Author’s Note: This is the last long-form story I submitted to the Booru. I think it’s my best work. The ending provoked a variety of reactions, which I took to mean that different people were picking up different things as we went along, which is pretty cool. It is also many years old at this point, and I had no idea that I would be reposting it while vaccines and medical experiments are front-page topics. Life is weird. I think the best thing about this story was that I could switch off between multiple points of view, including a human protagonist and omni narrator. I edited down on the wordiness and repetition, and changed a few events around. I appreciate any critique. It’s 120 pages, 15 chapters, and I’ll post two or three at a time.
[NexTech Bio-Industries parts 1 and 2 by Dildofarmer]
[NexTech Bio-Industries parts 3 and 4 by Dildofarmer]
[NexTech Bio-Industries Parts 5 and 6 by Dildofarmer]
[NexTech Bio-Industries parts 7 and 8 by Dildofarmer]
[NexTech Bio-Industries parts 9 and 10 by Dildofarmer]
[NexTech Bio-Industries parts 11 and 12 by Dildofarmer]
[NexTech Bio-Industries Parts 13, 14 and Epilogue by Dildofarmer]
NexTech Bio-Industries
1 Orientation Day
The woman caught the door and hauled it all the way open, stepping out of the path of the rattling cart. The man followed, weaving his head left and right to keep an eye on the clearances. It was a tight fit, because his cargo was more than a yard square and draped in a tarp. The lab itself was a wide room with bright fluorescents over linoleum tile that gleamed while still looking dingy and sad. Cabinets in institutional blue and grey lined the walls. The center was dominated by a very serious metal table.
The table was a burnished steel job with a curb running around the edge. At one end, where the King of the Lab might be seated for dinner, was a deep sink with an overhead sprayer hookup. Opposite that a card table had been set up and cluttered with a laptop, an expanding file, a grocer’s scale with a digital readout and other chunks of equipment.
Broadside to the great table was a rack of metal beams in about the same proportions. It looked empty and skeletal at first, but the man and woman hoisted their boxy package and slotted it down between the rails. It was plain that the rack was built to fit three such objects side-by-side.
“Ohh-kay!” said the woman in a bright voice, “The others should be delivered soon, and Dr. Hopkins said he would come by to look everything over. Do me a favor and sign here.”
“Am I in this lab now?” asked the man, giving the lady’s clipboard a perfunctory scribble.
“Guess so. I’d just settle in ‘til the Doc shows up. He can probably explain why they are bringing in stock from outside.”
“No, I know why - they dissolved the breeding unit. I was down there last week helping with inventory and disposal.”
“Oh, yeah? So we’re not breeding fluffies anymore?” asked the woman, tossing the clipboard back on the cart and wheeling it around.
“No point. Every shelter within 100 miles is jam-packed. They’re basically free. I’m surprised we had one of the little maggots left from downstairs.”
“Poor little things.” clucked the woman. The man snorted. “Well, if you get bored, you could always check over the stuff we delivered earlier. Anything missing, call facilities and we’ll send it down.”
The man murmured his assent and began opening cabinets and drawers while the woman shoved the cart’s rubber bumpers against the door and vanished. The man was talking to himself unconsciously as he poked through the boxes and cabinets, occasionally stopping to peel away a plastic wrapper.
“Hrmmm… legboards… good… ok… ok… food… scoop… good… Jesus!” he exclaimed, holding up a nightlight shaped like a seashell and mugging at it. “Oh, here we go!” Laying flat in one cabinet was a pale wooden yardstick with metal caps on both ends. He whipped it experimentally through the air a few times. Presently a quiet peeping rang out from the middle of the room, followed by a lower, quieter mumbling that barely penetrated the canvas. The package was awake.
The man strode up to the rack and caught one corner of the brown tarp. In one motion, he tossed it off and away, revealing a big wire hutch. It was three feet square and half as tall, with clever latches and hinges so that either the front or top could be swung open. Inside, a water bottle and red plastic food dish had been bracketed to the frame, and a pad of tough, fuzzy carpet lay on the floor. A rear corner of this had been cut out, providing topside access to a litter box lurking in the false bottom.
