a bit of
annoying blonde hair away from her face and put it behind her ear, then she pointed at the
sleeping fluffy she was just watching.
“There she is,” She responded. “Because her mother treated her badly, she didn’t even have a
name, so we called her Anabelle. Her foal’s name is Bloom, it’s her only child. It’s surprising
that it survived and is doing so well.” Austin, a little intrigued, took a closer look at the
yellow mare. Then he realised something special about her. She had both wings and a horn.
“She’s a legit alicorn?” He raised his eyebrows in disbelief.
“Indeed! Probably after some socializing she’ll be a perfect pet for someone.” Gina grinned for
a second, but then her smile quickly faded after Anabelle shivered and flinched in her sleep
while making a quiet noise full of fear. “She needs lots of rest now… She’s been through a lot
today.”
“What happened to her?”
The blonde sighed heavily.
“She… Has just miscarried 5 foals. None of her offspring survived. The babies…” Gina stopped
for a second to take a hold on her tears. “They all came out with broken bones, one of them
had a popped belly… Someone must have kicked her or something must have hurt her belly during
her pregnancy, otherwise I can’t imagine what else could have been the reason. It’s just…
Terrible.”
“Holy damn…” Austin covered his mouth in shock. Even though he heard a lot of stories either
from vets, coworkers or fluffies themselves, some of it still made an impact on him, like this
time. “What… What about her scar? And her leg?”
“The scar was caused most probably by some feral cat, at least that’s what we could understand
from Anabelle’s mutters. She called the culprit a “furry monster” that made “scary meow-meows”,
so that explains it. We’re waiting on blood test results in case she might carry rabies from
that cat, but I think she’ll be just fine in that case. About the leg… Vets don’t know if they
can save it. It’s all oozing, stinky and disgusting under that bandaid…”
“So her wound got badly infected, huh?” He guessed, and the woman nodded sadly in response.
“Not gonna lie, Austin, but her story gets only worse… She told me how all of her other foals
from Bloom’s litter got killed one by one either by humans or street animals including other
fluffies, like for example the father of her now miscarried babies. How did she defend Bloom
from all the dangers and tried her best to feed her appropriately, sometimes sacrificing her
own meals for her… No idea, but it only tells me how much of a pure creature she truely is.”
“And to think that her mother rejected her… It’s unbelievable how some fluffies can be real
dickheads”
“Hey! Don’t you swear in front of fluffies!” Gina giggled and gave him a soft punch in the arm.
“Whoops! Sorry for that, haha… Still. I mean, look at her! How is this possible she’s still
alive? Her and Bloom, too…”
“She’s a real fighter, let me tell you.” Yet another deep sigh left her lungs. “It’s probably
going to be really hard, if even possible, to seperate them both, though. Bloom seems to be the
only reason for Anabelle to live at this point, and for us to take her away from her would be
just… Just terrible.”
Austin sighed and shook his head, then got up and straightened his wrinkled shirt.
“Alright, Gina. I have to check out who I’m taking care of today, I bet David is already mad at
me for being late. Sorry to leave you like that…”
“It’s okay, take care!”
The young man quickly waved her goodbye and ran towards the exit on the other side of the
hallway to meet their manager, leaving Gina alone with her new rescue. She followed him with a
mellowed stare until he disappeared behind the closing door, and then turned back to Anabelle,
who whimpered and brought her daughter closer with her weak arms, only capable of hugging at
this point. The shelter worker couldn’t hold her tears anymore and finally let them stream down
her cheek. However, she had to stop immediately. Someone had suddenly opened the entrance door…
The phone rings.
A man looks up from his computer, the cursor flashing on the cliffhanger phrase. A muttered
burst of profanity comes from his mouth as he get up from his chair. He walks, unsteady, making
his way across the dimly lit twilight of his apartment, and picks up the phone.
“Hello, what.”
A response.
“Yes, Herb, I got the updated notes from the board.”
A response.
He turns and looks out the window, overlooking the metropolis outside. “The answer is fucking
no, they can’t go keep changing the script requirements like this.”
A response. The man gently thuds his forehead against the window, squinting his eyes shut
against an oncoming headache. “Herb, here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to leave them
all a neat message that from now on, every time they want a change that requires a re-write, my
rate goes up ten percent.”
