So, I’ve written a story. Been meaning to for a while. I’m not 100% happy with it and it’s turned out very different from the one I had mapped out in my head.
But I feel like it’s better to write a bad story and then practice to improve my writing than to not bother trying at all.
I will do my best to respond and take on board constructive feedback.
I’ve broken it up into two parts because it felt a little bit too long. Anyway, here goes nothing…
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Conversation with an abuser. Part 1
Heya. Yeah, that’s me. Nice to meet you.
No problem, any friend of Joe’s and all that. I must admit, it seems crazy that we’re at the point where fluffy abuse is a dissertation subject now. Sign of the times, right?
Sure, I’ll have a pint of whatever that is you’re drinking. Nice one.
So, you just want me talk or… Yeah, that works for me.
How did I get into abuse?
So, the first thing you should know is that I’m a nice guy. Yeah, I know. People who call themselves nice guys usually aren’t nice guys. Fedora, incels etc. I get it.
In my case it happens to be true. I get on well with people. I’m nice to kids. I work for a charity.
You know what, fuck it. It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not.
I guess I just want to try and put things into context.
You see, I don’t generally consider myself to be a mean spirited person. I’m not big on confrontation. Never been in a real fight, bar the odd shoving match with my brother when we were kids. Live and let live, you know?
But fluffies. Fucking fluffies, man. They just bring something out in me.
What’s weird is that I never really registered them at first. Don’t get me wrong, I watched the news like everyone else. PETA, Hasbio, the chaos that ensued.
But in the grand scheme of rape, war, genocide and all the other heinous shit going on in the world…well, I guess tiny, talking horses just didn’t seem like that big a deal. In the grand scheme of human fuckery that is.
Even when they started appearing in my neck of of the woods, I didn’t pay them too much attention.
Yeah, maybe that is self centred. But let me ask you this- you know there’s a problem with homelessness going on in this country right now, yeah? But do you register every homeless person you walk past? Of course you don’t, you know they’re there but you tune them out. That’s just what we do.
Anyway, one night I’m at my girlfriends house. She’d been using my phone to watch fluffy videos on YouTube and so they were on my algorithm. I don’t know why she was using my phone. That’s not the point of the story is it? Nah, it’s fine. Sorry, just tired I guess. Yeah, a little bit self conscious too. Nah, it’s not you. Being the centre of attention feels weird, that all. I feel like I’m being psychoanalised.
Anyway, you know how it is with YouTube. You watch a video to kill five minutes while you take a dump. Haha! Yes, you do, don’t lie. Ok, whatever.
Then you watch another while you wait for your tea to boil. Before you know it, you’ve binged several hours worth.
There was just something about them. Fluffies I mean.
Fuck it, who am I’m kidding? There was something about their screams. Their tears. They way they shat themselves over nothing. It gave me…butterflies. That’s the closest feeling I can compare it to.
I know, right? Couldn’t shake it. Then one day, a feral wondered into my garden.
Hang on, lets get another round in before I continue. Nah, I’ll get this one. Same again? Fuck it, let’s order some food for the table as well.