It was a good, rugged design, and one the man was familiar with: The litter box could be slid out the back for dumping, and the carpet could be pulled and blasted clean with a hose. The hutch was just roomy enough for a couple of fluffy ponies to live in without going crazy.
Or, in this case, a dam and her brood: Huddled in the cage was a mare with a dull lavender coat set off by midnight blue on her mane, tail, and the stubby wings behind her shoulders. She was hunkered down in the middle of the hutch, and one could barely make out the trio of tiny, squirming shapes under the downy fluff of her belly and tail. Startled, she huffed and tossed her head in the sudden brightness, blinking her eyes and laying her tufted ears flat. Her foals were afraid, too, and they peeped louder and faster.
The man and the fluffy regarded each other for a few seconds. When the man remained still and silent, the dam turned away from him just enough to nuzzle her offspring and to speak barely-perceptible comforts to them. She didn’t take her eyes off the looming figure of the man as she gently stroked and snuffled her little foals one at a time - first the grey-blue one that nearly matched her coat, then the green one with the pale points, then the khaki-colored unicorn. They settled down and grew quiet.
“What’s your name?” said the man, looking down at the brooding mare with a flat, unreadable expression.
“F-fwuffy am Spwing.” came the squeaky but quiet reply.
“You’re a chilled-out little shitrat, aren’t you?”
“Fwuffy am gud fwuffy. Nu be woud. Nice mistew.” The mare turned her head towards the man, but wouldn’t point her stubby little muzzle or dewy eyes directly at him. The man grunted to himself in bemusement.
“Okay. Spring. Three foals. Well, good luck.” The man turned his back on the hutch and stalked over to the card table, where he slumped down and booted up the laptop. The sound of him typing and clicking filled the room. The mare watched him out of the corner of her eye, and when he seemed fully absorbed she raised one porky back leg and guided her foals down to the bulging, hairless udder exposed there. The grey and the green both latched on and rhythmically pawed at her with their tiny, soft hooves. Spring closed her eyes and began to hum tunelessly while holding the khaki foal to her chest.
Nearly an hour slid by before a wave of noise began to build at the door. Talking humans and rattling carts rang out, then the thump of rubber bumpers and the creak of hinges. In the middle it was a keening, nasal sort of crying - an upset fluffy pony. The man stood, but stayed ten paces away from the door when it burst open.
This time it was two carts, two hutches under brown cloth curtains, two teams of handlers and two forms needing signatures. One man waved these at the resident tech while the other three quickly unloaded, communicating only with grunts and gestures. Even more noisy was the steady bawling sound coming from the middle crate. It was at a pitch that seemed to cut right through the canvas hood, like a siren popping on and off when the hidden creature stopped to breathe.
“Eh! - Eh! - Eh! Huuuuuuuu! Huuuuuuuuu! Eh! - Eh! - Eh! Huuuuuuuu!” wailed the unseen fluffy.
Almost lost in the chaos was a tall, brown-haired man wearing big bifocal glasses, a lab coat and slacks with fine leather shoes. He was so lean and bony that he resembled a scarecrow dressed as a scientist.
“How do you do? Dr. Hopkins. Yes.” he said, offering his hand to shake.
“Pleased to meet you. I’m James, I’m the tech on this project.”
“Ah, yes! Yes, that will be good. James. Have you read the briefing?”
“I was just looking it over.” said James, just a little defensively.
“Hmm, yes, well, the short version is that we are conducting an inoculation and contagion study. My plan is to inoculate the mothers, then expose them to a particular pathogen and see if it can take hold. You have worked with fluffy ponies before, yes?”
“Yeah, I worked with them in the imaging lab, and last week I was down in the basement helping take apart the breeding operation.”
“Yes! We are using them here because of their immune systems. Very similar to humans in the way of antibodies, T-cells and hydrostatic properties. Very similar. So we’re going to be sampling blood every day after we induce. Yes. We will be able to collect a large amount of data, provided you can keep them alive and kicking through the experiment.”
“I’m surprised there was a pregnant mare left down there.”
“Oh, yes, I understand she was already pregnant during shutdown. These other two have come from a nearby shelter - I originally wanted to collect ten dams who had just foaled, but things were awkward and we had to redesign the experiment for certain variables. Yes, quite a shame. These three will be our trial run. I’d like to see the schedule followed very closely with regard to samples and collection of data.”
