The efforts of hugboxers to save Fluffies will never fail to make me laugh.
In the local newspaper today, I saw an ad for, I shit you not, a nursing home for elderly Fluffies. I read over the ad several times, and my eyes did not deceive me. A Fluffy charity actually opened up a nursing home for elderly Fluffies, and they called it “Huggyhomes”. The ad mentioned that the place was severely short-staffed and desperate for employees. No wonder. How does one even come up with the concept of a Fluffy old folks’ home?
It is a miracle for a Fluffy to reach the “gray” stage. Due to either neglectful owners, their own stupidity, or abusers like myself, Fluffy lifespans are cut short more often than not. I’d be shocked if more than three Fluffies were housed at this place. You might as well treat them as national treasures. Put them in a museum, not a nursing home.
Of course, I took advantage of the job opportunity. When I said it was short-staffed, I wasn’t kidding. The entire establishment was run out of a previously-abandoned building and had three employees: A manager, a desk receptionist, and one nurse to attend to the Fluffies. Using a forged ID and a fake name, I applied for the job and was hired in an instant. I volunteered for two roles: Therapist, and nightwatchman. Nightwatchman is exactly what it sounds like. Just look after the place during the night. Therapist is a bit more interesting. In lieu of physical activity, gray Fluffies get enjoyment out of talking with humans and other Fluffies.
I was shown around the place by a staff member. Five gray Fluffies in total were housed at the building, each with their own rooms. Despite the low budget of the place, these hugboxers had made sure that every Fluffy in the home received the best treatment possible. That money could’ve been spent to feed the homeless, help real animals, or ANYTHING else, but instead it was being used to fund the luxury lives of shithogs.
Before they closed the place up and left me with the Fluffies, they introduced me to a specific Fluffy that they particularly wanted me to take special care of throughout the night.
“We want you to meet Bonnet. He’s about 6 years old and has a long history. He was born in a house with an abuser who tortured him until he escaped at 3 years old, only to end up in the arms of another abuser who kept him for another 3 years until we rescued him. He has trouble controlling his bowels and is scared by loud noises and sharp objects. Aside from that, he’s a great Fluffy and I’m sure he’d love to talk to you.”
They opened the door to Bonnet’s room and showed me inside.
“Hewwo, nice hooman… Am Bonnet. Am ouwd Fwuffy. Pwease be nice wady, nu wike meanie hoomans…”
I had never seen an elderly Fluffy before. No wonder why, due to their rarity, but wow. His fluff was raggedy. It was a dulled blue color. His mane was totally gray and thinning. He was dressed in a blue diaper to match his fluff. A catheter bag seemed to be installed.
“Alright, here’s the master key to all the rooms. Just make sure the place is locked up tight, tend to all the Fluffies’ needs, and remember to give them plenty of huggies and love.”
“Will do.”
Idiots. Once I made sure everyone had left, I went into Bonnet’s room and locked the door behind me.
“So, Bonnet, tell me about yourself.”
“Am Bonnet! Am ouwd Fwuffy, wub miwkies an’ nummies, an’ nice hoomans. Bonnet nu wike huwties an’ ouchies an’ owwies… wan mowe Fwuffy fwens an maybe speshuw fwen someday…”
“Have you ever had a special friend before?”
He paused for a moment.
“N-nu… nu hab speshuw fwen ebah. Wan speshuw fwen someday an make bestest babbehs.”
He didn’t realize that he was infertile.
“Do you think there’s a reason why you’ve never had a special friend?”
“Hmmm… Bonnet nu wan tawk ‘bout it.”
“It’s okay, you can tell me. What has your life been like?”
“Bonnet nu wan tawk ‘bout it!”
“I’m your therapist, Bonnet. I need to know these things.”
He hesitated.
“O-otay… Bonnet had meanie daddah. Meanie daddah gabe Bonnet mummah foweba sweepies…”
He began tearing up.
“Meanie daddeh awways gabe Bonnet huwties… wowstest huwties… nu huggies… nu wub… huuhuu…”
“Go on.”
“Daddeh nu wet odah Fwuffies in housie. Nu Fwuffy fwens… onwy wowstest huwties…”
“What exactly did he do to your mummah?”
Silence.
“Bonnet, I told you, I need to know these things.”
“Meanie daddeh gib wowstest stompies to mummah… mummah go foweba sweepies…”
“Tell me about the things he would do to you, Bonnet.”
“Meanie daddeh nu gib sketties an’ gud nummies, onwy poopies! Hate meanie daddeh! Hate hate hate!”
“Is that what made you run away?”
“Yes… Bonnet nu had housie… wivin’ ou’side, nummin’ twashies… nu taste pwetty.”
“I heard you were later picked up by another human. What was that like?”
“Nyu daddeh was wowstest meanie!”
“Really? Even worse than the first one?”
“Meanest daddeh gabe wowstest huwties ob aww! Meanest daddeh awways gib huwties wit Sowwy Stick an’ Sowwy Box! Nu huggies an’ wub, onwy huwties!”
“And then you were eventually saved by Huggyhomes, is that right?”