A response.
“Yes I know they can find other writers, but they won’t find other writers willing to write
goddamn fluffy PSAs for this cheap. They’ve gotten their ‘ooh alicorns are so special’ shit,
they’re going to get their fucking ‘abusers are worse than necropedophilic clones of Hitler’,
and the rest of the putrid waste of air time they want.”
A response, louder.
“Herb. Herb. Are you at your desk? Good, ok. Go find the contract. I’m serious, this is
important. Go find it.”
A wait.
“Now, where in there does it say that I am required to take suggestions?”
A response, quieter.
“Yeah. Also, why don’t you take a look at the last section. The one my agent added.”
A response. Very quiet.
“Yes, double the estimated bill, even if I sever the contract. I’m being nice, letting them
stipulate what they want. The only reason I’m doing this is because I agree with these pricks,
so tell them to take their ‘mandated changes’, carefully roll them into a structurally sound
tube, apply vaseline, and insert.”
A response. He listens, looking over at a bottle of whiskey on the counter by the
kitchen. Three hours ago it was full. It is not now.
“Yeah well I changed my mind. I swear to god, Herb, you’re the only person on the board that
isn’t some snivelling little bag of expired taco-farts. I thought those pricks at the
University were a bunch of whiny snowflakes but they could learn something from this group.”
A response, defeated.
“Yeah, I’ll make deadline. Love you too, asshat.”
He hangs up and sighs, staring out the window.
The young man quickly waved her goodbye and ran towards the exit on the other side of the
hallway to meet their manager, leaving Gina alone with her new rescue. She followed him with a
mellowed stare until he disappeared behind the closing door, and then turned back to Anabelle,
who whimpered and brought her daughter closer with her weak arms, only capable of hugging at
this point. The shelter worker couldn’t hold her tears anymore and finally let them stream down
her cheek. However, she had to stop immediately. Someone had suddenly opened the entrance door.
A quiet, smiling old lady walked in, looking around. “Oh dear, dear, dear. There’s too much
sadness here for such a lovely day.”
She walked over to Gina, absentmindedly sighing. “Another poor one hurt, then. Oh I can see it
in your face, m’dear, tis such a tragedy these little ones get the brunt of such behavior.”
Anabelle looked up, keeping her nose tucked in against her filly. Gina nodded, and looked out
the window. “I don’t understand.”
The old lady sighed, and
“Fucking garbage.” He said, deleting what he had written.
He got up again, and went into the kitchen, turning on the undercabinet lighting and splashing
water on his face. After a moment of staring into the sink, he began a ritual that had gotten
him through writing before.
A few minutes of slow, quiet work with a hand grinder, the smell of fresh-roasted coffee beans
filling the kitchen. Carefully loading and tamping the grind in the basket. The rumble and hiss
of the espresso machine, into a waiting demitasse cup.
A splash of whiskey, and down in one. He went back to his computer.
The young man quickly waved her goodbye and ran towards the exit on the other side of the
hallway to meet their manager, leaving Gina alone with her new rescue. She followed him with a
mellowed stare until he disappeared behind the closing door, and then turned back to Anabelle,
who whimpered and brought her daughter closer with her weak arms, only capable of hugging at
this point. The shelter worker couldn’t hold her tears anymore and finally let them stream down
her cheek. However, she had to stop immediately. Someone had suddenly opened the entrance door.
David walked in, dour and with his clipboard. He glanced down at Anabelle, making her recoil
tighter into Gina’s chest.
“So this is our new fluffy. She’s been through the wringer.” He said, smiling faintly.
Gina softly pet Anabelle. “He’s ok, Belle.”
“Gina, can I have a word with you?” David asked, gesturing to the fluffy.
Gina nodded, and quietly pet Anabelle and set her in the pen with her daughter. After a moment
of almost rapturous staring, she got up and walked to David.
“I’m afraid the shelter has hit a problem. We’re close to bankruptcy, but I’ve found a company
looking for alicorn breeders. They’re willing to compensate us.”
Gina was horrified, and backed up from David. “No, you can’t. She’s been through too much,
she’s too pure and too loving.”
