Sorry if this one isn’t as good as the previous entries. Things are starting to pick up for me and that means I’ve been busier than I was these past few months. I hope you enjoy but I’d like to put it out there that I don’t see this as being up to the same quality as my previous posts.
Name: Roderick Delarge
Age: 18
Occupation: High School Student
When the megaherd started going through the Midwest they overran entire towns in search of food. Hundreds of farms had their crops devoured. A lot of farmers were terrified of the possibility that their insurance wouldn’t cover the damages. That their livelihoods were gonna be decimated by some abominations of science.
My town of Edmonton, although we didn’t know it at the time, was within the path of the megaherd. From what I’d found out at a later time, a portion of the megaherd came into my hometown at night. My town isn’t like some of the little hamlets you find in some parts of the Midwest but it’s small enough that there aren’t many people out at night. So the fluffy’s came in with barely any alarm raised.
We woke up to find Edmonton full of fluffies. Thousands of them. Tens of thousands of em. In yards, in the street, fuckin’ everywhere. Eating lawns, pissing and shitting wherever they felt like it. More than a few were having ‘special huggies’ in plain sight.
School was canceled and my parents were frantically calling their workplaces trying to get in touch with someone. It was around eight thirty in the morning when I pulled up some of my friends on Twitter and we started talking about what to do.
It was Lonny who first suggested we kill off as many as we can. I still have the text. “I’m not sure about you guys but I’ve been having problems venting my frustrations lately. And the solution’s just wandered right into town. Who’s up for some bloodsport?”
It took a few seconds for me to piece together what Lonny was saying but the rest of my friends supported his idea from the get go. In the end, I just texted back 'eh, why not."
I told my parents what my friends and I were gonna be doing. They were a bit skeptical that we’d be able to have much of an effect on the fluffie’s numbers but they didn’t have any problems with the plan. They helped me put together my fluffy killing tool-kit.
Dad gave me nails and the hammer from his tool-box as well as a few knives. My mom even let me borrow her sewing needles. Mom insisted that I wear some cloths I didn’t mind getting dirty. I tell ya, your parents helping you prepare for battle is something that makes you value them all that much more.
My friends showed up to the house in full gear not long after. Lonnie was decked out in a camo vest with goggles and a skull bandana on his head, his dad’s skinning knife in his belt and his mom’s hedge clippers in his gloved hands. Trish had her hockey mask and a few knives holstered in a belt along with a baseball bat. Taylor had a metal pole and his part of his SWAT uniform from a costume party a few weeks before. And last but not least was Simon, with hockey padding and his dad’s tomahawk in a tight grip.
The furry fucks near my house didn’t even seem too scared by the death squad that was assembled at my front door. A mare even started talking at Taylor as we made sure we all had our phones. My parents saw us off by giving us some sandwiches. Mom didn’t think there’d be any restaurants open given what was going on. She wasn’t wrong. The sandwiches seemed to get the attention of the furry little shits, as more than a few of them looked at us and asked about ‘nummies.’
As soon as my mom closed the door I picked up a fat green stallion and punted him over the fence. I still remember the ‘screee’ he let out as he flew majestically over the brown posts. I’m kidding, he wasn’t majestic at all. But the splat sound he made after hitting a rock was pretty entertaining. Lonnie started jabbing at the fluffies near him with his hedge clippers; punching through chests, cutting spinal columns or just ramming the clippers through a fluff’s skull. Either way he was getting almost nothing but kill shots.
The little shits needed a few seconds to process what was happening but when they did they started screeching and calling out ‘monstah!’ A few of the toughies started kicking us. It felt like being pelted with marshmallows. Trish started knocking them away with her baseball bat and chasing after a mare with foals on her back.
And just like that, the game was on. We tore through my block killing every fluffy we came across.
Civic duty. It’s amazing how much fun you can get out of it.