“You got it, Dr. Hopkins.” said James.
The delivery crew, and rattling carts vanished, and the sound of the crying fluffy grew until it filled the lab’s entire bandwidth. James’s brow creased in irritation. He tossed the canvas off the middle hutch, exposing a chubby burgundy mare. Her mane and tail were the same wine-red as her coat, but on her belly the fluff faded to a creamy mauve. A popular fad in domestic fluffies. She was sitting on her hindquarters with both hooves in her eyes, sobbing and gasping between drawn-out whines and wails. Two foals, cherry red and dull orange, sat on the carpet like spilled candies, hooves up and crying like their mother.
“Nuuuuuu, huuuu huuuu huuuu! Eh!-Eh!-Eh! Huuuuuuuuuuu!” keened the mare.
“Hey! HEY!” James barked, loud and harsh, directly at the mare’s flattened ears.
“Huhhh?” she said, pulling her forehooves down and squinting up at James with swollen, glassy eyes. She snorted her poky little muzzle clear.
“Shut up.” he said, his tone flat and irritable.
“Buh… buh… nyu daddeh?” said the mare through trailing sobs and hiccups. James had already turned and pulled the sheet off the third hutch. This mare was dark brown like wet cardboard with white dappling running up and down her flanks. Suddenly exposed, she whipped around to glare at the two men while crouching protectively over a little pile of foals. The mare huffed and began picking up her foals by the scruffs of their necks and moving them to the corner of her cage opposite the humans.
“Okay. Three mares, eight foals total. I’ll give them physicals tomorrow.”
“Yes, hmm. It’s all there in the notes. As much as I’d like to get started right away, perhaps it would be best if we let them get settled.” said Dr. Hopkins, peering keenly down at the three fluffies one at a time. The first one, Spring, shuddered a little and hunkered down around her foals. The middle mare waddled up to the bars under the doctor’s gaze. She had stopped crying, but was still sniffling and letting out the occasional shuddering sob and hiccup. She looked up at the Doctor.
“Mummah am Muffin, huu huu. Be nyu daddeh?” it said in its squeaky voice.
“Yes, hello, Muffin. I am Dr. Hopkins.”
“Muffin haf saddies an’ scawedies! Muffin nu wike scawy dawk! Yu gif huggies an’ wuvvies to Muffin nao?”
“Ha-ha, yes, well, no I am afraid my role is somewhat different, Muffin.”
“Buh, yu be new daddeh fo’ Muffin?.. Gif Muffin toys an’ pway an’ wuv?.. Pwease?” it pressed, looking up at the doctor with sad, tearful eyes and a quivering little moue on its teddy-bear face.
“Ha-ha, no, I am afraid not.” Dr. Hopkins cleared his throat uncomfortably. Turning his back on the wine-colored fluffy, he shook James’ hand again and made for the exit. “Well, if you could spend the rest of today preparing the spreadsheets and unpacking the equipment.”
“Will do, Dr. Hopkins.” The scarecrow-scientist stalked stiffly out the door, leaving James alone with the three mares and the eight foals. Muffin sniffled to see him go, and then turned her attention on James.
“Mistew? Mistew? …Be nyu daddeh? Giv wuv an’ huggies an’ nummies?” she said, her voice trembling and tears threatening to spill out of her big, limpid eyes. James snorted harshly.
“Okay, first thing you retards need to learn is that I’m not your daddy. You live in a research facility now. Shit in your litter boxes and keep your foals alive and quiet or you’ll regret it. Believe me.” He stood in front of Spring’s hutch first. She was still curled up around her foals, keeping one eye on James while humming to them very quietly and stroking them with her front hooves. Satisfied, he moved to Muffin’s cage. She was standing in the front, pointing her little snout up at him with her mouth open. Her foals were on the carpet, chirping and crawling towards her.
“Pwease be nyu daddeh? Muffin’ nu wike scawedies! Muffin wan’ hu-hu-huggies an’ wuv an skettis! Pwease? Pwease? Wan’ nyu daddeh!” burbled the dark red earth pony.
“Are you fucking listening to me?” said James, scowling.