David let a small smirk past. “Well, technically, I can. But aren’t you being a bit
melodramatic?”
“She’s a perfect being, David.” Gina said, her voice cracking and strained as she went to her
knees, pulling her hair. “She’s a perrrrfect beeeeeing.”
David’s mouth twisted in a sneer as he pulled out a suppressed pistol. “We know, that is why we
want her for breeeeding. She will give us the perfect fluffy, and we will be poised to take
over … the WORLD!”
He levelled the pistol at Gina. “Now, Agent Gina, you will give me the fluffy.”
Gina stood up, pulling a pistol of her own. “Over my dead body you big meanie.”
He looked at what he had written, then at the bottle of whiskey. Empty.
“Yeah, need to stop that.”
He got up, and showered. Fresh clothing and a shave later, he sat down and stared at the door
opening in the shelter.
“Well, time for brute force.”
Opening the drawer of his desk, he took out an old, well-maintained fountain pen, and a thick
stack of index cards.
The shelter worker couldn’t hold her tears anymore and finally let them stream down her
cheek. However, she had to stop immediately. Someone had suddenly opened the entrance door.
A man came in. A woman. Two men. A mother and child. David, Austin, A worried fluffy owner, a
cop. They were worried, intrigued, curious, bored, in a panic.
Gina watched as Anabelle recoiled, hid, screamed in terror, jumped and then settled from the
door opening.
She was adopted, she was rejected, she was taken by an unknown person. Anabelle was saved, she
was brutalized, she was ignored, she had her leg removed, her infection was cured, her baby
began to talk, it was crushed, it passed away in the night.
Time branched away into many potentials.
He looked over the wall covered with index cards, ideas in a neatly taped-up grid. The sun was
beginning to peek up over the city, as grey clouds began to roll in, casting a golden, foggy
light on the wall. With a sigh he scanned over the cards, using a wet-wipe to get the fountain
pen stains off his fingers.
Scenes played out in his imagination, one after another. Sighing, he got up and looked at the
clock.
A while later, he left his apartment building, jogging down the sidewalk and towards the
park. The cool morning air stimulated as it ran through his hair and under his arms, and let
him barely be sweating when he slows to a walk, coming up on a cafe.
There is an outside counter, and he stands, leaning against it. “Hey, you open?”
A young woman walks out from the back. “Hi, what can I get ya today?”
“Croissant and an espresso please.” He said, looking around. He pauses, staring at something on
the ground. “What’s with the statues?”
“Oh, fluffy repellents.” She says, with a slightly amused grin. “Dumbasses can’t tell the
difference if you paint them.”
She serves him the pastry and coffee and he pays, leaning against the counter and looking
around.
Off across a river is a group of fluffies, bitterly fighting over a moldy section of roll. He
watches as one family takes it and runs away, leaving the other family behind. The mare turns
and screams at a brown stallion, still young, but probably an adult. She turns and shits on him,
and stomps off, taking her babies with.
He finishes his coffee and walks slowly, over the bridge, keeping an eye on the stallion.
The mare wobbles up to him, her three little foals nestled in her back fluff. “Hewwo nicey
mistew. New daddeh?”
He looks down at the mare. “No, my house doesn’t let fluffies in. Why did you poop on that
fluffy?”
The mare turns and looks at the stallion, now sitting, dejected. “Dat nu guud poopie babbeh
fwum wast speciaw fwien. Dummie nebbew get nummies fow gud mummah an pwetty babbies.”
She blows a raspberry and then looks back up at him. “Hab nummies?”
He shakes his head. “No, but I think I saw someone giving out good food over by the big
statue.”
“Ooh, fwuffy kno dat pwace. Fank yu!” She says, and trots off.
He watches her go, wondering, for there is no big statue. After a moment he walks over to the
soiled stallion and sighs. “Hey. You ok?” He asks.
“Huu, mummah teww poopie babbeh tu go fowebba sweepies.” The stallion says, sobbing, sniffling.
“But, you’re not a baby?” He says.
“Nu, but, dat wut mummah awways caww fwuffy. Cuz nu guud nuff fow namesie.”
The two fall silent, one thinking, one sobbing. After a minute, the stallion shakes the turds
off and rolls in a shallow bit of the river, washing most of the filth off.
