John’s Vacation Part I
John’s Vacation Part II
It all happened so fast.
Buster watched Bear lose his mind, charge at the birdbath, pull it down and accidentally murder the white dam, and scramble out through the hole under the fence. He left them.
Buster stood frozen, his family upset and crying. Kiki and Bearbear waddled after Bear, getting themselves caught and eventually crushed in the hole. Princess screamed, and held her two foals tightly. “Busta,” Princess wailed. “Nu can weave nao!”
Buster’s ears lowered to his skull. She was right. All the other fluffies had gone forever sleepies. Bear escaped. Cynthia ran off and disappeared. This land Bear had brought them to was no good. Buster had to get them to safety!
But how?
—
Phil sighed, shuffling on thick gardening gloves. “Ok,” he muttered aloud, despite hair metal blasting through his earbuds. “Bodies first.”
Unfurling a thick disposable bag for landscaping, Phil took to the task of collecting all the dead fluffies and their limbs strewn about the back of Gary’s property. He picked up a red unicorn covered in pinkish red puke and blood, hefting him forcefully into the black bag. Phil shook his head, in awe of the chaos.
His next stop was a red…no, white fluffy whose head, neck, and shoulders resembled an accordion. Bent and stacked and angled oddly, blood was everywhere. It sank to the bottom of the disposal bag with a wet splat. What the hell could have done that, Phil thought.
He turned, and saw the bowl part of Gary’s birdbath wedging an adult and baby fluffy into the fencing. “Holy shit,” Phil said aloud, loudly as his earbuds blared. How these little idiots manage to get into these situations is beyond me, he thought. A quick, sharp pull at the bowl freed it from the dirt, and Phil shook the fluffies off it. Inspecting the bowl, he noticed no damage and placed it on the soil for later cleaning, turning back around to deposit the two dead fluffies into the bag.
Phil leaned closer to the fence. Make that three dead fluffies; Phil hadn’t noticed one crushed in half underneath the bowl. Must have gotten killed on the way in, Phil mused, picking up the lower half of the fluffy from through the fence and discarding it into the bag. Pushing off his knees, Phil turned and looked for more fluffy corpses, wondering if he still had that bag of topsoil somewhere in the mess of his truck bed.
“Ah, fuck,” Phil exclaimed, his eyes stopping on the canal.
“The dock, too?”
—
The brown baby stirred, partially from the discomfort of the sun beaming down on him and cooking him in the almost bubbling fetid broth left behind by his recently deceased mother. The other reason was the smell; but it wasn’t the stench of the dearly departed and derped dam, along with his drowned brother and exploded sister. There was a sweet note rolling through the air, one that a distressed and hungry fluffy would easily be able to pick up.
Nummies.
The brown baby groaned, gingerly getting up and craning its neck to see a seagull had landed on the dock’s lamppost, a candy wrapper hanging from its beak. Its head jerked side to side, maneuvering itself to have enough room to both stand and feed. The baby drooled and whined, reaching out with both front hooves.
The seagull, frustrated, squawked and flapped its full wingspan out, gathering the breeze and lazily drifting down to the stepdown dock, stamping its webbed foot down on the wrapper and finally enjoying the fruits of its labor. Just down the dock, the brown baby fluffy softly peeped and sniffled, limping and wheezing its way over to the seagull.
“Pwease, hu hu, nice wingie munstah,” the brown colt begged. “Pwease tu-hu-hu shawe nummies wif fwuffy? Fwuffy su hungwy.” The seagull screeched in annoyance, pausing to angrily stare at the tiny fluffy before going back to its bounty. “Pwease, wingie munstah, babbeh nu nee’ aww da nummies. Pwease wet haff sum nummies?” The seagull screeched again, flapping its wings defensively to ward the colt off.
The colt paced around, whining and crying. “Pwease,” he repeatedly squealed, stomping and tantruming. “Fwuffy nee’ nummies!” He circled closer, quaking with fear and wet with urine, and the seagull squawked and flapped its wings repeatedly. The colt reached timidly out, snagging the far end of the wrapper with his teeth, and tugged it gently backward. Finally, the seagull had enough.
It hopped back, the wrapper giving way. With a yelp, the brown fluffy tumbled backwards.
“Oof!” the colt cried, wiggling its sore limbs to right itself under the glaring sun. The gull hopped forward, now between the fallen fluffy and the candy wrapper, angrily shrieking at the intruding colt.
“SCREEE! NU NUM BABBEH! JUS’ WAN NUM-”
The colt was silenced by a quick nip and his snout. It took him by surprise, bopping the fluffy’s head back.
“SCRE-” Another attempted wail from the brown baby fluffy was thwarted with yet another nip, this time harder. The seagull caught the baby in the cheek, puncturing a tiny hole in it. The colt’s insides burbled, and he evacuated himself as more pecks from the seagull rained down on his face and body. The seagull was unrelenting, pecking and ripping at the baby’s fluff. Tearing at his ears. Impaling its beak on the colt’s rotund little belly.
