TW: a handful of slurs. I do not condone the way Dave thinks.
Just who the fuck did he think he was? In what fucking world did he value fucking vermin over you? You took a swig from the bottle, feeling the burn work it’s way down your throat and join the rest of the fire in your chest.
You are Dave, and you thought when Sam took those fucking shitrats in he was finally joining you in your hobby. He’d always been a bit of a pussy, but you didn’t think he would go as far as to… like them. Hell, he fucking loves them.
What a fucking joke.
“WAKE THE FUCK UP SHITRAT!” you threw your rum bottle on the floor, shattering it.
“…pwease… nu gwassy nummies…” the emaciated smarty mumbled from his cage.
You chuckled. “You sure? You seem pretty hungry. Flower there was begging for them…”
The rotting corpse of a pink fluffy was in the cage next to him, bloated in a puddle of its own filth and blood. She was one of the last to go, you starved her until she begged you for “eben jus’ gwassy nummies!” You obliged, providing her with a bowl of grass trimmings and a few crushed beer bottles. Grass, glass, who could tell with these retards?
Through your drunken haze the smell of the cage finally hit you and you gagged. “Guess it’s time to clean this.” The smarty cowered in the furthest corner of his cage, watching bits of the putrid corpse fall from the wire mesh.
Thinking back on your recent playthings calmed you somewhat as you stumbled out to your backyard. The satisfying shatter of the frozen shitrat. The bitch getting gored by “her” foals. Brought a smile to your face.
But then Sam stopped talking to you. Now you’re not faggot or anything, but you did care about the guy. He sent you this long ass text that you really only skimmed, telling you he “didn’t agree” with your “actions” and that he didn’t want to hear about it anymore. You were doing him a favor! The only reason he could have his prissy little herd is because you were taking care of his problems. His herd was “good” because he removed all the troublemakers. And he couldn’t even be bothered to be grateful! And then this barn shit… some kids go out to have some wholesome fun and he wants to send them to jail? Faggot cares more about his fucking pig-horses than actual humans.
You threw the wire cage on top of your festering burn pile. The grass had long since ceased to grow anywhere near your burn pile, or anywhere in your yard really. You didn’t give a shit. Why maintain a yard just to have some shitrats come destroy it?
Flower’s corpse landed on a mass of rotting purple fur. Grape? Berry? Her name was something like that. You’d smashed her head clean in when Sam kicked you out. Had to take it out on someone. She certainly popped like a grape.
Atop the pile, impaled cleanly through from ass to mouth was Storm, the foal rapist. You had livestreamed the whole process, slowly lowering his struggling form down onto the pole while he cried “NU AM MAWE! NU AM MAWE!” Not that it ever mattered to him. Once the pole was out his mouth you set up a timer behind him and left him, wriggling over the pile of corpses. The fucker had the nerve to go still in the last few hours, moaning too softly for the camera to pick up. The abuser site declared him dead too soon to break the impaled fluffy record, and you ripped his dick off for it, getting one final moan from him before he expired.
Stupid vermin can’t even die right.
You poured lighter fluid over the pile, a long overdue job. Your fluffies had been somewhat neglected, both living and dead. You hadn’t even documented Flower’s death. Just fed her and left for the bar again.
You dug through some old junk mail, finding an eviction notice you hadn’t even bothered to open. The pussies could come and take it from you, as far as you were concerned. You lived in this house, and if they didn’t like it they could speak to your Glock. You lit the corner of it and tossed it into the pile, turning it quickly into a raging fireball.
Staring into the flames, you wondered if your loneliness was getting to you. You didn’t speak to anyone these days but the bartender. Normally when you felt like this you brought over a case of beers to Sam’s. It pushed this darkness away.
But the pussy wouldn’t even respond to you anymore.
Your fists tightened as the fire burned. That asshole needed you. His stupid little “business” only worked because he pushed his problems off onto you. If only you could get your hands on those stupid shitrats… but he probably had cameras or some other shit set up. Fucking Sam. He had no idea what fluffies were really like. These ones, the burning corpses before you, were what fluffies were. Rapists and murderers. Selfish, disgusting creatures. His stupid pets were the exception, and they might even just be hiding their shittier traits.
A slow smile spread across your lips as a plan began to form. Sam needed a reminder of what fluffies were really like, what monsters they could be.
And you had just the fluffy to remind him.
You rushed back to the garage, the blue pegasus shook with fear as you approached his cage. “Pwease… nu huwties.”
“Oh buddy,” you chuckled, “do I have some plans for you.”