A story idea suggested by @mario1992 in the two sentence story idea thread.
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Chirpy made several peeps and coos, settling up against his mummah. Chirpy doesn’t have a name but he knows he is Chirpy. Just like his bwuddahs an’ sissies. He doesn’t know what they look like but that’s fine because he doesn’t know what ANYTHING looks like. Their existence is known to him because of the way they shift around and peep, or sometimes try to suckle on his horn when they want miwkies.
Yes, a horn! A little nubby thing on the top of his head. He even has wingies too, though he doesn’t have control over his body to ruffle them around yet. Mummah wubs all her chirpies but she loves him bestest. Every day she gaves him wicky-cweanies and tells him how spechaw he is.
Speaking of mummah, she’s the focal point of his life. For one…she’s warm. Warm is good. That much even he knows. It feels good to be cuddled up next to his mother, cooing and gently slapping his li’l hooves against her tummy. Being cold is bad. It huwt. Huwties were bad. Even Chirpy knew that!
“Peep peep peep!” That meant so many things. It could mean ‘Attention, please!’. Or maybe ‘I just made a poop, please clean me!’. Right now it meant miwkies. Wriggling over his littermates, Chirpy clamped down on a nipple and began suckling.
Miwkies were love. It was life! Even though he’d never tasted anything else, they were the best thing ever and always would be. Right? All that warmth guzzling into his greedy mouth, filling up his tummy until it felt so full that he couldn’t even wriggle away. Then he’d poop and pee all over himself and wait for mummah to give wicky-cweanies.
All day every day, Chirpy listened to the Mummah Song. It was the most beautiful thing to his developing brain. The only time mummah wasn’t singing it was when she was cleaning them up, sleeping, or praising them in other ways. Or…when mummah was gone.
Mummah needed nummies sometimes and she left. This upset all of the chirpies. Why did she leave them? It was cold, and they needed warm. Cold was bad. Warm was good! They needed miwkies!
She always came back though.
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Mummah hadn’t come back. Not for the longest time ever, not that Chirpy knew what time was. The concept was beyond his understanding. His body was like a clock though and his tummy told him he needed miwkies.
“Peep peep peep!” Happy enough so that mummah would coo and worry over him. Fold him against her warmth. Tummy giving a growl, he gave a few desperate cheeps and nosed around for his littermate. Even though he could smell them, it was strangely distant. Like when mummah left for nummies.
“Cherp?” This had never happened. Sure, mummah left for nummies but Chirpies never left. Never before anyways. Flopping onto his back, he proceeded to shit all over himself. It wasn’t his fault! He was too widdew to make gud poopies yet. Mummah told him that.
Time passed and his stomach felt like it was in knots. Why wasn’t the most important thing in his life there with him? Why didn’t she come back? He had poopies! She should be saying how good he was at making them and licking it away.
“PEEPEEPEE!” He screeched out into the air. Cold was rushing in on him. Miwkies. Poopies. Warm. Mummah. Cweanies. Nummies. All the words spoken to him over his short life tumbled around in his tiny brain. Desperately, he wanted to try and say one. Mummah…
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It was dawk-times. Even though his see-pwaces hadn’t opened yet, he knew that because he could see light behind his eyelids when it was sunny. There was nothing but darkness now.
Mummah wasn’t there. All the other chirpies were gone still. There was a curious sound from above him.
tap
tap
tap
Then a sudden roar, a flash of light that even he could ‘see’. That sound was unlike anything Chirpy had ever experienced before. If there was an opposite to Mummah, that was it. A bad thing. Bad things were bad. The cold, huwties, and that noise.
Having no miwkies was bad too.
tap
tap
tap
Another roar of noise that made him peep incessantly, though that was beginning to hurt him even more. Cold wetness began to fall down on him. Still on his back, he could only wriggle from side to side in his own poopies.
The tapping had stopped. Now it was a new noise.
Plip
Plip
Plip-plip-plip-plip
More cold wetness fell down against him, covering his tiny face in it . Something fell down on top of him along with a great rush of that cold. He was under something that felt like mummah sometimes, when she sat on top of them to make them even more warm. This was so cold though. Unable to even wriggle around anymore, he poked his mouth out to try and suckle on the cold thing. His tummy hurt so bad. Miwkies. That’s all he wanted.
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His tummy didn’t hurt anymore. In fact, he didn’t feel much of anything. The cold was there but it didn’t hurt anymore. All he felt was sleepy.
Giving one last peep, he heard something he’d never experienced before. A voice that wasn’t mummah’s. It was…what was it?
“I’ll give you a good home, little baby.”
That’s what he heard. What did it mean? What was a home?
A home was a good thing. He didn’t know why he knew, it just was. Mummah didn’t have to explain it.
Still under the great wet heap, he gave one last rattling peep and went to sleep forever.