Tinsel had made bad peepees on her bed again. At this point it was inevitable for the elderly mare. Pink fur which had lost all of it’s sheen, a mane and tail that had been an eyecatching silver gone to a ratty grey. Her eyes dim, all of the playful energy gone now. Mummah didn’t ever yell at her when she made bad poopies or peepees. Instead all she did was clean it up and tell the fluffy that she wasn’t in trouble. It didn’t make Tinsel feel any less shameful for it.
“Sowwy, mummah…Tinsew sowwy. Wan be gud fwuffy.” Watching her mummah clean the mess up with paper towels and a bottle of cleaning solution, she went over to hug against her leg. It hurt so bad. Arthritis made her joints scream with pain. Wincing and giving a whimpering ‘huu’, the mare returned to her original standing position. Even though was tough: Her legs shook and wobbled as if she’d go splat to the floor at any moment.
“We’re going to see Dr. Pickens today. Are you excited?” Mummah asked her. Giving a smile that showed lots of teeth that had either fallen out naturally or been worn down to stumps, Tinsel gave a feeble nod.
“Yis. Tinsew wub nice mistah.” It was rare to see a fluffy who loved their vet but she’d been going to see him for the longest time. Getting toysies from the big treasure chest for being a good girl ever since she’d been a foal. Tinsel didn’t even particularly want anything from the toy chest today though.
“Come on, honey.” Mummah scooped her up, wrapping her up in one of her favorite blankies (clean, luckily). Blue and decorated with pictures of half eaten chocolate chip cookies. A stuffy-friend joined the blanket, Tinsel holding it limply against her body. It was in the shape of a dog, well loved and having an ear which had been nummed on plenty of times.
“Wub yew, Scwaps.” She cooed to the stuffy-friend. Mummah carried her out to the van where once they’d taken lots of rides in to the park or fluffmart. Laid her out on one of the backseats, not even bothering to buckle her in like usual.
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Sleeping almost the entire ride over to the vet’s office, Tinsel finally woke up when mummah lifted her out of the van. Eyes flickering open sleepily, she gave a sheepish smile as they made their way into the vet’s office.
The office was a very nice place. There were all sorts of fun posters for the fluffies to look at, along with a big communal toy chest. A teebee always on FluffTV mounted on one wall, art from the fluffy patients themselves hanging all over the wall by the reception desk. In fact, there was one from Tinsel! She recognized it: Her, mummah, and Dr. Pekens. Or three different colored blobs that she insisted was them at any rate.
“Hello, Trish. Tinsel is here for her appointment.” At the mention of her name, the mare lifted a hoof weakly and waved to the receptionist. A warm smile was offered her way.
“Of course. You’ve already filled out all of the paperwork, so please wait until you’re called.” A formality as they’d been through all of this before. Well. Not quite this. Bringing Tinsel over to the waiting room, she gently set the fluff down on the floor.
There were other fluffies in the place to play with, and even if she was so old it wasn’t going to be something that could be missed out on. Wobbling on over to a pair of foals from the same litter, she looked down as they passed a ball to one another.
“Baww? Tinsew wub baww.” The foals consisted of a plain brown male and an orange alicorn female, one of them kicking the ball softly to the much older fluffy in front of them.
“Owd fwuffy su fun!” The orange one hopped around excitedly. Older fluffies usually NEVER played with them!
“Teehee! Neba am catch!” Blowing a raspberry, the brown foal pranced along the carpeted floor. Tinsel tried to give chase but quickly tired out, plopping down to the floor. They both crawled all over her and giggled, the mare seeming to find great amusement in this.
Playtime had to come to an end eventually though, Dr Pickens appearing from one of the doorways and giving a jovial wave to an exiting patient. Approaching Tinsel and her mummah, the mare was tugged up by her owner and given a hug. Returning it, she blinked a few times in confusion. Mummah was crying? Why?
“Mummah, yew am saddies? Tinsew am hewe. Huggies ‘fo makin’ huwties gu way.” Hug hug hug! Even though it hurt her body she needed to. Fluffies were here to make everyone happy.
“Don’t worry about me, Tinsel. Go with Dr. Pickens and be a good girl. OK? I love you.” Tears continued streaming down her cheeks as Tinsel was transferred to the vet’s arms. As stated previously, she quite liked him. He had a funny grey mustache, big warm blue eyes, hands that were gentle and never gave huwties. The fact that he’d given her lots of treats and toys in her youth was saying something too.
“Don’t worry. She won’t feel a thing.” Pickens gave one of his patented, practiced physician smiles to Tinsel’s mummah. Already walking down to the door as the fluffy, more confused than ever, simply waved limply with one hoof.
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Brought into the vet’s office. The place smelled heavily of cleaner used to clean up all the scaredy poopies and peepees from other fluffies, but not Tinsel. She was a good girl after all. Placed down onto an examination table, the mare looked up to her friend and gave a weary waggle of her tail.
“Nice mistah am nice mistah. Wub!” Excited. More full of energy than she’d been in awhile! Dr. Pickens selected a wooden stool that’d been set next to a sink, dragging it over and perching on the end of it. Fingers lacing together, regarding his patient over the frames of his spectacles.
“Tinsel. I’ve been waiting a long time for this day. Your owner took such good care of you that I knew that we’d be right here today.”
“…Wha?” Not knowing what he was talking about. It wasn’t about to be quickly explained either. No, after all. Actual years had been spent waiting for this day.
“Do you know where you go when you die?” The vet asked her, and she thought on it for a moment. Mummah had told her that!
“Gu tu Skettiwand! It am bestest pwace ebah, wots ob fwends, nummies, wub, huggies…” Rattling off all the things that fluffies thought they were deserving of. Dr. Pickens raised a hand, index finger poked up. Shaking it from side to side.