The brown fluffy flipped over, desperate to escape his attacker, and poured all his energy into his little legs. He sprang up to make a dash away-
-and the seagull stabbed its beak right between the baby’s neck and right shoulder. The fluffy screamed, warbling as he collapsed. He tried to stand upright and regain his balance, but the hit to the shoulder paralyzed his leg. The baby shuffled his back legs, propelling himself forward with his snout dragging into the concrete. He looked up, and saw he was crawling back to his mother. Maybe if he got underneath her body, the seagull would leave him alone.
The seagull, however, wanted the encounter over. With two last deep jabs, the seagull skewered the brown baby fluffy in the skull, thrusting into its brain. The brown colt shook violently, spraying fecal matter and galloping sideways wildly. The seagull cried and flew back to avoid the mess, grabbed the candy wrapper, and left to find less hostile feeding grounds. The baby, technically still alive, kicked his legs out and moaned. His eyes rolled around, unfocused and crying. He had bitten down on his tongue, his snout filled with broken fluffy teeth and blood. His body, littered with seeping gouges and bruises, took shallower breaths.
Pain overtook, needles everywhere. The colt was awash in agonizing waves of heat and electricity and pressure. He was blind; the bird had damaged the visual connection to his brain, as well as his hearing. Essentially alone, navigating this sea of sorrow and torment. While only mere moments of life left after the seagull attack, it felt like forever to the fluffy. Outside his mind, the fluffy’s lilting and drooping head finally fell to the ground, settling on the hot concrete.
—
Phil arched his back, feeling it crack and loosen. He tossed a large adult fluffy into the bag. Probably the mother of the little ones, he deduced. They all look like they had been through their own brand of hell. Broken limbs and covered in blood and sickness, Phil was just glad the little things were out of their misery. He tossed the final one, a tiny cut-up brown colt, onto the growing pile of corpses in his disposal bag.
Heaving the trash over his shoulder, Phil went and dumped it by the side entrance, returning to the dock with the pressure washer in tow. His playlist started getting into the good shit, and Phil found himself cranking up the psi and widening the spray. “MORE POWER,” Phil shouted, letting loose a wide jet of water.
—
It was now or never, Buster thought. He motioned for his special friend, Princess, to come out of the hiding spot he found underneath the grill.
“B-busta?” Princess stammered. “Pwincess nu wan cum oud. Am su loud.” She narrowed her eyes and saw the cloud of water coming from the pressure washer. “NU. NU WAWA AM BAD FO FWUFFIES.” She shuddered intensely, wetting herself. The two children hugged each other’s fluff and cried.
“Busta no famiwy haff tu wun nao, o famiwy go fowevah sweepies wike aww da oda fwuffies!” Buster exclaimed through gritted teeth, motioning for his family to run for the fence.
Princess would not move, and instead collected her tail under her body and held the end up over her face. “Meanie wawa mistah nu fin’ Pwincess in hewe. Pwincess nu weave.”
Buster, exasperated, had seen far too much to put up with much more nonsense. “Babbehs! Wisten to daddeh an’ wun tu howe!” The children shook,but did not budge, merely content to accept their fate hugging each other. Buster growled, and grabbed both of them by the fluff on their necks, one by one, and dropped them on the concrete. “WUN! NAO!” he snarled, nipping at their legs. Both screamed and ran towards the hole.
“BABBEHS! NUUU!!” Princess jumped out of the grill, briefly staggering Buster, and took off after her children. Buster was faster though, and jumped on Princess from behind. She fell to the ground with a loud scree, her legs splayed out in all directions. “WET PWINCESS GU!” she screamed, irate. “WET PWINCESS GU! HATECHU!!”
Buster gasped, sitting up a little. Princess took the opportunity to swat at his face, and caught Buster off-guard. He stumbled off Princess, who scrambled out from underneath and attacked him. Princess turned and reared, kicking Buster in the jaw and sending his face into the concrete. He moaned, blood pouring from his mouth.
“Sp-pb-b…spethuw fwen,” Busta blubbered, “pweath nu huwt Budda mo. P-pweath wun, gu way wif babbeth.” He held his front hooves up in feeble defense. Princess raised her front hooves, rearing up and battering Buster more.
“NU! BUSTA WISTEN TU BAD FWUFFY BEAW. BUSTA AM BAD FWUFFY TU,” Princess screamed, weakly pawing at Buster.
“SPETHUW FWEN, NU.”
“HATECHU!”
—
Phil was happy. The dock was spotless, and probably better than how Gary had left it, he mused. The latest song was wrapping up, and Phil figured it was the perfect time for a water break. He hit pause, and was greeted by a muffled argument of childlike voices. He froze, only moving to remove his earbuds, and heard them: two fluffies screaming at each other.
Fuck, Phil thought. He hated dealing with fluffy shit…but he REALLY hated dealing with fluffies themselves.
