“Dude. Dude, check this out.” Justin showed off to his two friends, Kyle and Ryan. He had carved ‘SHIT’ onto a park bench and, seeing as they were all ten years old, this was considered to be quite cool.
“Dude, the police might literally bring you to jail.” Kyle responded, looking over his shoulder as if the local fuzz was about to drop down on them like a sack of hammers. Justin just laughed.
“Big deal! I already went to jail…like…five times.” He hadn’t but the other two looked thoroughly impressed.
Justin enthralled the other two with fictional stories of his time in jail while they took turns punching one another and pointing out rocks that kind of looked like boobs before a voice interrupted their almost zen concentration.
“Hewwo? Nice wittew daddehs pwease hewp mummah Bawey? Babbehs su hungwy.” This got all of them to turn around. Standing to the side of the otherwise abandoned picnic area of the park was a pink & yellow mare with a cluster of four foals around here. Pink, yellow, orange, brown. The yellow one, a filly, happily came forward and started doing a dance.
“Wook! Bestest dancie ‘fo bestest nummies! Teehee! Yew hab heawt happies?”
The group exchanged a glance. Ryan blurted out: “That’s gay.”
“Dude, super gay.” Kyle agreed.
“Check this out.” Justin said, ever the one to innovate on entertainment around here. He went over to scoop the yellow filly up, arms cinched up against her forelegs. The biotoy giggled.
“Hewwo nice mistah! Am hab nummies ‘fo gud babbeh?” She asked. Justin stuck two fingers into his mouth, came back out with a fair amount of saliva. Jammed her tiny ears up with some of the most vicious, nastiest wet-willies imaginable.
“NUUUUU! OWWIES! NU PWETTY! NUU-HUU-HUU!” He just kept pressing on until he felt something pop, blood trickling down against his fingers. The foal screeched and shit herself, Justin setting her down and watching her clumsily wobble around and continually fall to the ground as he’d just made her deaf and ruined her equilibrium. The fluffy’s mummah attempted to get her other foals to run.
“Babbehs! Dey am munstah! Wun weggies!” She screeched but Kyle had been carrying around a cool gun-shaped stick since he’d arrived at the park and threw it at her, catching her by the legs and tripping her up. The foals stopped running and went to try and help her.
“Mummah! Nee’ wunnies!” The brown one said, trying to pull at her with his mouth. Kyle went over to pick him up, folding him up in his hand and grabbing one of his hooves. He forced the foal’s leg down on it’s chest, pretty hard. Fluffy hooves weren’t hard, especially a foal, but neither was the rest of it’s body.
“Stop hitting yourself! Stop hitting yourself!” Kyle taunted the poor colt as he pissed himself helplessly.
“BABBEH NU WAN GIB SOWWY-HOOFIES TU SEWF! OWWIES! EEEEEEEEEEEEE!” He screamed helplessly as he was forced to beat himself silly. Yes, as in broken ribs. The leg was broken too because of course it was. These things were made out of tissue paper. The kid dropped it down on the ground where it attempted to try and book it but, like his yellow sister, kept going facedown.
Ryan, meanwhile, had the pink foal. Seeing as her babbehs were all seriously injured or currently captured, their mummah would bounce from kid to kid babbling all the while.
“Nu! BABBEHS! MUMMAH SABE YU BABBEHS!” She said, trying to think of what she could do. Ryan, foal still in hand, grabbed the mummah up by her mane and lifted her over to an already mostly filled trashcan. He dunked her facefirst down into it. The mare shit all over herself in fear, hind legs kicking around rapidly as she didn’t even quite fit into the thing. As many park trashcans are wont to have, an angry swarm of yellowjackets began to assault her from within the receptacle.
“STINGY-HUWTIES! PWEASE NU BUGGIE MUNSTAHS! OWWWWIES!” She sobbed as the angry insects assaulted her fault with their many stingers.
Now that she was out of the way, Ryan began to exact his bullying on the pink foal. Hands squeeze down and rubbing back and fourth, he would proceed to give her a full-body Indian burn that was enough to rub fur away. Unlike the other ones she got off with no broken bones but still just laid out on the grass, screeching as every part of her being felt as if it were on fire.
Justin had the final baby, the little orange poofball colt. He’d gotten a giant rubberband out from his backpack and slotted the foal’s back legs against it.
“Pwease nu nice mistah…am gud babbeh…make gud poopies ‘n dancies?” He said as if that would help. Justin pulled back, aimed up to a treeline, let the colt fly screaming and spiraling through the air. By some stroke of luck he somehow caught his front legs against a low-hanging branch.
“Weggies pwease hewp babbeh up! Huu…nuuu….” The foal tried to tug himself up, back hooves scrabbling back against the air. His strength gave out though and he went tumbling down to the ground, landing in a soft patch of grass. Not soft enough to stop his spine from breaking through.
“Alright guys, that was pretty cool.” Justin said, going over to the trashcan and yanking the mummah out by her tail. Her face had ballooned up, eyes nothing more than puffy slits. She ran around in a circle screeching, trying to find her children who were calling out for help.
“Huuuu….why munstahs su meanies tu mumman ‘n gud babbehs….huwties…nee’ huggies….!” She begged but there was nobody around anymore.
“NEE’ MIWKIES!” Her foals screeched out for assistance. They couldn’t come to her and she was bumbling around in a state of pure panic and pain. This would continue on into the night with no progress found by either side.
