East Prairie Street, Part 4.
The violet foal was laying down in the ruined paper bag in the one spot that was not covered in fluffy shit or piss. She attempted to sleep, but the cries of her mother and siblings kept rousing her from her nap…until her first brother was thrown in. She passed out when she saw it, so you decided to just keep the first cadaver on the table. As you tortured and maimed her family members, you could hear faint shifting, as well as grunts and sighs whenever one of the dying shitrats began screaming. You reach over for Phoenicia, or Purple, as Emerald pronounced it, and decide to shake the bag up a bit, to “mix it’s contents”. Purple sloshed around in the slurry, eventually falling out of the bottom onto the wood surface. She groaned about huwties then screamed;
“FAMIWY NEBA WET PUWPOW SWEEP!! WICH U WAS FOWEBA SWEEPIES!!! FOWEBA!!”
She rolled to her side, but found only old, squishy bad poopies surrounding her. She decided to move to a new napping location, when she heard a familiar voice from above. Slowly opening her eyes, she saw a green figure bathed in light, the first thing she ever saw. Gasping in the beauty, she sat on her hind legs and waited for the vision to clear.
What she saw after the halo faded was a canvas of pain.
Emerald’s tears had not stopped flowing since the death of her first son. Her fluff was matted down, even on her back. Her distended legs stretched further and further, halfway to the table. Her legs began to turn black at the socket, filling with viscous blood. There was, seemingly, no possible way for her legs to regain their normal function. However, the pain of stretching nerves and watching her babbehs die was almost too much. Purple sat back, mouth agape. Tears welled in her eyes as she recognized the mangled form before her. “m…ummah…?” she questioned, eyes locked with Emerald. Too destroyed and exhaustedto speak, Emerald could do nothing but search around the room for something, anything to tell her bestest babbeh she was there. Unfortunately, the first place her eyes went was the growing corpse pile on the far edge of the table, occupied by her sissie and bwudda. She sobbed into her arms, hiding the sight of her once-proud family. “Fwuffyyy no mean itthuuuhhhhuuuu no fink fam’wy weawwy go fu’eba sweepies!! Fwuffy sowwwyyy daddaahhhahhhhuuuuuuhuuuuu….”
She was clearly lying. The only real reason she was crying is to convince her owner to put her to sleep to end her crying. You reach for her as she curls up into a ball, tears abruptly ending and turing into a bratty smile. She snickers at her lucky fate, of course the bestest would be saved! She was the bestest after all. She closed her eyes, immediately drifting off to the thoughts of warm pillows and sketties. She was awoken by a few feeling; pain. Your hand grasped her torso in a wrench-like grip, forcing all of the oxygen out of her lungs. Her ribcage contracted with a CRACK and blood immediately began dripping from her mouth and nose. You bring her close to your face, and whisper into her tiny ears your plans for her. What you spoke in her ear won’t even be half of what you’ll really do to her. You stab a finger into her neck, destroying her trachea and ability to speak. This family has been a pain in the ass, and hearing her complain less about sleeping and being the bestest will ease the fun. Dropping her on the table, you retrieve a plastic bucket filled with a viscous liquid. It sizzled and popped as you carried it, careful to not get any on yourself. Adoring the rim of the bucket was a plastic ramp leading to the center prize of the “game”, a few noodles of sketties. Placing the bucket on the table, you explain the rules to Purple.
“If you attempt to make any noise, I will crush you here and now. You have an ATTEMPT to save your life. All you need to do is get to the sketties once I place you down.”
In no shape or position to argue, she merely stared ahead and wheezed. You pick her up once again, and place her in the starting position. The acrid smell of…whatever is in the bucket is beginning to tease at the corner of her eyes. They quickly become inflamed and pink, eliciting squeals of pain from the foal. Her blurred vision did allow her to see one thing; the pile of cold noodles only about a foot in front of her. Scrabbling to her hoofpads, she began the treacherous walk to her prize. Painful moans came out of Purple’s damaged throat as the mystery gas began to seep into every orifice of her body. She inched closer, closer, and closer until…
SNAP
The bridge she was once standing on swung below Purple, unable to support her weight halfway through. The trap, or rather, “game”, was designed for this. The foal reaches too far for the sketti, and falls into the liquid as the arm springs back up.
The foal fell into the acrid soup without so much as a sound. She came up for air not a half second later, covered in a thick, black tar-like substance that coated every inch of her body. The last thing she should have done was opened her mouth, which she did, crying for her almost catatonic mother just above her. The cry let the tar fill her mouth, and as she snapped it shut, the remaining liquid shot into her nose, clogging it for good. She squirmed in place, attempted to escape, trying to wipe the liquid from her newborn eyes, only succeeding in making her liquid death more excruciating. After a minute of struggling, Purple let out a loud “HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU—NUUUHUUUUU” before sinking below the inky tide.
Emerald’s last foal was gone…for now.
The last piece.
The last part of the family.
Emerald.
She looked into your eyes with a fear you’ve never before seen.
I apologize if this one is a little short! Finally graduating and getting some things set before writing again. Emerald’s death will be hopefully a lot longer, possibly two parts if enough people decide I should continue her awful life.