Part 2: Sickness and Surgery
“I think……we’ll start with this.” David said, picking a plastic bottle off the wall. Bitrex spiked clam juice, with anise flavoring added in.
Frankly, the stuff almost made Giplin Whiskey seem like a half decent option.
“PEEP! CHIRP!! CHIRP!”
Little Faggot was looking at his mother, desperately flailing his tiny hooves at her.
“BABBEH! Pwease Mistah, wet babbeh go! Babbeh needs huggies and miwkies and mummah song!”
David set the bottle down, and picked up a glass jar, dropping the foal in, before cracking the seal on the bottle’s squeeze cap. The stench was powerful, and foul.
The mare visibly recoiled. “Wh-What am mistah doing….?”
“I’m going to force feed Little Faggot some of this.”
“No……pwease, dat no smeww pwetty, babbeh need miwkies, not stinky wawas….”
David picked the foal back up, feeling it squirm in his hand as it chirped and cried. “He’ll never have milk again.”
And with that, he forced the cap into the foal’s mouth, and squeezed the bottle.
— — — —
You’re a foal. You don’t have a name, or you didn’t, rather. Your mummah called you “Bestest”, maybe that was a name? You loved your mummah, she gave you the best hugs, the best songs, the best milk. She always told you what a good baby you were when you went in the litterbox, and that helped you go.
Then some men put you and your mummah, and your sister into a dark, scary room. Then it was bright again.
And things got bad. Some mean man took you away from mummah! And he hurt you, pinching your scruff! Didn’t he know babies, especially sensitive ones like you, needed to be coddled and treated with love and hugs? Then he shook you.
You squeaked and peeped, but he wouldn’t stop….and you threw up all your mummy’s milk……
He gave you a name. You didn’t know what “Faggot” meant, but something told you it was a mean, horrible word, and he was being mean to you.
Now he was holding you, with a scary bottle in his hands. It smelled so bad…… he moved it closed, into your peeping mouth.
— — — —
“PEE-HHHHHRUUGHLGH!!!”
The foal dry heaved. The taste was horrendous, the product clearly spoiled long since. David could feel it gagging, see it’s eyes widen as he force-fed it the rancid liquid. SBS foals were rarely able to tolerate anything besides milk and water, and would vomit otherwise. This mix of high grade bitterant and foul tasting liquids past their sell-by date was much too nasty for them.
And David squeezed harder. Little Faggot’s round belly bloated as the liquid filled him. He retched and tried to chirp, tried to push the bottle away. It was useless.
“NUUUUUU! BABBEH NEED HUGGIES!! BABBEH NEED MIWKIES!!!” The mare wailed, tapping her hooves on the floor.
The bottle was about a 3rd empty, and David finally stopped, pinching the foals mouth shut to make it swallow the last gulp of sicking liquid.
He held Little Faggot out over the mare, and gently squeezed. The trembling, sick foal vomited for the second time. A cascade of rancid, clear fluid poured out his mouth and nose, and the mare yelped, covering her other foal with her body and taking the puke on her back.
David finished and tossed the foal from hand to hand.
“PEEP!..…PEEP!..….CHIRP!” it cried with each impact.
“Mistah……pwease….dat am much too wough fow babbeh……Am too high….dat am mummah pwecious foweba chiwpeh bestest babbeh……pwease gib back to mummah….pwease no make have sickies no mowe……” she begged, soaked in her spawn’s vomit.
“PEEP!” he squeaked, landing particularly hard into David’s palm. “Okay, I won’t make him puke anymore.”
“W-Weawwy….Tank you, mistah, can mummah please have babbeh back nao?” she pleaded, reaching out.
“No.” David said, going back to the bench and selecting a short needle. “You. Will never. Hold him again.”
He stabbed Little Faggot’s plump rolls with the needle, over and over.
“CHIRP PEEP CHEE!!! PEEP PEEEP EEEEEEEEEE!”
Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab. The dulled tip of the steel needle stretched and tore the soft, delicate flesh of the foal, causing it terrible pain. David knew not to stab into the body, he wasn’t some amateur, he’d done this with chirpys and talkies, he knew to stab as if he was sewing the rolls of fat together.
“CHEEEEEEP! EEEEE EEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEE!” Little Faggot squealed and kicked his tiny, weak legs, tears running from his eyes as he was perforated.
“NO HUWTIE BABBEH!!!”
David keep going, stopping when the foal was bleeding lightly from a dozen or so jabs of the needle. Less blood than one would expect, with it only being fatty tissue.
“Next……” He was mulling his options. Really, it was up to his imagination in this place. His eyes settled on an electric shaver, the kind used to trim sideburns and beards. He picked it off the wall.
