“Good afternoon residents.” You sat up in your seat as an angular woman entered the room, her chunky heels clicking loudly on the tile floor. “I am Dr. Maia Mcintyre, from the Neurology department.” She roughly tossed a wire crate on the table, containing a green fluffy. “This is what we call a “disagreeable patient”, commonly referred to as a smarty.”
She jabbed a well manicured nail into the fluffy’s side, who screeched. “Nu huwt bestest smawty!”
Dr. Mcintire continued, ignoring the fluffy’s protests. “You’ve all been trained in recognising the symptoms of Smarty syndrome, Sensitive Baby syndrome, and the unfortunately named Bitch Mare syndrome, yes?” You and the other residents nodded as she unlatched the crate. The smarty slowly stepped out, his cheeks puffed, watching her carefully. “There are a few techniques one can use to handle these sorts of cases with minimal… mess.” A few residents chuckled, causing the fluffy to spin around to them.
“NU WAFF! SMAWTY AM BESTEST- eep!” Dr. Mcintire shoved the fluffy over, pinning it down with a hand on its chest.
“Step one, gain control of the fluffy. The easiest and safest way to disable its legs is to flip it over.”
The fluffy struggled, kicking its tiny hooves in the air. “WET FWUFFY GUUUUU”
“Now, at this point the fluffy will usually threaten-”
“TAEK SOWWY POO-” Dr. Mcintire quickly folded the fluffy in half, holding its rear end over its face.
“Yes, that. As demonstrated here, gently holding the hips over the head of the fluffy will effectively disable its most unpleasant self defense mechanism.” The now curled into a comma shape fluffy stared up at its own asshole, unsure what to do. “From here you can do most diagnostic procedures, though it is rather hard to get to its abdomen. Questions?”
“How long will it work?” One of the residents sitting behind you asked.
“Nearly indefinitely in most cases, though the particularly stubborn or stupid might defecate on themselves anyway. In that occurrence be sure that their airways stay clear.”
“Isn’t that bad for their spine?” You asked.
“Not nearly as bad as it seems.” Dr. Mcintire picked up the fluffy, pressing its face into its crotch as it struggled. “Fluffies have a surprising range of spinal motion, but only in this direction. Be sure to use gentle pressure and of course do not do this on any patient with possible spinal-” The pager at her hip buzzed, cutting her off. “Ah, do you mind holding this for a second, Miss…”
“LaRue, and sure.” You stood and took the shaking fluffy from her, holding its folded posture. It looked up at you with pleading eyes, as if it wasn’t just screaming and threatening to shit on everyone. What a horrible creature. Before you came here you had believed, as was common knowledge, that there was nothing to be done for a smarty. Once that word left their lips it was over, there was no chance of getting a housepet out of them ever again. Here though, the psychology department did some kind of magic and smarties went in and calm, normal fluffies came out. You were hoping to get to shadow someone in that department one day, if only to see how the hell they did it.
“Mmm… unfortunate.” She muttered at the pager. “We will have to end this early today.” She took the fluffy from you, setting it in the crate on its side. The fluffy scrambled to its feet, puffing its cheeks again as the crate door slammed shut. “Take an early lunch, be back in the breakroom in no less than two hours.”
With that she took the crate and clicked out of the training room, leaving you and the other residents confused. Early lunches were… not a thing that happened. Late lunches were more familiar, or lunches eaten very quickly hunched over your locker. As well, two hours was an absurd bonus, you were allotted thirty every day and usually got to enjoy twenty of that if you were lucky.
All at once the knowledge of a proper lunch break sunk in to your fellow residents, and there was a cacophony of noise as every chair in the room was pushed back.
“Hey Mary! Give me a ride to burgerfluff and I’ll buy us lunch!” Romero asked from across the room.
“Eh… It’s hard enough to find parking in the morning, I don’t want to deal with finding a spot mid day. Sorry.”
Romero pouted. “Why do you have that giant ass car anyway?”
“I told you, it was a gift.” You let the tide of bodies pull you both out into the hall.
“You could trade it in for something that makes more sense. Maybe a bug? We could get you the eyelashes and everything!”
You grimaced at the thought. “Absolutely not. Find someone else to drive you.”
Romero rolled his eyes. “Fine. Hey, Sammy!”
A curly haired resident turned and rolled her eyes at him. “Oh, I’m honored to be your second choice, Romeo.” She said sarcastically, linking her arm with him. “I will take you though.”
Romero waved as they left for the parking lot with a good chunk of the residents, you went with the rest to the break room to grab your purse. A few minutes to yourself in your car sounded just fine to you, your Adderall habit often left you with little to no appetite so this was more of a mental health break.
As you turned to leave, your bag caught on the door of the locker. Cursing, you unhooked it, slamming the door shut. You were on edge, more than usual. Maybe a little pick-me-up was in order. There was a vending machine in the hall… maybe a cherry coke and a few pills counted as lunch. Or perhaps you were in the mood for something even fruitier, orange soda? Strawberry? Perhaps blue? You pondered what flavor blue even was on your way back down the hall.
