You are a fluffy. Not a particularly extraordinary fluffy. Like most fluffies, you like to play, and give (and get) hugs, and eat tasty sketties, though you’ve never actually gotten to eat sketties, you’ve heard about them from other fluffies who have. Like many fluffies, you don’t have a hoomin mummah or daddeh. You don’t even have a name. You were born in an awwey-way, and your mummah went forever sleepies shortly after you and your bwuddahs and sissies were big enough to not need milkies anymore, your daddeh went forever sleepies before you were even born, and then your bwuddahs and sissies went forever sleepies as well, one by one, leaving you as the sole survivor of the family.
And, like your family, you have just gone forever sleepies as well.
You just don’t seem to have noticed yet.
The last thing you remember is working up the courage to approach a hoomin and ask him for some nummies, then the hoomin held something up, pointed it at you, there was a loud scary noise and a too-bright light, and then just the worst owwies.
That’s strange. You don’t seem to have owwies anymore. You don’t seem to feel anything anymore. And things look different. You’re on the same stweet, but the hoomins look all dark and see-through, and they’re moving slower, and some of them are even moving through you, and none of them seem to notice you. Everything else is all dark and purple-y and blue-y, and the air feels thick and smells funny.
Oh, and there’s a fluffy over there! He looks like he got really bad owwies and isn’t moving. You run over to give him huggies. Huggies make everything better!
“Howd on, udda fwuffy! Fwuffy wiww sabe yu oh…” you say, as your hoofsies go right through him, just like the hoomins are going through you. They can see the other fluffy, they’re walking around him.
Then you notice that your hoofsies are see-through too. And pale.
“Ooooohhhh…”
Then you see the fluffy, and you realise he looks like you. A lot like you.
Same color fluff, same color mane and tail. There’s even that burnie mark that one munstah hoomin gave you with his sigga-wet when you tried to stop him from giving your last sissie forever sleepies.
“Oooooooohhhhhh…”
The revelation hits you like a ton of blockies.
But you’re confused. You went forever sleepies, but you’re awake now, right? Is this all just a sleepy picture? Maybe you’ll wake up and you’ll be back in the awwey-way. Maybe your family going forever sleepies was all just part of the sleepy picture too…
DUN’T COWNT ON IT.
You jump. You’re sure you just someone speak. It talks a bit like a fluffy, but sounded a lot deeper, even deeper than any hoomin voice you’ve heard. And it felt like the words just went straight to your brain, without even bothering to pass through your ears.
You turn around to see another fluffy. He’s wearing what looks like a big black blankie, like the one your mummah once found and brought back to the nestie, and it’s covering most of his body, but what little you can see of his body leads you to believe that he hasn’t had nummies in a very long time. You aren’t sure you want to see his face.
“Hu am yu? Nyu fwend?” you ask.
DA STEAWEW OF SOUWS, DEFEATEW OF EMPIWES, SWAWWOWEW OF OCEANS, HAWVESTEW OF FWUFFYKIND. says the very thin fluffy, in a voice that echoes like the slamming of coffin lids in a deep, dark crypt.
You’re surprised. Normally you wouldn’t have understood any of that, but the meaning of the words pierces into your brain like… like… like a hot knife through butter. And how do you know what those things are?
The fluffy shakes its head, and the blankie falls back, revealing its bony face.
FWUFFY NU AM FWUFFY. AM DEATH OF FWUFFIES.
This isn’t the first time you’ve seen a fluffy skeleton, though it’s definitely the first time you’ve seen one standing up and moving around and talking. Or holding a long sorry stick with a sharp thingy on it in its teeth. Or having two little burning blue lights in the holes where the see-places should be. Once, a hoomin threw out one of those things called a book, and your mummah found it and brought it back to the nestie. Unfortunately, fluffies can’t read, so you didn’t know it was a book about fluffy anatomy, but it had a picture of a fluffy on the cover, so your family loved the bestest fluffy book, and looking at the pictures of fluffies.
Until you got to the pages that show what fluffies look like on the inside. Your family never touched the meanie scary book again, buried it in sorry poopies, and made it your family’s official litterbox. You had scary sleepy pictures about the book for many dawk times after that.
Meanwhile, in a distant universe where the laws of physics aren’t so boring and uptight, an orangutan woke up in the middle of the night with a start, knowing that someone, somewhere, was abusing a book, and he couldn’t do anything about it.
You’re surprised again. Fluffies don’t exactly have the best long-term memory in general, and yet you can clearly remember things that happened lots and lots of forevers ago, when you were just a little babbeh, when you had only just opened your see-places, like they happened only a forever ago. You can’t seem to stop yourself from remembering all these things. And you’re actually aware of this drastic improvement in memory, and that a forever is one bwite time and one dawk time. You ask the Death of Fluffies what’s going on.