He lifted the trembling, injured foal to eye level. It was sucking it’s hoof, sniveling and clearly terrified.
“Actually…. you know what, I wanna offer you a deal, mom.” He said, smirking. The idea had struck suddenly, and it was a good one.
“Deaw?” the mare asked.
“Yeah……so this is your BEST baby, right?” he asked, dangling Little Faggot by his stub of a tail. “YUS! AM BESTEST! PWEASE NO HOWD SO HIGH!!!” she pleaded.
“Okay……well, here’s my offer….That yellow one there, trade her with this guy. Instead of him getting tortured and killed, SHE will.” he said.
The yellow filly looked at the two of them, chirping happily. She was unaware of any problem.
“Wiww gib bestest babbeh to mummah?” the mare asked.
“Yep. You just give-“
David didn’t even finish, the mare held up the little unicorn. “TAKE YEWWOW BABBEH!, GIB FOWEVEW SWEEPIES!” She demanded.
The yellow foal looked confused, and scared. She didn’t really understand what was happening, but something in her told her this wasn’t right. Her mother had never let her play with her brother, and always gave her less hugs and milk, and something about how she held her out……it upset the little filly.
A dark expression crossed David’s face. Hate filled him. He reached out, and gently took the little yellow Unicorn.
“NAO GIB BESTEST!!!”
“No.”
“….Huh?”
David dropped Little Faggot back into the glass jar, and held the tiny, tearful little yellow unicorn closely. “You wanted to trade one of your children, a perfectly well-mannered……admittedly retarded, but well mannered, little thing, for that fat, spoiled little fuck, who will probably stroke out before he’s a year old.” He hissed, gently stroking the little unicorn. She cooed and hugged at his hand. She remembered him, he was the nice mister who had pet her earlier. He wasn’t momma, but he was nice, and she liked him
“Look at her. She’s so nice.”
“But she no am BESTEST! She am not wingie wike bestest!”
David crossed the room and took a small cloth towel from near the sink, wrapping the little yellow foal in it, dumped out a matchbox, and set her into it. She peeped and cooed, and he stroked her tiny head with a finger. “You know, I really hate that. My own mother didn’t want me. Tried to kill me, actually. This little one here and I? I think we’ve got a little in common. Both of us had terrible parents.” He said, glaring at the mare.
“Nu cawe! Gib bestest!”
“You had you best, and you gave her to me to kill so you could have a spoiled fat-fuck back. You’re never getting either of them back, this little one here…” He said, gesturing to the sleeping unicorn. “Will be going home with me. And as for little faggot….”
David walked back to the workbench, and loomed over the cowering, crying, chirping pegasus.
“If his wings make him special, let’s see how you like him without them!”
“NU TAKE BESTEST WINGIES!”
He grabbed the fat foal, and picked it up, taking hold the electric razor he’d selected earlier. “In surgery, you always want to shave the area before you start cutting.”
The clippers buzzed to life.
“PEEP!? CHRIP CHEE!! PEEEP!!!” The retarded foal squrimed and cried, disturbed at the sudden noise.
— — — — —
You’re Little Faggot.
You don’t understand. You’re so loved by momma, why is this happening? Why is this man hurting you? You just want milk and hug and to be sung to while you use the litterbox. Your mom was the best, she kept your yellow sister off the milk, so you could have extra!
Pain. Sharp pain, your body is so soft, so squishy, it hurts….the man is putting something cold and stiff through your body, it hurt, you felt something warm running out of your skin….he did it over and over. It hurt so much, the horrible taste of the nasty water he’d made you drink was still in your mouth, you couldn’t get it out. All you could do was chirp and cry.
You saw him pick up your sister up. Good, he’d hurt her now, and stop hurting you, and maybe whatever he’d want would be done!
He was….petting her? And hugging her!?
But……but you were the best……
— — — — —
“BZZZZZZZZZZZT!”
“CHEEP CHEEP PIP!!!”
David shaved the fat, protesting foal, it’s fluff falling away in large clumps.
“Nuuuu….huu huu…no take bestest pwetty fwuff……” The mare cried. “Speshul babbeh NEED fwuff to be fwuffy….”
Every now and then, David dug the blades in, giving the foal a horrible scratch, razor burn, drawing blood from it’s overly sensitive skin.
“SKREEEEEEE!!!” It wailed as he raked the buzzing steel across it’s fat belly and flabby back.
“Next step…. disinfect!” He said, feigning a clinical tone.He grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol from the wall, and cracked it open, pouring a large amount over the foal.
Little Faggot’s eye’s went wide.
“SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! EEEEE!!! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!”
Selecting a pair of wire cutters, David dulled them with a file.
“Let’s commence the surgery, shall we? The De-winging of a fat, ugly, stupid, bald Special Baby….”