“Muffin wissen to nice mistew! Muffin am gud fwuffy!” she murmured, recoiling from his obvious irritation. James looked down into the third cage. The splotchy brown fluffy had moved her brood to the rear and was sitting, or rather crouching, in front of them. She was visibly tense.
“What’s your name, ugly?” asked James.
The mare didn’t answer, but kept staring at him. James’ eyebrows kicked up a notch and he reached up and snapped the latches on top of the cage - Ping! Ping! The whole front face of the cage swung out and down and James stooped to glare directly at the mare.
“You want to have a dance with the sorry stick, shitrat?” he growled. The mare appeared to think it over for a split second.
“…Nu.”
“Then tell me your name and don’t give me any more attitude.”
“…Fwuffy am Hazew.”
“Okay, Hazel. Good. Are you happy that I’m not dragging you out of there and beating you cross-eyed, Hazel?”
“…Yes. Nu wan’ huwties. Sowwy.”
James snapped Hazel’s cage closed again and raised his voice. “Okay, I have some work to do, so you little tards keep quiet and get used to your new home. We are going to get started tomorrow morning.”
“Nice mistew?” said Muffin.
“What?” growled James.
“Pwease gif huggies an’ wuv to fwuffy?” The mare plopped down onto her haunches and lifted her forehooves towards the tech.
“…Christ,” James scoffed.
“Buh, fwuffy nee’ huggies an’ wuv to make scawedies an’ saddies gu ‘way!” squalled the burgundy biopet. “Nu wike scawedies! Nu wike saddies! Wan’ huggies!”
“Why don’t you shut up and take care of your little shits?”
Muffin turned and looked down at her foals. They had managed to crawl together and were peeping and shivering as they hugged each other. She sniffled a bit and trudged over to lay down next to them. Still looking at James with teary eyes, she raised her high rear leg. The tech had already slumped into his office chair and begun typing on the laptop when the two little foals latched on and began to rhythmically squish their hooves into her bulging, fleshy teats.
\
NexTech Bio-Industries
2 Orientation Day: Evening
You are Muffin. You are having biggest scaredies and saddies. One day you were at the “shewta,” where you lived as long as you could remember. It was a big dark place where lots of fluffies lived in boxy housies all stacked up in every direction. You and your family lived in one, and your mummah cried and cried while you were growing up. She had saddies because ‘daddeh’ and ‘mummah’ had ‘fwown fwuffies out wike twashies,’ which was why you lived in the shewta.
Your earliest clear memory is Mummah coming back from the huuhuu room. She had big saddies and sickies and some fluff was missing from her tummy near her special place. She cried and cried and made mouth yikkies on you and your sissies. You gave her huggies and made dancies to cheer her up, but even when she got better you all just sat in your boxy housie all day and watched through the bars. The shewta was full of the sound of so many fluffies making saddies and scaredies that it was like one big noise.
Your mummah would lay around in the boxy housie and only get up when it was time to num nummies, but even that gave her saddies because she said the nummies were poopy yikky nummies. She was full of saddies and everything made her have even bigger saddies. She told you that she wanted her daddeh and mummah back, and that hoomans were supposed to be giving fluffies huggies and lots of love and skettis and toys. She stopped singing to you when you nummed milkies from her milky places. After a while, the hoomans at the shewta pulled her out of the boxie and put her in a rolly thing and you never saw her again. You remember how she hung from the hooman’s hoofie like an old blankie and said “Bye bye, babees” and made huuhuus.
You and your sissies were moved to the Babee Pwace, which you barely remember, but it was full of saddies and didn’t smell pretty. Every once in a while, a hooman would pluck you up out of the Babee Pwace and take you to the Pway Pwace, which was much better. You had some toys to play with and you could see the Bright Bright Sky Ball a little. Other hoomans would come in and look at you, and all the babees would beg to be taken home and given wuv and huggies and nummies and scratchies and everything. Somewhere along the way, you lost track of your sissies.