“Yes…”
His story of being born into a life of pain and degeneracy, losing faith in humanity every step of the way, mirrored my life story all too well.
No.
I wasn’t about to find a kindred spirit in a fucking shithog.
“So, what do you think of humans in general?”
“Bonnet wan’ wike hoomans… bu’ hoomans gib huwties…”
“Not all of them. Some humans are just fine. I haven’t given you any hurties, have I?”
“Hmm… ‘ou wight, aww hoomans nu am meanies… bu’ why some hoomans gib huwties? Fwuffies onwy wan’ huggies an’ wub an’ nummies an’ miwkies! Nu huwties!”
“I think I might know the answer, but I have one more question for you. Bonnet, have you ever felt truly happy?”
He paused for quite a while.
“Bonnet onwy had heawt happies when nice hoomans sabe Bonnet… Bonnet wan’ mowe heawt happies!”
“Well, Bonnet, why is it that you rarely ever have these “heart happies”?”
“Because hoomans gibe wowstest huwties…”
“Yes, yes, but why have you experienced pain your whole life?”
“Bonnet nu undewstan’…”
“Have you ever considered that maybe you deserve it?”
His demeanor completely changed.
“Wh-wha’???”
“You heard me right. Have you considered that maybe all the “hurties” you’ve received throughout your life are completely deserved?”
“N-n-nu! Bonnet nu desewb huwties! Bonnet am gud Fwuffy!”
I stood up.
“You’re completely wrong. You deserve everything that’s happened to you.”
“Why???”
“Isn’t it obvious? You’re a Fluffy. You exist only as a punching bag for others. You spent your life serving your purpose. If not for you, both of those mean daddehs probably would’ve hurt other humans. You Fluffies are only good for one thing, and that’s being an object to enact sadistic fantasies on.”
“NUUUUUUUU! FWUFFIES AM FO’ HUGGIES AN’ WUB!”
“Oh, shut the fuck up. Nobody could ever love you pathetic abominations.”
I grabbed a handheld mirror.
“LOOK AT YOURSELF! LOOK AT HOW FUCKING UGLY YOU ARE!”
“Nu, Bonnet nu am ugwy! Am pwetty!”
I picked him up by the scruff of his neck and punched him square in the face, then set him down on a desk. I opened up a drawer of medical supplies.
“Huhu… Bonnet was wight… hooman am meanie… aww hoomans am meanies!”
“You’re goddamn right.”
I hit him over the head with a reflex hammer, leaving him dazed as I strapped him to the desk with duct tape and put on a pair of gloves. I slapped him across the face to wake him up.
“Wh-wha’ meanie hooman doin’? Nu wan’ dis!”
I didn’t respond. I removed his diaper and tossed it to the side. I took his catheter bag, cut it open with a scalpel, and poured the contents of it into his mouth.
“Yuckies! Nu! Nu wan’ dwink peepees!”
I yanked out his catheter, making him scream. Luckily, the other Fluffies in the home were hard of hearing and were likely sound asleep at this point. I selected another catheter from the drawer, intentionally picking one that was a size larger than his original one. I cut most of it off, as I would only be using it to open the urethra for what I had planned next. I very slowly inserted the catheter into his dickhole with surgical precision. It caused some severe tearing and made him thrash his head around in pain.
“NU MOWE! NU MOWE! NU MOWE PEEPEE PWACE HUWTIES! PWEASE! PWEASE!”
With his urethra wide open enough, I retrieved a wire coat hanger from the drawer and unraveled it until it was a long, thin, metal rod. I funneled it through his penis, starting slow and quickly becoming more forceful. He was no longer verbally objecting, just screaming incomprehensible gibberish. I hit a squishy spot with the tip of the coat hanger, then applied more force. It popped. Must’ve been his bladder bursting open. I kept pushing it further until it hit his pelvic bone. I twisted it around. I could hear the end of the coat hanger scraping against his bone. The sound even made me cringe. Seeing a tad more potential for genital torture, I grabbed his balls and started tugging and twisting them. I crushed them in my hand.
“MUMMAH! WAN’ MUMMAH!”
Holy shit, this old geezer had reverted back into a foal-like state. I grabbed the scalpel and got up close to his ear.
“Y’know, you and I are a lot alike.”
“Pwease, nu mowe…”
“We both spent our whole lives devoid of happiness.”
“Pwease… Bonnet do anytin’…”
“At least I can say that I feel happy right now.”
I jammed the scalpel into the side of his neck and pulled it across, cutting his throat wide open. Bonnet coughed and sputtered until he finally perished. He never felt true happiness.
Killing chirpies and foals is so satisfying because you’re taking away what could have been a long and prosperous life. But it doesn’t mean much to them. They have nothing to lose except for a future. Killing an elderly Fluffy felt so much more personal. A lifetime of memories and experiences, gone in an instant at my hands. I’ll bet his entire life of abuse and struggle flashed before his eyes the second the scalpel pierced his neck.
