Author’s note: Just a short little wrap-up of Fluffstel. We might come back to this one in the future. After I wrote what I did for the foal, I wasn’t sure how to handle the mare…So I just decided that there’s things way, WAY worse than just being killed outright.
Part 4: Sometimes, dead is better.
David seems lost in thought for a moment. He’d successfully convinced the mare of the prospect of hell, killed her spoiled “Bestest”, and no doubt inflicted life-long trauma on her.
But he was frankly at a bit of a loss for how he wanted to proceed. On one hand, there was no way he was leaving here without hurting this damn thing…… but on the other, what could top what he’d just done.
“Hmmm……”
And then, it hit him.
There was no rule at Fluffstel that said he had to KILL the fluffies……
He smirked, and picked up the flask containing her dead foal, incased in flex-seal.
“You know, I was actually thinking……I WILL give you back your bestest……
“WEAWWY!? GIB BESTEST BACK TO MUMMAH!?”
David opened the trash chute, and tossed the flask down it. “No, not really, he’s dead and suffering forever in hurty-land.”
The mare watched as he tossed what was left of her baby into the trash. “Babbeh……wan babbeh back……”
“He’s not coming back. Don’t worry, though……I’m not gonna send you to Hurty-Land….” He said, picking her up by the scruff. “Bad upsies!”
He plopped her onto the table, and picked up a claw hammer. She was squirming and fighting, but being a fluffy, had about as much chance of escape as her baby did of coming back from the dead.
David brought the hammer down on her right rear leg.
“SKREEEEE!!! WOWSTEST HUWTIES IN WEGGIE!!!”
He raised the hammer again, and brought it down.
4 broken legs, the bones shattered, twisted, some tearing through the flesh as the mare screamed and pleaded.
“PWEASE, NEED HUGGIES TO MAKE BETTEW!”
David picked up a syringe, and browsed the selection of chemicals. Something caustic, but not TOO caustic……he wanted her blind and in agony, but not dead.
He settled on Bleach, and filled the Syringe from the bottle, setting it next to her. He pried open her right eye.
“Pwease no give huwties to see pwace……”
David smiled at her….and jammed the needle directly into her pupil, depressing the plunger.
“SCREEEEEEE!!! WOWSTET HUWTIES!!!”
The mare was trying to flail about, but all she did was twist her broken limbs.
He repeated the process on the other eye.
The mare began to panic as her vision became fuzzy, the burning in her sockets began to dull as darkness overtook her.
“No wike dawk…Scawed of dawk……”
“Awww, don’t worry……” David set, petting her back. “I know just the thing to take your mind off the scary dark, and the pain in your eyes and legs…….Tell me, do you LIKE being a momma?” he asked, refilling the syringe
“Y-yus! Wub being a mummah! Am bestest thing evew!”
David rolled her onto her back.
“HUWTIES!!!”
He patted her belly. “Well……I’m going to make sure you’re NEVER A MOTHER AGAIN YOU PIG-HORSE!” He snarled, shoving the syringe full of bleach into her torso. He knew where the uterus was on a fluffy, he’d killed more than enough to know their anatomy, and he knew how delicate it was. This would be more than enough. He depressed the plunger, and the mare froze.
The room was silent for a long moment.
And then it started.
“Wan die! Wan die!”
Over and over. The pain, the knowledge she’d been sterilized, the blindness, the loss of her favorite foal.
David had done it.
Somewhere in her tiny brain, the mare was still aware.
He knew that.
“Too bad. Bye-bye, fat-ass.” He said, shoving the syringe into one of her ears for good measure. He felt the drum rupture, and the tiny bones of the middle ear being broken and scrambled. He tossed the bleeding, crippled mare back into the pen. “Wan die……wan die……wan die…….” she repeated over and over, bloody, chemical-tained tears dripping from her blinded eyes.
David gently picked up the yellow foal, still sleeping in her matchbox. He smiled at her. He knew a local shelter that would love to have a Sensitive Filly like her to serve as a friend for runts and special-needs foals. It would be a better life than being stuck with that bitch of a mother.
He stopped by the front desk on the way out.
“I take it you’re satisfied, Mr. Parsons?” the man behind the desk asked.
“Yeah. I’m keeping this little foal.”
“Unusual, but not unheard of.” The man looked at the little yellow filly and nodded. “I’ll handle the paperwork, it’s what I’m paid for.”
“The other one’s dead, and the mare’s in a “Wan die” loop in the room.”
“Ah, you’re an artist I see. Quite tricky to break their little minds into such a state.”
David shrugged. “I’ve had a lot of practice. Anyways, thanks for the appointment, see you lads next time.”
“We look forward to your next visit, Mr. Parsons.”
-Later-
The Mare sat in a bin, mindless parroting her “Wan die” loop. Or trying to, rather. The team at Fluffstel had cut her vocal cords, and removed her legs. She was currently being considered for use as a milkbag, but nobody was sure if she could still produce after being sterilized so crudely as she had been. If not, they’d simply toss her into the grinder. It would struggle with a fluffy of her size, but it’s dull, metal teeth would crush and cut, and she would be slowly, over the course of nearly 40 seconds, reduced to a pulp of fat, meat, and powdered bone.
And that was if she was lucky enough to not be stuck this way, as a milkbag, for years.
In some respects, despite his slow, agonizing death, her retarded foal, Little Faggot, had been the lucky one.
At least he was dead.
