[A/N: This is a continuation of Part 1 :)]
Flower found berries. She goes around, saying goodbye to all of her bestest friends, then sits in her nestie and consumes the berries.
After a few small forevers, the feeling hits her like a metal-monster. Her tummy hurts, and she’s made sickie-water on her tiny chirpie-babies. Boo-boo juice is starting to drip from her cracked lips, pooling below her as she lays down.
There are scary pictures in her thinkie-place, pictures that she’s sure she can’t get back out if she lives. Her see-places are fluttering closed, and her leggies are all numb.
Forever-sleepies.
Wait.
No forever-sleepies?
But, she can’t keep going on like this! She’s a fluffy, a good, nice fluffy who gives her friends huggies and loves all her babies, even the tiny one whose back leggie doesn’t look right!
Good fluffies don’t quite deserve forever-sleepies, but good fluffies shouldn’t have to live just to be given bad special-huggies and watch their girl babies suffer the same fate while most boy babies are killed!
Flower cries. She cries, and cries. She cleans her sickie-water off her babies.
“Huu-huuu… Fwowew wan die, wai nu gib die? Babbeh? Babbehs?” The babies drank Flower’s milk which contained the bad things from the tummy-hurtie berries. Their tiny bodies are limp.
She sobs, lowering her head.
Tiny wingie baby will never fly.
Tiny wingie and pointy baby will never get to be a smart fluffy, even though that baby was a bit scary.
Tiny poopie baby was never a poopie, she was like the chocolate-nummies people eat!
Flower hugs her cool, floppy babies, picking them up with her mouth to put them somewhere warm. Maybe they’ll wake up soon.
Maybe.
Flower is a soon-mummah again. She’s been a soon-mummah more times than she can count, and this time, her tummy-babies are the Smarty’s babies. She didn’t want the Smarty’s babies, but her old special-friend, Mint, was run over by a metal-monster a few bright-times ago.
“Nu wan nummies… Saddies, nu wan ged up.” Flower simply curls in on herself.
“Smawty nu cawe, dummeh mawe num nummies. Am wed nummies, num fow tummeh-babbehs.”
“Fwowew nu wan. Nu wan tummeh-babbehs.”
“Dummeh mawe bah fwuffy, nu gib tummeh-babbehs nummies. Dummeh mawe num nummies 'fow Smawty maek 'ou num dem.”
Flower crunches on the red nummies slowly – an apple. She can feel the incessant wriggling of the tummy-babies, and she hates it.
She’s known this ever since she was a baby, mares make more fluffies. But, is that all she’s good for? What about the huggies she gives and the food she can find and the friends she can make?
She should have taken the forever-sleepies. Not enough berries.
Flower had the biggest poopies a bit ago. She was screeching in pain, but Smarty didn’t care. The other fluffies felt apathy towards her. More babies.
“Mummah wub babbehs… Babbehs wub mummah…”
Flower just drones on with her song. Flower hasn’t gotten sleep in a few bright-times. Her head is starting to feel spinny, and she sees monsters in her thinkie-place.
peep peep
CHIRP
peep peep PEEP
chirp chirp
Babies.
Babies have to be quiet.
chirp
peep
Why babies no quiet? Flower want babies no chirpie! No chirpie!
CHIRP CHIRP
PEEP
The babies have to be taunting Flower now, with their tiny faces compared to their deafening squeaks.
PEEP
PEEP
PEEP
“SHUDDUP!! BABBEHS BE QUIET! BABBEHS BE QUIET!”
Squish.
Crack.
Nothing.
Flower just stands there. One of her babies is barely alive, and the rest are gone as soon as they came. Her sleep-deprived, muddled mind swims and almost tingles with this input.
“Babbehs. Babbehs wakies? Babbehs?”
Flower is a bad mummah. But, Smarty and his toughies are coming. They musy have seen her.
“Wai mawe gib babbehs foweba-sweepies? Munstah mummah! Munstah mummah!”
The toughies are shouting, and Smarty orders them to pin her down.
“Smawty gon’ put babbehs in 'ou. Babbehs in dummeh speshuw-pwace.”
Flower expects more bad special-huggies, but she sees Smarty pick up a battered baby covered in boo-boo juice with his teeth and shove the thing into her special-place.
“Nu! NU! Ged babbehs oud ob Fwowew speshuw-pwace! Babbehs nu 'posedta gu bak in, ‘posedta jus’ come out! NU!”
Her special-place has hurties, and so does her thinkie-place.
Wan die.
Flower is sickies. Very sickies.
She thinks it’s the rotting babies shoved up her special-place.
It is, but she can’t reach back there.
The stallions and some of the mares of the herd call her a soon-mummah, but in a cruel, taunting way.
Her leggies aren’t working.
She’s making bad poopies in her nestie, and tiny, buzzy things are flying around her and having babies of their own.
The buzzy-babies hurt.
Due to her body trying to heal itself where infection and wounds are setting in, she won’t go forever-sleepies for another few sets of seven bright-times.
Smarty brings back a younger, pretty mare and has special-huggies in front of Flower.
She’s happy.
He’s happy.
Those are good special-huggies, wanted special-huggies. Why couldn’t she say yes or no to the special-huggies she had to have?
The mare walks off, laying by Smarty and cooing about tummy-babies and tickles and soon-mummahs and nummies.
Flower’s not even good for special-huggies anymore, just to be the herd’s most costly houseplant.
Almost like a baby again, because all she can do without hurties and peep and eat the grassies the toughies set out in front of her mouth.
But, babies don’t have rotting babies in their special-places. Flower does.
Babies are happy with their mummahs, but Flower’s mummah lost too much boo-boo juice the last time she had babies.
Babies aren’t for being soon-mummahs, but Flower’s tiny yellow filly that reminded her of Lemon…
Flower feels the forever-sleepies coming. The new mare just had her babies, and they’re avoiding Flower due to her rotting smell.
Flower doesn’t even want to be a mummah again.
Flower want mummah.
Just little baby.
[A/N: I am not good with writing sadbox/bleakbox, and this is my first real attempt 
How did I do?]