There was no way I would be able to get away with this one. Despite providing a fake identity to the staff, I still showed my face. If they saw what I did to Bonnet, they’d put up wanted posters everywhere. I’d gotten away with shooting up a Fluffmart, slaughtering an entire daycare of foals, and burning down at least 3 Fluffy shelters. This needed to be my coup de grâce when it came to doing anything public involving Fluffies. I would have to return to the shadows after this, only capturing Fluffies that approached my backyard. Looking back now, was it worth it?
You fucking bet it was.
Realizing all of this, I took into account that I had the entire place to myself for the rest of the night. Those braindead hugboxers left the lives of their precious Fluffies in my hands. I spent the rest of the night going room-by-room, slaughtering every last shithog in the building.
I started with the room right next to Bonnet’s. A purple mare named Lavender. I unlocked the door to her room and found a stethoscope lying right there on a desk. I woke her up, wrapping the cord of the stethoscope around her neck before she had the chance to say anything. I squeezed as tight as I could, throwing her to the ground and putting my foot on her tummy for extra leverage. She stared into my eyes with an expression that only screamed “WHY”. I kept tugging until her neck loudly snapped. I finished by stomping her face in with my boot until all that remained was a purple and red mush.
Next room: Green stallion. “Clover”. He was hooked up to an IV drip. I woke him up.
“Hewwo, am Cwovew… wha’ am hooman doin’ hewe?”
I didn’t respond. I injected a beyond-lethal dose of ketamine into his IV drip. I silently looked into his eyes as he seized up until he started foaming at the mouth. He dropped dead pretty quickly.
Next room: Yellow mare. “Daisy”. There seemed to be a flower theme going on with the names. I’ll bet they were all ferals that were rescued and named by the home.
“Huh? Wakies time?”
I grabbed her out of her little bed and put her in a chokehold.
“ACK! WET GO! WET DAISY GO!”
Being an old mare, her crotchtits were saggy and had visible veins. They must’ve stopped producing milk long ago. I grasped both of them and started tugging.
“SCREEEEEEEEEE! NU! NU NUWT MIWKIE PWACES!”
I dug my nail deep into one of her nipples.
“NU MOWE MIWKIE PWACE HUWTIES! NU MOWE! WAN’ DIE! DAISY WAN’ DIE!”
She must’ve not had anything to live for. I fulfilled her wish by tearing both of them off with my bare hands, then hitting her with a defibrillator until she had a heart attack.
Final room: Pink mare. “Princess”. That’s odd. Where’d the whole flower-based naming system go? I peeked inside and saw her. She was in absolutely pristine condition. She must’ve come from a very loving home. I’ll bet that’s where her name came from.
“Hewwo, nyu hooman! Am Pwincess! Wan’ tawkies?”
“Sure. I don’t have much time. Did you come from a good home?”
“Mm-hmm! Pwincess hab bestest housie wit bestest mummah an’ daddeh an’ widdwe mummah an’ babbehs! Babbehs aww gwown up now, dey happy babbehs! Dey soon visit in bwight-time!”
“Widdwe mummah” must’ve been referring to a little kid. She spent her whole life pampered by a probably-wealthy family. She even had her own litter of foals that grew up to be adult Fluffies. That was all I needed to know.
“You’re never gonna see them again.”
I grabbed her by the throat and chokeslammed her onto a desk.
“EEK! Wha’ am happenin’?”
I held her down as I opened the drawer, securing her to the desk with tape just like with Bonnet. I rummaged around the drawer some more and found a fucking bonesaw. Perfect. I slowly sawed away at her left leg.
“NUUUUUU! WHA’ HOOMAN DOIN’??? WHY GIB WEGGIES HUWTIES???”
I sawed all the way through, then repeated the process with her other legs.
“PWEASE! NU! WIDDWE MUMMAH! DADDEH! MUMMAH! BABBEHS! SABE PWINCESS! NU WAN’ HUWTIES FWOM MUNSTAH!”
I injected her with adrenaline to keep her alive, and pressed cotton against the stumps where her legs once were. She was fully pillowed. I picked up a scalpel and cut away all the flesh on her tummy, exposing the organs and bones below. I dug around, grabbing onto her ribcage and jiggling it around. I cut around it some more to completely expose it, then used the bonesaw to cut away an entire rib.
“WHY, MUNSTAH? WHY? WHY? WHY? NEE’ HUGGIES FWOM WIDDWE MUMMAH!”
I grabbed her face, pulled open her nostril, and shoved her entire rib up her nose. It pierced her brain, judging from the amount of blood pouring out of her nose, her eyes twitching up, and her body locking in place. I wiggled the rib around inside her nose some more, then yanked it out and pierced her heart with it for good measure. I spat on her body.
Of course, what good is a crime scene without a signature? I collected blood from each one of the Fluffy corpses into a bucket and brought it to the lobby. I dipped a toilet brush into the blood, and painted the words “BECAUSE FUCK YOU, THAT’S WHY!” on the floor. No. I needed something more personal. I didn’t care if I was identified at this point. I crudely painted a picture of my custom skull mask below the words. They’ll know for sure who did this. I didn’t care.
I got more joy out of that one experience alone than some of those Fluffies felt throughout their entire lives.