He scanned around, and found the two: a green earthie and a violet pegasus. For some reason, the purple one was beating the shit out of the green one…who Phil noticed wasn’t mounting any sort of comeback. Or really defending himself well. Phil’s brow furrowed; he wasn’t the type of guy to let bullying slide. Grabbing the pressure washer, Phil slunk up the stairs behind the two fluffies.
—
“HATECHU HATECHU HATECHU, “ Princess screamed shrilly, raining rubbery hooves all over Buster’s body. He cried and cried, curling up into a ball yet never lashing out at his driven-mad mate. “PWINCESS NU CAWE FO BUSTA NU MO.” She shoved a hoof in his eye, eliciting an uncomfortable squeal. “BUSTA NU AM SPECIAW FWEN. BUSTA DUMMEH FWUFFY.”
Buster held his hooves to his face and cried, defeated. Waiting for his one-time special friend to give him forever sleepies. “PWINCESS HAFF GU-OOO! SCREEEE!!”
—
Phil grimaced, grabbing the pressure washer with both hands to keep the fluffy connected to it from galloping off with the thing still inside its ass. His sneak attack worked perfectly, and Phil managed to get the entire head of the hose up the attacking fluffy’s rectum.
“SCREEE!! POOPIE PWACE HUWTIES!!” the purple dam howled. Phil angled the nozzle down, keeping the fluffy immobile, lest it break its own spine. Princess was not far off, violently pawing at the concrete to try and get away, even biting at it irrationally. “MUNSTAH! HATECHU! GIV SOWWY POOPIES!!”
Phil grinned. “No, I think you’re the one about to be sorry.” He angled the nozzle back, parallel with the fluffy, and squeezed the trigger.
Princess gasped as pain shot through her rear, along with heavily pressurized water. The speed and pressure was immediately too much, obliterating Princess’ intestines and rapidly filling her body cavity up with water. Her ass, though suctioning the nozzle firmly in place, began leaking and pissing thin brown water. Her stomach sank to the concrete and expanded, pressing harder and harder on her diaphragm.
“Hu. HUUUU,” Princess cried shrilly. “WAWA AM BAD FO-”
Phil heard the sickening rip first, then the sound of rushing water as the purple fluffy’s stomach cracked like a ripe melon. A splattering of bright red water and tiny organs erupted from Princess, who dropped lifeless onto the wet cement. He managed to shake her off his pressure washer nozzle.
Buster, covered in grit and blood, wailed. “PWEASE NU WAWA BUSTA, MUNSTAH!”
Phil chuckled. “I can never understand you things.” He leaned down. “I won’t kill you. I don’t like dealing with you fluffies ever, but I wasn’t going to let you get killed.”
Buster stopped flinching, his ears softening. “Mistah nu huwt Busta?”
“No, just get the fuck out of here so I can finish cleaning up this mess.” Phil saw the fluffy keep glancing nervously over to the hole in the fence. “Get out of here!”
Buster took off, sprinting for the hole in the fence, never looking back. Princess, barely held together, was ripped off the patio and dropped into the bag with the rest of the corpses. Buster leapt and dove into the hole, his hip catching only momentarily. He huffed and puffed, straining, until he shot out the other side. Phil turned, wiping off the nozzle, and watched the little green guy rocket through the gap under the fence.
“Take care out there, little guy,” Phil whispered to himself, thumbing the music back on. He set himself back even more with that stunt…but it was worth it.
—
John opened his front door and faced a huffing, sweaty Phil. Completely drenched from head to toe, he nevertheless grinned and threw John a thumbs up. “It was a shitshow, but everything is all cleaned up and taken care of! No pretty flowers to look at for the time being, and you may want to clean the grill just as a precaution, but you should be all good to go.”
John smiled. “I appreciate it, Phil. What do I owe you?”
Phil guffawed. “Gary’s got it, man. No worries. I filled in the gaps under the fence, so you shouldn’t be getting any unwanted visitors. Enjoy your vacation!”
John shook Phil’s extended hand. “Well, if I can’t pay you, take some of these.” He produced 3 joints.
Phil shrugged, and plucked them from John’s hand. “Not gonna turn down an offer like that. Thanks! Have a good rest of the vacation. Hopefully it’s fluffy-free.”
“It better be,” John laughed, and waved before closing the door. He flopped back on the couch, grabbed his phone and texted Gary.
“Sounds great,” Gary typed. “Phil’s the best. Try out the grill tomorrow. Take care. G”
John smiled, shut off the TV, and stretched. With that mess out of the way, he could finally relax and get his vacation started. He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Tomorrow,” he sighed aloud. “We’ll get the vacation really going tomorrow.” Snapping all the lights off, John settled back into the guest room. A trip to the bathroom later, John eased himself into the bed and turned out the light. He was fast asleep and snoring before he could finish the start of a grocery list in his head.
…and before he heard rustling outside the window.