Taylor loved squeezing the shit out of em before going for the death blow. I mean, literally squeezing their stomachs till a stream of poop came out like soft serve ice cream. Not the most efficient means of killing them, but in his defense I’ve haven’t heard many things more lovely than ‘hewp, munsta makin’ fwuffy hab bad poopsies!" or "please, nu mow make bad poopsies!’ Then again, nothing’s gonna top Trish saying she wanted to jump my bones. Yeah she and I are a thing.
Speaking of my delightful mistress of mayhem, Trish was killing off whole families of fluffies in a matter of seconds. She was either bashing them into red jam with her bat or slicing arteries and hearts with her knives. Taylor was skewering fluffies on the pole he was using or hitting them so hard that they just went down and didn’t get up.
I got a lot of mileage out of the hammer and nails that my dad gave me. The fluffy’s would just go down in one hit or stab. But one of the things that satisfied me the most was coming across a smarty and sticking my knife into his ass before putting him out of his misery. Jamming a needle into the smarty’s gonads was also pretty entertaining. It never failed to make me laugh to hear one screech 'nu, smarty speciaw wumps have wowstest huwties!" His toughies and the rest of his herd would lose it upon seeing the smarty get gelded. I even heard one fluffy say 'smawtie’s special wumps nu wowk no mowe, smawty am wowthwess now!" I was so tempted to let that fluffy live.
It wasn’t long before the street was covered in shit, piss and dead fluffies. We saw mares and foals as bigger targets than the males. We knew how fast fluffies reproduced and we needed to cull the younger ones and the fertile mares as much as we could. Which is why Lonnie went after mares like a heat seeking missile. He’d demolish her and her brood before the mare could even start to beg. At one point he forgot he had a sandwich on him and started eating foals when he got hungry. Not shit, he’d just swipe a foal from its mother’s back or one that was trying in vain to run away and just bite its head off before finishing with the rest. According to him, they actually tasted pretty decent. Like blood sausage, he told me. I didn’t take the time to verify his claim, but I’ll take his word for it.
At around 10am, we noticed that other people were doing the same thing we were. I saw some of the other students at my high school killing off every fluffy they came across with knives, clubs, gardening tools, what have you. My Trig teacher Mr. Heath was skewering foals on what looked like a letter opener while sending the furry little shits flying with a tire iron. Some of the kids from the little league baseball team were working on their pitching by tossing fluffies into hard surfaces. The police even showed up and were smacking fluffies with their truncheons. They didn’t arrest anyone trying to get in on the action. They were sealing up drains in the side of the street so the fuckers couldn’t get into the sewers.
We pulled fluffies out of trash cans, from underneath bushes, from underneath cars and from behind walls. We went after them with dogs. We cordoned off as many of the towns exits as we could to keep them from escaping and decimated any large group we came across. I even got to blast away at a herd of around a hundred fifty with a shotgun. The pellets tore through them like knives through paper.
The fun didn’t stop when night came. By then, a huge amount of the fluffies were looking for places to sleep and hide from the townspeople. If we thought fluffies were easy targets when they were refreshed and awake, it was nothing compared to fluffies that were scared, tired and hungry over a long day of trying to avoid being bashed to pieces. Some of them were so tired they even begged people to leave them alone. Simon told me that a stallion walked up to him and asked ‘pwease munstah, fwuffies am tiwed, let fwuffies sweepies.’ Simon responded by killing the shitrat and the rest of its ‘fluff pile.’ The fluffies that were nearby tried to shuffle away but didn’t make it.
It was weird seeing the community get together for something like this. But we knew what these fuckers did to Chicago before they were forced out. We heard what happened to the small towns in Illinois these fuckers passed through. We weren’t gonna let them tear through our town as well. If they wanted to help themselves to a town for ‘nummies’ and ‘womsie pwaces’ we’d make it clear they made a big mistake coming to Edmonton.
In the final tally, over seventy thousand fluffies were killed over the course of a week. The survivors had fled and rejoined the rest of the megaherd, no doubt telling them of the town full of ‘monstahs’ and causing the megaherd to start heading south.
We did all that we could to stem their numbers. We killed a ton of em. But there were still more of them. We can’t get the credit for destroying the megaherd. That honor belongs to the heroes that stopped it near the gates of St. Louis.