When you became a big babee the hoomans put you in a sad little boxy housie with another fluffy. You were given the yikky poopy num nums to num and the hoomans said something about ‘starting the cwock’ on you. They also said you were pretty enough for a chance in the ‘dispway’ which was like a Pway Pwace for big fluffies - a big pen where you could see a little bit of sky and hoomans would come and go while you begged them for wuv and a housie and scratchies. You never got any. The other fluffy never got to the Dispway Pwace because she wasn’t pretty enough. She would make huuhuus and say she wasn’t ugly, but she was.
Once something very scary happened to you. You were in the Dispway, and a stallion in the next pen asked to see your pretty tail. It was hard because there was a meshy thingy in the way, but he helped you stick your tailie through the holes in the meshy thing and back up so the stallion could see it and play with it. But then he grabbed it in his toofies and pulled until your poopie place and speshul place were butted up against the meshy thing. The stallion clamped his toofies on your tailie and pulled it tight while he gave you bad owwies right in your speshul place! You made scaredy poopies on him, but he just kept hurting your speshul place and pulling on your tailie and saying “Enf! Enf! Enf!” while you had saddies and said “Eep! Eep! Eep!”
Then it was over and he let your tailie go and yelled at you for making poopies on him. Later you figured out that he had given you special huggies and that you had babees in your tummy. You were so happy! You were going to have babees and be a mummah and give them milkies and sing mummah songies! The hoomans made big angries and kept asking you how it happened, and the ugly dummy fluffy in your boxie was mad, too. She would give you owwies and nippies and say that it was ‘nu faiw.’ Eventually the hoomans yanked her out of the boxy housie while she screamed about it being nu faiw, and you never saw her again.
When your tummy babees came it was awful. You felt sickies and it felt like you had to make big poopies, but instead your tummy gave you big owwies for a long time and your special place gave you the biggest owwies. You cried, and other fluffies started crying too or calling you a dummeh from across the shewta. Yikky wawas came out of you and flooded your little boxie house. After a long time and lots of owwies, you turned around to put your bad poopies in the poopies box so the hoomans wouldn’t give you sorry stick hurties, and you saw your foals in a little pile! Your pretty babees! You nummed the yikky stuff that was all over them and around them, but then you had to make yikky wawas in your poopies box. One of your babees smelled yikky and dummeh no matter how many times you gave him mummah lickies, so you put him in the poopies box and he wiggled in your yikky wawas until he went forever sleepies.
You called out to the hoomans and tried to show them your pretty babees, but they were grumpy and ignored you, so you just sat in your boxie and sang to your babees. You heard other mares yell that they wanted babees too, but the hoomans gave them owwies and sorries. Then, one day, you heard hoomans talking and a big hooman came over and looked at you. You asked him to be your nyu daddeh and he didn’t answer, so you showed him your pretty babees. The hoomans pulled you and your babees out of your boxie and carried you out of the shewta. You were so happy! You were going to have a daddeh and a mummah and get nummies and scratchies and wuv and toys and everything!
They carried you outside under the sky, but then they stuck you in another little boxie house - this one was bigger than your old one and had a blankie on the floor. You were very confused, and then you had big scaredies when they put a giant blankie over your boxie house and everything went scary darkies. The dark bumped and banged and boomed for a long time, and you felt the boxie house move and move, and you were so scared that you sat and made huuhuus and asked the meanie boxie house and scary dark to leave you alone.
Everything else was scary and dark until the big blankie went whoosh, and you found yourself sitting in a big bright room and a hooman told you in a very scary way to stop making huuhuus and saddies and scaredies. He seemed like a meanie, and when you asked him to be your new daddeh and give you huggies and wuv and skettis, he made angries and told you to take care of your babees. You had big scaredies all day and you wanted huggies so bad it gave you owwies inside, but he just sat down and ignored you. Doesn’t he want to be your new daddeh?
Then you realized that you could see and talk to the mares on either side of you! In the shewta you could only see out the front of your boxie and could barely make sniffies of the fluffies on either side. You get up, spilling your babees off your milkie places, and press your sniffer against the bars separating you from one of the other mares. She is a wingie friend, with light purple fluff and dark blue on her mane and tail.
“Nyu fwiend?” you say happily.
She is lying down in the back of her housie, curled around her peeping babees and looking at you. She doesn’t answer you, so you ask again.
