[Based on Premium Foals by Bad Roomie. For some reason that image gave me an unholy thirst for suffering and vengeance.]
“Pwease, nu huwt Wiwwow! Pwomise wiww maek bettew babbehs!”
“No. This was your third defective batch. That’s it.”
“Bu’ nu aww babbehs gu forebah-sweepies! Wastest babbeh nu gu forebah-sweepies! Am gud babbeh! Wiwwow am gud mummah!”
“Good? Have you looked at him? He’s fucking brown!”
“Bu’ aww babbehs am gud babbehs! Huu huu huu! Wiwwow am gud fwuffy, am gud mummah! Pwease nu huwt! Nu taek babbeh 'way!”
“No. I don’t know why we even gave you a chance with your shitty colors.”
“Nuuuuuu! Pwease!”
Willow was carried away, sobbing as her last foal chirped pleadingly. Her wails only intensified as she was carried into the Sorry Room, the room where only the bad mummahs went. She wept and pleaded, but her words turned into shrieks as her legs were removed, the stumps cauterized roughly without even a slathering of soothing gel. Her shrieks didn’t last long either as her teeth were removed and a tube was forced down her throat.
…
Willow sat there, halfway suspended on a wall alongside another milkbag, a brown fluffy whose name she never learned. The never-ending choking sensation from the tube was agonizing, but she couldn’t even bring tears to her eyes anymore. She stared ahead, not even noticing the happy, “high-quality” foals that played in the little pen she was in, yet seething when they took her milkies, the milkies that were for her babbeh, away.
She stared across the room to the even smaller, bleak pen which held her own babbeh. She couldn’t make out details, since fluffies lack effective long-distance eyesight, but she could make out chirps and cheeps from time to time. She’d have been horrified if she could have read the sign on the pen. "Snake-food,’ it read.
She’d given up struggling long ago. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t even beg for death, so she sat there and watched her babbeh, a distant brown blob, moving about and occasionally chirping from hunger. As a feed foal, he probably got the cheapest formula possible, and barely enough of it. Each chirp hurt her almost as much as when the little brats in the pen with her commented about how good her milkies were, and she was reminded of how her babbeh wasn’t getting any.
The sounds of playing and happiness from the premium foals were the thing she hated most. She couldn’t close her ears, and each happy noise contrasted bitterly with the sad cheeps of her own foal. Her own foal who would never know what fun toys and good milkies were like. Her own foal who was treated as barely better than trash because she hadn’t given him good colors.
She barely noticed when a voice spoke. “Hey you.”
She ignored it, since none of the voices were ever for her, except to say cruel worlds about her ugliness.
“You, green milkbag.”
That got her attention, but she kept staring ahead. It’s not like she could respond, anyway.
“Excuse me,” the voice spoke again, this time not to her. “Why is the green milkbag staring at the other pen?”
“Oh, probably watching her foal. She only ever had one live foal, and he had bad colors, so she was converted to replace one of the older milkbags for the premium foals.”
“I see.” The figure in Willow’s peripheral vision fiddled with an expensive watch absent-mindedly. “Mind if I buy her?”
“What?”
“I want to buy the milkbag. Both of them, actually.”
“We don’t sell milkbags here, sir. Besides, she’s been de-teethed and pillowed, so she wouldn’t make a good pet.”
"Hmmm…Well, would you mind getting the manager to discuss this with?
“Ummmm…alright. Stay here and I’ll go get her.”
“Thanks.”
As the worker hurried away, the man approached the pen holding Willow’s only babbeh. “All alone in here, I see,” he said, his tone somber. With a gentle hand he picked up the foal, who cooed happily at the first painless human interaction he’d had. Suddenly, the man growled in agitation. “Just like back home.”
The manager came to the sales floor in time to see him removing the tube from Willow’s throat. Her protests were ignored as the last bit of tube slid out of Willow’s mouth and she drew a grateful gasp of air, the first unobstructed breath in so long.
“Sir! Please don’t interfere with the fixtures!”
“Fixtures? You call her a fixture?”
“Well, she’s not for sale, so what else would we call her? I know you wanted to buy her and the other milkbag, but they’re needed to feed the premium foals.”
“NUUUUU! NU TAEK MIWKIES! MIWKIES AM FOW WIWWOW’S BABBEH!” Willow shrieked as another one of the premium foals attached itself to her.
“Dummeh! Miwk am onwy fow gud babbehs! Nu am fow dummeh poopie fwuffies!”
“Bu’ nee’ miwkies fow babbeh!”
“Look, now she’s upsetting the foals.”
“…all?”
“What?”
“What if I buy them all? Can I take the milkbags then?”
“Umm…sure, I guess.”
“Pwease, nice mistuh, wet Wiwwow see babbeh one wast time.”
“Oh, and this one too.”
“Nu! Nu wan wibe wif ugwy fwuffy an’ ugwy babbeh!”
“Oh, and about the premium foals.”
“Hm?”
“I want them all pillowed.”
“WHAT? WHY?”
His tone hardened. “They took what wasn’t theirs, and you helped them.”
“Over milkbags and a shit-colored foal? They’re worthless!”
“Funny. That’s what everyone said about me back home.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant at first.
This, while I might understand, since the foals have been likely spoiled rotten by the moron humans treating them like upper class fluffies (I still can’t see the fooken appeal of an eye searing colored fluffy over a dark green one, personally), sounds too cruel. After all, they didn’t choose to be like this…
This made me smile, if only for the moronic manager not understanding why a human would have feelings, while hers have been dulled by greed, to a point she gets confused and angry when someone acts out of kindness and respect.
Oof. This hits close to home. SO glad you made this story Muffin.
Oh, he’s definitely taking things out on the premium foals, but it’s not like they were endearing themselves.
You kind of make it clear here. Still not entirely their fault they grew up like that, but nobody forced them to be little shits all the time, right?
Actually it was “Nu! Nu wan wibe wif ugwy fwuffy an’ ugwy babbeh!” that tipped the scales from “I’ll take them in, I guess” to “Fuck it, pillowed and tossed in the dumpster.” Not only were they greedy, but even the thought of living with an “inferior” fluffy was intolerable for them. Careful what you wish for. They won’t have to live with an ugly fluffy, but they’ll have to die separated from one.
Very satisfying read I must say. 
I would really love to see how this continues
If you really want to tale revenge on some stupid toys, why have them pillowed? That’s like paying someone else to have all the fun!