“Mary!” A voice startled you from your thoughts.
“Hm?” Maryam was jogging down the hall behind you.
“You dropped something.” To your horror, she held a small pill bottle.
“Oh! … Thank you.” You reached out for it, but she didn’t move.
“You feeling okay? I didn’t know you took meds…” a small smile played across her lips.
“That’s none of your business.” You held your palm out, staring her down. “Give them back.”
“So they’re yours then?”
“What kind of a question is that? Of course they’re mine.”
“Huh. You should really update your name at the pharmacy then.”
“…what?”
She finally dropped the bottle in your palm. Smiling widely, she said, “it’s odd your parents named their daughter Darren. I don’t blame you for changing it.”
You hadn’t even thought of the prescription. Of course it wouldn’t have your name on it, how could you be so stupid!
“Don’t worry!” She smiled like a cat with freshly caught prey, patting you on the shoulder. “Your secret is safe with me!” She laughed as she turned on her heel, practically skipping down the hall.
What a bitch. Of course it had to be her to find them. Your fingers closed tightly around the pill bottle. Would she blackmail you? What could she even want from you? With a frustrated growl, you stomped out of the building. You would not let her ruin this break.
As soon as the midday sun hit you, it was as if all was right in the world again. You smiled, closing your eyes and just taking a second to absorb the heat. Tucking your Adderall back in your purse (this time in a zippered pocket), you started the walk to your car.
The soft sounds of the city were soothing; distant honks and machinery, calls of crows and pigeons by the hospital dumpsters, the general low hum of life packed tightly together. It was the sort of thing that took getting used to, but once it became the background noise of your life you couldn’t live without it. Maybe you were off your pills enough for a quick catnap. Your Tesla had excellent AC, and being electric you could run it all day without ever running the battery dry. Yeah. A nap would be just wonderful. Come back to work recharged after-
A child slammed into you, nearly knocking you off your feet.
“Hey, watch where you’re-!”
“You work at the hospital?!” The kid shoved a cardboard box into your arms. He couldn’t have been more than 10 or 11, with messy red hair and panic in his eyes. “Please, I found them in the gutter down there.” He pointed across the parking lot. “I think they’re dying, please help them!”
The box was the shallow sort meant to support six packs of beer, and wrapped in a somewhat soggy newspaper. You gasped as you pulled back the cover.
The pile of foals were indistinguishable from one another, so drenched in body fluids it was impossible to tell where one battered body ended and another began. You looked up at the teary eyed kid to tell him there was nothing you could do, these foals were too far gone. To tell him where the nearest biowaste bin was and go on your break.
What came out instead was “Come with me.”
In through the staff door, the box in one hand and the other firmly holding his wrist, you hurried through the mostly empty halls. Over your hurried steps you could hear a weak peeping, a small sign of hope at the very least.
You shouldered the doors to the ER intake open, shoving the kid towards the nurse’s station. “Tell them what you told me!” You didn’t wait for a reply before rushing to the nearest free station, setting the box on the exam table and hastily putting gloves on.
Order of operations. Assess patients.
A container of baby wipes was already waiting on the counter, and you started slowly wiping away the layer of filth that covered the fuzzy forms. It seemed to be mostly grime, the sort of tarry goo that accumulated on the side of the old roads but there was a deep red tint to it that grew stronger with every pass. You cleaned the head of one of the foals, revealing a small brown horn. One foal identified, you pulled gently to separate it from its siblings but stopped as it chirped in pain. Some sort of attachment, maybe glue?
With a new wipe you passed it over the top foal’s flank, revealing a small yellow ball near her hip. You grasped it, and pulled a three inch metal pin out of the foal and the foal beneath it. With shaking hands you set it on the table next to you. Someone pinned them together, crudely, and from the looks of it tried to match the pins to the color of their fluff. How many were there? How would you even get them apart? The foal on top wriggled and mewed, alive for now, but the one beneath it was stone still.
You took a step back from the table. This was fucked. Beyond fucked, actually. You had training on abuse cases, yeah, but… this was unique. You were trained on beatings, burns, and lacerations, the normal shit. Things that could happen accidentally, and you had just… told yourself they did. This was intentional, so unmistakably so. Someone did this, someone looked at these foals and decided to make them suffer.
Inhale. Count to four. Exhale.
Training. Protocol. Cold, sterile facts and figures, numbers and steps. No feelings. No fear. No disgust.
Inhale. Count to four. Exhale.
Separate them. Sort from most to least critical. Assess injuries. Work from there.
Inhale. Count to four. Exhale. Step back up to the table.
Quickly you felt the top foal down for pinheads, running your fingers as gently as you could through her yellow-brown fluff. She squealed in pain every time you found one, and you said a silent internal apology to her every time you pulled one out. No time to address pain, the soft struggles of her littermates got slower and weaker by the second. With one last pin pulled from the fat of the foal’s neck you freed her from the blue corpse beneath her and lifted her off the pile. She clung to you, tiny hooves wrapped around your thumb. Sweet, if not for the horror below her. You stroked her head gently, soothing her pained squeaks.