“Nyu fwiend? Fwuffy wub new fwiend! Fwuffy am Muffin!” You wiggle your rump. Is she being a bad fluffy and a meanie? Why isn’t she making new friends? The light purple fluffy seems to take forever blinking at you and putting her babees down before coming over and making sniffies through the bars. She won’t stop glancing over at where the dummeh hooman is sitting. She seems to have saddies, too.
“Gif huggies? Muffin wub huggies!” You sit down and hold your front hoofies up. The lavender mare looks at you funny.
“Nu can gif huggies fwoo cage.” She reaches out and touches the bars of her housie with a brown hoofie. You make angries and saddies as you realise she is right - you can see but can’t give huggies through the sides of your housie! How will you ever get any huggies like this? You need huggies! Even the dummeh mare you lived with in the shewta gave you huggies!
“Mummah am Spwing,” she says, finally. “…Mummah am nyu fwiend.” Why isn’t she saying she loves you? Is she a dummeh or a meanie?
“Muffin wan’ wuvvies an’ huggies. Wan’ wub sniffew? Wub sniffew wif Muffin!” you walk up and push your snoutie against the bars and close your eyes, waiting for your new friend to do the same so you can rub sniffers. You wait and wait.
When you open your eyes she is just sitting on her bum and looking at you sadly. You bounce on your front hoofies in frustration, and then you feel saddies come. Nobody will give you huggies or even rub sniffers! Fluffies are for huggies and love and everyone is being a meanie! You are interrupted when one of the other mare’s babees hops over to the bars and looks up at you. It’s a little gray babee, bigger than yours but you don’t think it’s as pretty.
“Pway!” squeaks the tiny little babees.
“Babee wan’ pway? Muffin wub pway! Muffin pway wif babees!” you say, finally having some happies! You poke the cage bars with your hoofie, but you can’t get through to touch the babees. You squish your sniffer against the bars instead and make sniffies at the foal. It smells pretty, and it smells like a little colt-babee. Suddenly, an idea occurs to you.
“Muffin babees wiww pway wif’ Spwing babees!” You wheel around and look at your babees, who are hugging each other and peeping on the blankie floor and making shaky-shakies. You give the orangie one upsies, but the red one won’t stop giving huggies and you have to shake it loose. They both chirp, and the red one falls down on its bum-bum and starts chirping and squeaking more. You turn back around - being a mummah is exhausting! - and you push your orangie babee against the bars in front of Spring’s little grey pointie. It chirps every time you push on it, then says “Nu!”
Spring’s babees seems happy to see yours and tries to push her sniffer through the bars to smell the pretty babee smell. Then she starts making happy squeakies and hopping back and forth in front of your babees.
“Wub! Wub pway! Babee!” squeaks Spring’s little foal. Your babee is being a dummy and is just sitting there slumped against the cage bars, peeping and crying and wiggling her little hoofies. It gives you angries that Spring’s babees are hopping around and making talkies and yours aren’t.
“Nu be dummeh!” you scold your foal. “Pway wif odda babees!” To make her listen, you start to bop your hoofie against the cage bars. Instead of getting up and playing, she makes scaredies, and it gives scaredies to Spring’s foal, too, and even Spring herself jumps a little. Lots of foals are peeping and chirping now, but that’s nothing compared to what happens next: Suddenly, the hooman makes the biggest, loudest angries ever!
“Jesus! Shut the fuck up!” he booms, making everybody have more scaredies. You turn around and look at him. He is sitting down and making meanies at you from his little nestie.
“Huuu, nu be mean tu Muffin! Babee nu pway wif odda babees, an’ Muffin wan’ babees to haf gud pway an’ happies!” you call out to him. He just keeps staring at you and he isn’t helping or doing anything, so you decide to explain it to him again a little louder. “Muffin twy to make babees pway, buh babees am widdwe chiwpy babees an nu pway! Muffin am good mummah!”
You turn around to point your hoofie at the babees, but then you see that Spring has picked her foal up and turned her back on you. She is curled up against the far wall of her cage, holding her foals, and when her little grey babee squeaks and cries, you see her boop it on the nose, then give it mummah-nuzzlies.
“Nu be woud. Nu be woud. Be gud babee.” you hear her whisper.
