“An den Bestest am gunna be Bestest smawty! An hab aww da spechow fwends!” Your brother cried, standing tall atop a discarded soda can. Your siblings cheered and stomped their hooves.
“An Tin be bestest Toughie!” Your grey brother chirped. “Hab shawpest pointy!”
Yes, their pointies. How you hated them. From your hiding spot inside a discarded coffee can you watched your siblings play. Happy, carefree, content in their knowledge that their mummah loved them. She didn’t love you. Not with your dummy wings. Mummah only liked pointy babies, ones with pretty horns like her. She said smart babies were pointy, and wingy babies didn’t love their mummah to choose to be good pointy babies. You didn’t remember choosing to have wings, but if you did you were happy with the choice. What did their stupid horns do for them? Your wings would let you fly. Mummah told you over and over that you were being a dummy, that fluffies couldn’t fly but what did she know? She didn’t have wings, and everything else you saw with wings flew!
Today was the day though. You spend all of last night carefully moving garbage to build yourself a ramp to the top of the plastic crate your family lived in. You had tried to fly before, but your buzzing little wings couldn’t get your tiny body off the ground. Mummah called you a dummy but you knew it was just because you were too little. If you just grew a little more they could do it. Now when you flapped your wings you could feel how light your hooves felt, you were so close. If you had something to jump off you could do it, you were sure.
“An sissy get tu cum to hewd?” Your runt sister Little asked.
“Sissy cum!” Bestest replied. “Aww pointy fluffies be pawt of hewd! Aww pointy fwuffies guud fwuffies!”
You gritted your teeth. You would show them. Stepping out of the can your siblings noticed your appearance.
“Dummeh nu get join hewd! Nu wan wingie!” Your brother jeered. “Nu wan Dummeh wif dummeh wingies!”
You ignored him, walking behind the crate to start the arduous climb. Your mummah named you Dummeh, but that would change today. You would show her that you were actually the best baby, and make her give you a better name. You liked the sound of Flappy. You would wait on top of the crate until she was back from finding nummies and then you would show her.
“Wha am Dummeh doin?” Tin asked.
“Nu knu…” Bestest rounded the corner to watch you. “Cwimbin.”
“Sissy gun fwy?” Little asked.
“Dummeh nu can fwy! Mummah say!” said Bestest.
“Fwuffy hab wingies.” You said firmly, taking another careful step up your makeshift ramp. “Wingies mean fwy.”
Bestest scoffed. “Mummah say nu. Gun gib you wowstest huwties.”
You pulled yourself over the edge of the crate, feeling a slight breeze between your wings. You were up so high! Higher than anything ever! You could see over the bushes hiding your home and out into the park you lived in. “Su pwetty!”
“Cum down Dummeh! Gun faww!” Little cried.
“Nu am! Gun fwy!!” You shouted back.
“Why babbehs su woud?” Your mummah shouldered her way through the brush.
“Dummeh say gun fwy! Cwimb up on homsie!” Bestest cried before you could speak.
“Dummeh get down.” Mummah said, not looking up at you.
“Nu!” You stomped your hoof. “Nu am Dummeh! Am guud fwuffy!”
“Dummeh get down wite nao ow nu miwkies!” Mummah put her hooves up on the side of the crate, looking over the top at you.
“Nu cawe! Gun fwy, be bestest babbeh!” You stepped up to the edge, ignoring her.
“Fwuffies nu can fwy! Yu cum down!” Mummah swiped her hooves at you, but you dodged them and flung yourself off the edge.
“Gun fwyyyyyyy!!” You cried, eyes closed and wings spread.
For a moment you felt the greatest joy a fluffy could. The wind whistled past your ears, and you felt the air catch under your feathers. You were doing it! You were flying! You were the best baby, and mummah was gonna-
THUMP
You slowly opened one eye. Every inch of you hurt, all your leggies, your wingies, everything. You were moving, slowly swinging one side to the other. You could just barely make out grass below you through your blurry vision. You were roughly dropped to the ground with a grunt, and looking up you saw your mummah standing over you.
“…Mummah…” You groaned.
“Dummeh babbeh… Huwties bwing munstahs.” Your mother growled. “Nao mummah hab to fin new homsie fo guud babbehs.” She turned and started to walk away.
“Mummah… hewp…” You stretched your now crooked hoof out to her, your vision fading quickly. “… hab… huwties…”