“I thought fluffies were afraid of water.”
“Bein scawdies not su bad when hab wowstest nu-smeww-pwetties.”
“What are you going to do now?” He asks.
“Weww…” The stallion thinks, sitting down under a tree, looking at the rain coming
in. “Fwuffy nu kno. Nu shewtew hab woom. Nu hewd wan poopie fwuffs. Nu hoomins 'sept meanies an munsta hoomins wan fwuffy.”
After a minute, the stallion stands up, with a little sigh. “Fwuffy kno. Fank yu fow
wowwies. Onwy hoomin ebber wowwy bout poopie fwuff.”
He walks off, sad, but resolute, keeping to the grass and dirt, and off the harsh concrete
path.
He follows the fluffy, keeping a distance. Then he stops, watching as the fluffy goes to the
midpoint of the bridge, and stops.
He doesn’t move, but simply watches, as the fluffy turns and jumps off the bridge, and is
carried away by the current.
He walks home, the spirit for running gone. A quick detour into a package store and he
continues, a bottle of bond-proof bourbon tucked under his arm.
In his apartment, he sits, staring at the script.
A drink.
He stares.
A drink.
He frowns, looking out at the city, into the alleyway across the street. A group of fluffies
are gang-raping a mare, cheered on by a few homeless people. One man on a dumpster has an
armful of heroin and masturbates to the spectacle.
The rain begins.
A drink.
He deletes what he has written and begins writing.
Someone had suddenly opened the entrance door.
The Joyful Shelter is a set. The false front is opened by Austin, who walks in frame, and sits
on a stool.
“Hello.” He says, then coughs. “Uh. My name’s Austin Dunlap. This would have been our fifth
‘Joyful Shelter’ public service announcement. I’m a volunteer for the Fluffy Friends of
Toronto, alongside Gina and David. This… this isn’t what was originally planned, for a fifth
episode.”
When he’s not speaking, it is dead silent.
“When we were planning this episode, it was going to be based on something that did happen at
one of our shelters. A fluffy, injured and with one surviving child, that we named ‘Anabelle’,
that showed up and we were uh…”
A long pause.
“I couldn’t keep my lunch down. Originally we were going to present a softened version for you
but… this needs to be real. Not theatre. Gina is bringing the real Anabelle here now.”
There’s a quiet rolling sound, and Gina wheels a fluffy pen on a cart over.
Inside is a dusty tan earthie mare. She is missing her left legs, left eye, and right teat. Her
head lolls around, her eye unfocused. The fluff on her head is mostly gone, replaced by a very
old chemical burn and the scars from a pair of puncture marks. A deformed stallion, nearly full
grown, is suckling milk from her teat. His limbs are beyond atrophy, he has unseemly masses,
and one eye is sealed behind a skin-like membrane.
Gina gently ran her fingers down Anabelle’s cheek, calming the fluffy down. She turns to the
camera.
“Anabelle is the victim of an abuser. He crippled her, tortured her, and from what the doctors
can tell, made to have an incestuous relationship with her own children. Her son is probably
four or five litters in. Then, before he dumped them in a shelter, he lobotomized her so she
couldn’t identify him. We’re sure this is because he visited her after, in the
shelter. Probably to pick up more fluffies.”
Austin begins bottle-feeding her. “She will never be adopted. That much is obvious. But
Anabelle is just one of thousands of fluffies that are mistreated. The law may say they’re
toys. But they still think. They still feel. And whatever legal fictions may exist, this is
still wrong. Fluffies can love, and can have relationships with people.”
Gina takes the bottle softly and wheels the fluffies out.
Austin turns back to the camera. “They’re alive. And they need our help. Please, consider
volunteering time at a fluffy shelter, or adopting your own. Help us get fluffies off the
streets and someplace they can be safe and cared for. Just like any pet, they need
training, but they can be just as hygienic and well-behaved as a cat or dog with appropriate
time and care. Don’t believe the horror stories. They’re just that. Stories.”
“We know we can never eliminate the mistreatment. You know this too. There is no reason,
though, to make it easy, or to sit by while they suffer.”
The screen fades to black, to be replaced with the logo of the Fluffy Friends of Toronto, and
the number for their hotline.