You turn back around, and it seems like you’ve done that all day, and you make little scaredy huffies when you realize that the big hooman is standing next to your housie. You try to tell him what is going on again.
“Muffin’ babees nu make wawkies or tawkies, dey too wittew,‘’ you point out. “Muffin wan’ babees tu make happy pway an’ wuvvies an’ hugg-” you stop suddenly when the big man pops the thingy on your housie and opens the side. In the blink of an eye, he has reached in and grabbed your collar very roughly! He drags you forward even though you plant your hoofies on the ground and try to back up! You make big scaredies and close your eyes.
“Wheep! Wheeeeep! Wheeeeeeeeep!” you say, not happy about being pulled around by the big mean hooman. Why is he being meanies to you? Suddenly, his hand moves and he grabs both your ears and your mane in one big handful and squeezes very hard. You try to not to look, but he pulls the skin tight and your see-places come open!
“Nuuuuu gif huwties! Nu be meanie to gud fwuffy!” you tell him. “Fwuffy am twy to pway wif- “ that’s as far as you get before he raises his other fist with one knuckle sticking out and raps it on your head, right above your peepers. Your poor head makes a big, loud “TOK!” sound and gives you more owwies than you’ve ever felt! Stars dance in your eyes, but they are meanie hurty stars, not pretty ones.
“Shut up.” says the man in a very scary voice.
“NUUUU! OWWWIEEES!! Nu huwt gud fwuffy!” you protest. “Fwuffy just wan-” before you can finish, he hits you on the skull again in the exact same place, even harder. TOK! The owwie on your head explodes in pain and you have to wiggle all your hoofies and cry out.
“Shut the fuck up!” he says. You breathe in and start making big saddies.
“NAUUUUHHHH! Huuuu huuuuu huuu-” TOK! This time he hits you so hard and it gives you such big owwies that your see-places go dark for a second and your body flops a little all by itself. The world started spinning and it hurts so bad you chirp like a scared, hurt little babee!
“Chirp! Ch-” TOK!!! The human cracks your forehead with his knuckle again in the exact same spot. You gasp and gag a little. The hurties are so big that you can’t even think straight, but you put all your strength into not making any noisies. Instead, you just wiggle and gasp for air. Your ears are ringing.
Then, your vision returns to normal and you look fearfully up into the meanie face of the hooman. You are shaking with scaredies and owwies. Your heart-fluffy gallops a little and the only sound is your huffing and the peeping of your little babees. Then the hooman lets you go.
“Good! Now stay quiet.” He puts the wall of your housie back and turns away. You turn away too, and crawl miserably back to the very back corner of your housie above the poopies box, where you curl up and put both your hoofies over the painful spot on your head. You can feel a lump growing there and it gives you bouncy owwies.
“Muuhhh! Huuuuu huuuuu hu hu hu,” you cry, “Fwuffy jus wan’ pway an’ huggieeeees! Muffin am good fwuffy! Nu huwties! Nuuu faiwwwwww huuu huuu huuu!”
Then you hear a hissing sound from next to you. Spring has raised her head up from her babees pile and is looking at you and making a meanie face. “Sssss! Nu be woud!” she snarls.
She’s right. The hooman will give you more owwies if you make loud huuhuus. You try to cry quieter. Your babees slowly crawl over to you and try to num milkies, but you are too upset and push them away. The hooman goes back to sitting and tapping and mumbling to himself, then he gets up and leaves without another word. Before he goes he slaps the wall and the brighty bright lights go out, making the whole room dark except a few little glowing spots coming from his table. The door shuts and the darkness gives you scaredies - it’s much darker than the darky-dark in the shewta.
You look at the lavender mare, but she has turned her back on you. You turn around and look at the ugly mare in the other boxie, but she turned away from you, too. You start crying out loud. Your head still hurts and you can feel a big tender spot growing and throbbing above your see-places, and now you are afraid!
“Huuuuu! Huuuuuu! Eh-Eh! HUUUUUUUUU! Why huwt fwuffy? Wan’ huggies! Wan’ huggies! Waaaaaaan’ Huuuuuu-huuuuu-huuuu huggieeeeesss! HUGGIES!” you bawl at the top of your lungs. After a while, you feel very tired, so you curl up and try to have sleepies.