Insomnia: By Stwumpo

I love the idea of a pillowfluff being used as a literal pillow, and I love how apathetic to her suffering this guy is.

I have trouble sleeping. It’s awful. Nothing worked. I tried pills, white noise, earbuds, liquor, nothing cleared it up.

I have pale lavender Wolfram pillow with a pea soup green mane. Her name is Patricia, and she was my ex wife’s fluffy. When she ditched me, she figured she’d ditch Patty too. I never was huge on them, but the thought of driving all the way to a shelter with her begging for mercy was…unpleasant. So she stayed. About a year after the divorce she was really lonely, and so was I. She asked if she could get tummeh babbehs, and I said it would be fine. Got my neighbor to bring his stud to the apartment and boom.

“Hooway! Patwisha am soon mummah nao! Can feew wittwe tummeh babbehs in tummeh! Babbehs moove!”

Her babbling was calming, and her soon mummah songs were genuinely soothing. But I still couldn’t sleep. Until one day, I had a bit too much to drink. See, she’s a pillow. That means she sleeps in my bed. It’s why my wife had her pillowed in the first place. Her colors perfectly matched my wife’s decor, so she spent a pretty penny buying her away from the New Brunswick breeders who wanted to keep her on as a nurse mare. Patricia really wanted to stay with Wanch Mummah, but the money was too good. Four chops later and we were the owners of a small throw pillow that cries and shits. Hooray.

But I came around when she slept with us. Having her between us made us feel closer. And when we were growing apart, having Patty muttering happy gibberish in her sleep was comforting. But now, it’s simply not enough.

Especially since the foals.

See, they can’t be left alone all night when they’re this young. Not only do they need milk regularly, making sleeping with mummah pretty necessary, but without her warmth they’ll be cold. It won’t kill them, but they’ll feel the damage it does for the rest of their days. Hell, even psychologically. Separating mother from foal when they’re not weaned can cause increased behavioral issues as well as feelings of abandonment. So naturally, Patty hadn’t been sharing the bed lately. She was caring for her babbehs. All seven of them, a mix of wingy and pointy fluffs.

But I was drunk.

“Hey c’mon Patches, lessgo ta bed.” I grabbed her by the tail and hoisted her. “Eeeek! Nu daddeh! Nu gwab taiw! Owwies! Owwies! Daddeh huwtin’ Patwisha! Stahp! Stahp ow daddeh gun bweak pwetty taiw!” I chuckled and flung her up a bit, catching her under my arm. I was impressed. She was more focused on the wet crunching sound that came from the base of her tail when I did it.

I tossed her into bed, too drunk to realize my mistake. She tried correcting me but I was too gone. She was white noise. For an hour she yammered at me until I finally got mad. I flicked her nose and rolled her on her back. Then I grabbed a little tummy fluff and pulled it out. Not much blood, only a little skin. She was screaming, but I stopped her by shoving the fluff in her mouth and then grabbing her snout to keep her mouth shut.

“Swallow it.” Her eyes lit up with fear, but I felt her shake her head ‘no’ so I covered her nose. “Swallow it.” Tears started flowing hard and I felt her do it. I released her and said “Good. Now be quiet, daddeh needs sleep.” After a couple rounds of “Huhuhu wai daddeh huwt gud piwwow” and “Nu wike, tuu much fwuff” she cooled off.

And then it happened.

She couldn’t appeal to me anymore, so she was just softly whimpering and making little huuhuus while occasionally whispering things like “Huu whewe babbehs” and “mummah hab miwkies, babbehs nu dwinkies yet.” I started to remember the babies. But something changed when I heard the first peep from the next room.

“Chirp! Mummah! Peep peep! Hungwy!”

Her sobs and moans and the violent (for a fluffy) shaking that making them caused all worked together like magic and I was asleep in no time.

The next morning, I was hungover. Not bad, but some. I picked up Patty and went to the bathroom. “Daddeh, can Patwisha gu tu babbehs nao? Babbehs gun hab tummie huwties!” I shrugged. “Sure, whatever.”

While swishing mouthwash, I brought her to the nestie where her babies slept. They’d just started opening their eyes the day before, and one of the babbehs was COVERED in wet soupy foal shit. “Nuuuuu! Wai babbehs make poopies on bwudda? Bad poopies! Nu wike!”

They were all weak. I could see their ribs. Even the shit was visibly unhealthy. I picked up the gross one despite Mummah’s protestation and brought him to the sink. I turn on the faucet as he tries to hug my thumb, but the mucousy diarrhea he’s slimed up with makes him slip off each time.

“Cheep! Smewwy! Nu wike! Nee cweanies!”

Before I put him under the stream, which he informs me is “bad fow babbeh,” I realize I’ve still got mouthwash in. Eh, waste not want not. I spit it all on the foal. I aim mostly for his face. He’s struggling at first, then it gets in his eyes and the sores sleeping in shit earned him. He shrieks, and in doing so runs out of air. So naturally, he inhales.

His entire world is cold liquid fire. His lungs are burning but he’s also feeling dizzy and numb from the liquid that made it down his gullet. After I rinse him clean, he’s looking…okay? He’s not derped, so I bring him back to mummah and toss him to her. He lands at the base of her tail and she screams in pain as she rolls over. He’s tossed to the floor and she is upside down. By the time she calls for help I’ve left the room.

Fuck I slept great last night.” I say aloud to nobody in particular while I savor my coffee.