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken. There’s no Skettiland. The only place you go is a place with nothing to eat. Your stomach will always hurt. No friends. No love. Nothing. You, Tinsel, will end up in a giant litterbox. Because you, like all fluffies, are a piece of shit.”
This was a lot to dump on one elderly mare. No Skettiland? Patently untrue. Mummah said it was real, so it was. Dr. Pickens calling her…meanie names? Why?
“Nice mistah am meanie naow?” She asked with a whimper in her voice. “An’ mummah say Skettiwand am fowebbah-sweepie pwace.”
“I’ve always been an asshole, Tinsel. But I need a paycheck and you don’t need a license to practice on fluffies. Good bedside manner goes a long way.” Leaning over from his stool, hand going to a drawer containing different patient records, he’d flick through a few before finding the folder he so desired.
“Tinsel, do you remember your babies? They were so cute, weren’t they? What’d your owner say happened to them?” The file was smacked against one open palm as he looked to her expectantly. He knew exactly what she was going to say.
“B-Babbehs fin’ nyu housies! Dey su happeh, skettis an’….” Before she could finish her incessant babbling, the folder slid open. Several photographs were snatched from within, brought so she was forced to look right at them.
“Think again, asshole! Your ‘mummah’ brought ‘em to me!”
That was Goober! A brown unicorn who always loved playing with his blocks and watching cars go down the street. Goober’s horn had been removed with a pair of nail clippers, shoved up his poopie place. A small piece of tape was forced over his mouth but you could see from the pure panic in his eyes what misery he was in.
Next was Pookie, a sky blue female. Her entire thing had been playing dress-up! Mummah always loved putting her in little outfits. In fact? She was wearing a ballerina’s tutu in the photograph. Only…it was on the floor along with her back weggies and a puddle of tummy skettis. The foal had been suspended from her front legs from the ceiling, a small length of string tightened up to sever her body.
Last was Doopy. Her precious sensitib babbeh. Tinsel had cared for him especially hard since he couldn’t do much for himself. Always giving him wicky-cweanies, miwkies, singing him the bestest mummah songs. That was him in the photograph though, hanging halfway out of a snake’s mouth. Blood and milk dribbled out from the corners of his mouth as the munstah was numming him down.
“Wry!? Wry meanie munstah man!? Nice mistah gib babbehs HUWTIES! Wry su meanies!?” This was someone she’d once saw as someone to trust. It was too much.
Dr. Pickens didn’t have some faggoty masterplan. No spiel about being bullied or, somehow, having his life ruined by a fluffy. Nope.
“I was bored.” He told her, snapping on a pair of gloves and selecting a syringe along with an ampule containing an anesthetic.
“Nuuhuuhuu…NUUUU! BABBEHHSS!” Even if she was old, she could still kick up a fuss.
“Yew am meanie munstah man! Tewwin’ mummah! Wun weggies wun!” Try to scoot toward the edge of the bed, Dr. Pickens caught her with one hand and pinned her down before she could end what he’d been paid to do herself. Oh no it wasn’t going to be that easy, even if in her mind she thought she’d just be escaping.
“Oh? Gonna holler? These walls are soundproofed. Watch.” Turning to a poster of a fluffy with shiny teeth and useful tips on how to practice good dental health, he began screaming.
“SHIT! FUCK! COCKSUCKER!” The fluffy looked stunned by the display in front of her. Of course these goddamn walls were soundproofed. A stallion getting his ‘speciaw wumps’ slit off didn’t need to be screaming about it and scaring all the other patients.“
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“And so we’ve come to this.” Selecting one of Tinsel’s hind legs, he thrust the needle into her and injected her with anesthetic. Oh, not enough to make her lose consciousness. Not until the fun was done with.
“You’re going forever sleepies. You’re going to die. Go ahead, ask your owner to come save you.” Crossing his arms, he watched her expectantly.
“Mummah! Sabe…sabe Tinsew! Meanie munstah man!” Of course there was no response though.
“She doesn’t love you, Tinsel. If she did? She’d be here. Likely out buying a new fluffy. One who isn’t so ugly and stupid.” Balling up Tinsel’s precious blankie, the one with all it’s cookies, he stuffed it into a nearby wastebasket. Reached out for her stuffy-friend but the fluffy stubbornly held onto it.
“Nuu-huu-huu! Pwease nu take stuffy-fwend! Dat am Scwaps! He am bestiest fwend!” Of course, she was so old. Also a fluffy. It was torn away from her and joined the blankie. The stress of all of this began to make her feel like it was hard to breathe.
“Haff…hnfff…KAFF!” Rasping and choking. It was so difficult to make breathies. Her weggies felt like they were heavy too, like she suddenly woke up from having been in a deep sleep. There was no sleep though. Feeling as if her lungs and heart were being gripped by a giant fist, Tinsel’s eyes rolled up to Dr. Pickens. Betrayal, pain, and fear shone bright.
“Know what you’re feeling, Tinsel? That’s called dying. Usually I put you little fuckers to sleep so it doesn’t hurt. You could get huggies from every last fluffy on the Earth, too, and it wouldn’t change a thing.”
The vet got down on his knees so he was close to her own face. His appearance was something that she’d much liked before but now it was monstrous. Eyes narrowing down to hateful little slits, breathe which stank like garlic and hit her in hot waves she couldn’t flinch away from.
“I want to see that last breath leave your stupid little mouth, Tinsel.”
She was so scared. Where was mummah? The fluffy had voided her bowels and hadn’t even felt it happen. Only misery as her lungs refused to fill themselves.
Things eventually started growing dim. He’d started laughing by then. Non-stop. The last thing she ever experienced was that. Just a joke. Unloved. Not going to Skettiland. Mummah wasn’t coming, and her babbehs were dead.