“Backup here.” A voice startled you, a young man stood in the doorway. Not someone you knew, certainly not one of the residents with his crisp olive-green scrubs. “I’ve been briefed. Pass it over and I’ll get it examined.”
You wordlessly passed the foal to him. He held it gently, allowing it to suckle on his blue gloved finger. “I’ll be right back for the next one.”
Right. The next one. The filthy pile still squirmed with life, straining against their impaled bounds. Disgusting, the sort of work only a monster could-
Inhale. Count to four. Thinking of who could do such a thing wouldn’t soothe their pain. Exhale. Start again.
The pile of pins grew as you worked, stained red and brown, occasionally bent in wicked curves. The blue foal was long dead, cold and stiff. Easy to work with, and quickly set aside. The uniformed man reached for it as he returned, but you shook your head. Nothing more to be done for that one.
Another foal freed, a green pegasus that flapped a single wing as you handed it to your unknown companion. No time to think about the damage done.
Another corpse, a deep pink that was nearly purple. A good color. It was set against the blue corpse.
A third corpse, its stiff sky-blue wings frozen in unnatural positions.
An orange foal, it’s struggling ripping a pin free from it’s shoulder leaving a nasty gash. Handed off to the uniformed man.
This left you with the last two corpses, covered in pinpricks of blood. Having been at the bottom of the pile for god knows how long they were soaked in the blood and filth of those that perched above them, colors unknowable under it all. You pulled the pins from them anyway, unable to leave a corpse disfigured like this. Half the pins were pink, so the reddish foal to the right must have been pink once, and the blue pins must be for the foal under it.
“It’s awful…” The uniform man said.
You gritted your teeth, wishing he would keep his thoughts to himself. You were holding it together, not thinking about it. Why couldn’t he?
You then felt the wetness on your cheeks, the steady drips onto the table below you. Maybe you weren’t holding it together as well as you thought.
“…Yeah.” you muttered. What else was there to say?
You pulled your gloves off, tossing them aside and wiped your face. The corpses were laid out on the table, lined up carefully. Like you had been trained. Such a waste. You could see the grimaces of pain frozen on their tiny faces, their foreheads wrinkled and all but one of their mouths frozen in their last open mouthed cry of pain. The pink corpse had a slightly more peaceful expression. You wondered if it had been dead when their torture started, maybe if one of the pins pierced something important early on and the foal managed to die quickly from internal bleeding or something.
And then it moved.
A small motion, it’s head lifting ever so slightly off the table. You rushed to it, scooping it up and rubbing its sternum firmly, it replied with a small gasp of pain.
“One more!” You cried, holding the weak foal aloft.
It wasn’t breathing, but occasionally its sides heaved like it was trying. One of the pins of the foals above it must have ruptured the lung, leading to air leaking into the chest cavity. You held the foal in one hand, digging through the drawers of medical supplies and finding a tiny catheter set in its sterile packaging. You ripped it free, uncapping it with your teeth and carefully jabbing it between the ribs of the foal. A small spurt of blood leaked out of the plastic connection, then a small puff of air containing one of the worst smells a fluffy is capable of. The bile rose into your throat, but you held it back.
“It’s gonna need oxygen.” You said, pulling the needle free and adjusting the plastic catheter left behind. “Tension Pneumothorax.”
“Roger that.” He took the foal from you, hustling out into the hall. “Last one! Critical!” He called to the crowd.
The emergency room was busy now, buzzing with activity you didn’t remember when you came in. You saw a few more people in the same sharp grey uniforms, ones you didn’t recognize. Odd. Why hadn’t you ever seen them before? Maybe some visiting group?
The filth on your hands suddenly made itself known, you could feel the grime and smears of fluffy blood soaking into your skin and you quickly washed them, trying to wash away the memory of the cold foals with them. Such a waste. You hoped that kid wasn’t responsible, it was easier to think about if there was a good Samaritan in this story, someone who found them just in the nick of time.
“LaRue, right?” Someone asked.
“Just a second.” You scrubbed your nails, flecks of dried blood wedged under them. So stupid to take your gloves off.
“You did good.” The praise sent tingles down your spine, your brain rejoicing at the free dopamine.
You turned, drying your hands on a paper towel, to see Dr. Mcintyre standing in the doorway, people rushing left and right behind her. “Thank you, Ma’am.”
“Not everyone can deal with an emergency on the fly like that. You handled it well.” She looked down at the stiff corpse foals. “And kept yourself calm.”
“Thank you, Ma’am.” you repeated.
“We have a rush of patients coming in very soon, major… incident in the french quarter.” She put heavy emphasis on the word, as if you should know what it meant. “Get your lunch in, take the time you need but no more. Return here ready to work with the other residents.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
She nodded, and you left the ER, a grin spreading across your face.