DEATH STWIPS AWAY AWW IWWUSIONS. YU SEE EVEWYFING CWEAWY. EVEWYFING.
Well that explains it.
“But wai evewyfing wook so stwange?”
DIS WUT WIFE WOOK WIKE FWOM UDDA SIDE.
“But wai fwuffy nu feew anyfing? Nu feew owwies, ow saddies, ow happies, ow scawedies.”
YU WEFT DAT AWW BEHIND IN YU BODEE, explains the Death of Fluffies. NU HAF DA WOSSNAMES NU MOWE. WIDDWE SQUISHIE FINGS INSIDE YU DAT WET YU FEEW FINGS. GWANDS, DAT WUT DEY CAWWED. AWW YU HAF NAO IS FOWTS.
“Su wut happen nex?”, you ask the Death of Fluffies. You try to move closer to him, but something holds you back. You turn around to see a glowy stringy thing connecting you to… well, you.
FIWST, YU HOWD STIWW. DEATH OF FWUFFIES NEE TU CUT DA THWEAD, OW YU NU CAN MOVE ON, AN DIS WUD BE MUCH EASIEW IF DEATH OF FWUFFIES HAD HANDSIES.
You oblige the Death of Fluffies as he stalks over (and you’ve never seen a fluffy pull off a good stalk before, the best your species can do is an angry waddle only intimidating to smaller fluffies), and starts tilting his head back and forth, trying to cut the thread with the sorry stick, muttering things like DWAT and BUGWIT. After a few tries, he succeeds.
“Wut nao?”, you ask.
NAO AM TIME FOR US TU GU, says the Death of Fluffies.
“But fwuffy nu wan gu! Fwuffy nu wan foweba sweepies! Am nu faiw!”
The Death of Fluffies makes a gesture that indicates that the only reason he isn’t rolling his eyes is because he doesn’t have eyeballs, and then firmly, but not unkindly, puts a bony hoof on your back.
DEWE AM NU FAIW. DEWE AM NU JUSTICE. DEWE AM JUS ME.
The two of you make your way out of the street, as you ask the grim spectre a question.
“Fwuffy fowt dat… dat if fwuffy gu foweba sweepies, dat… dat…”
DAT IT DA END FOW FWUFFY? DAT AWW GU DAWK, AN DAT IT?
“Yus…”
The Death of Fluffies shakes his head.
FOWEBA SWEEPIES AM ONWY DA BEGINNING. DIS AM WUT HAPPEN NEX.
You notice that the soft tap-tapping of your hoofsies on the side-wawk, and the clack-clacking of Death’s hoofsies, has been replaced with the soft crunch-crunching of hoofsies on sand.
The sitty you and your family lived and died in has gone. The hard groundies under your feet have been replaced by pure black sand. All the housies are gone too, and big black mountains tower in the distance. Even the sky is pitch black, like it’s the middle of the dawk time, but you see everything clearly, like it’s the middle of the bwite time, and the little glowy sky dots are all in different places. And there’s the unavoidable sensation of the place being crowded, but you can’t see anyone else here besides your skeletal usher into the next world.
DIS AM WHEWE WE PAWT WAYS, says the Death of Fluffies. YU NEE TU CWOSS DA DESEWT AWONE.
“Wut am on udda side?” you ask.
JUDGEMENT.
It sounds like that’s the only explanation you’re going to get.
AN NAO, DEATH OF FWUFFIES MUS WEAVE YOU. DEWE AWE UDDAS HU NEE TO BE SHOWN DA WAY. YU KNO HOW IT IS. HOOMINS GIVIN FWUFFIES WOWSTEST OWWIES, FWUFFIES GETTIN WOWSTEST SICKIES, MUNSTAHS NUMMIN FWUFFIES. BUSY, BUSY, BUSY.
You have just one last question to ask.
“Wiww fwuffy see daddeh an mummah an bwuddahs and sissies again?”
PEWHAPS.
The tone of that one word tells you that the interview is over. That it’s time for both of you to go.
The Death of Fluffies takes his leave, and slowly vanishes as he walks away. And then you begin your journey across the black desert, under the strange black sky. Hoping you’re going the right way. Perhaps you should have asked about that.
Thought I’d go for something a bit different with this one. And yes, I am a Discworld fan. I thought I’d make the Death of Fluffies somewhat more verbose than the average fluffy, but tried to make his dialogue still sound fluffy-ish.
