Part 1 can be found here.
It had been about three days since her only foal was born. Her fluff had finally come in, being a rather charming shade of light pink, yet in stark contrast, her behaviour was anything but charming. From the moment of this child’s birth she had done nothing but scream, cry and flail her pathetic little stubby legs. If Kimmy had any other living children, she’d have designated this one as the ‘wowstest’ in comparison, but there were no others, and it absolutely would not do to call her the ‘bestest’ by default, so she simply called her ‘Pinkie’. It wasn’t a particularly original name by any means, but then again, Kimmy was a fluffy, and creativity was hardly something to be attributed to such a creature, even a smarter one such as her.
She fed Pinkie when she could, but food was scarce, and therefore, so was the milk. The bins had been collected by the trash men and with them the rotten sustainability they offered.
The purple mare and her chaotic youth were all alone in her cardboard box, still missing a foreleg, still nursing a shattered femur in her hind leg, reduced to a pathetic and whimpering crawl.
Kimmy tried desperately not to hate her child, she really did, but it was ever so much easier said than done. Pinkie reeked of her father, the traumatic stink of him lingered in her blood. Pinkie was a constant reminder of her mother’s torment, on that one dreadful summer’s evening.
To add to her displeasing scent, Pinkie was also an alicorn, two tiny wing nubs were budding from her back, just like the tiny bump upon her brow. Kimmy had her prejudices, but she wasn’t stupid, she knew that alicorns were just weird, not ‘munstahs’ in any regard. The purple mare would still have preferred to have a regular child. Having an alicorn sibling herself when growing up, she was more than aware of how her daughter’s kind were to be treated by most fluffies; and first hand she witnessed it, as soon as her brother was big enough to talk and walk, her mother traded him to a human for a handful of french fries, only to then watch the giant pull him apart with a gleeful smile, and cold, predatory eyes. That was the thing about humans: They were all promises and smiles one minute, betrayal and violence the next. Kimmy was a smart mare, she knew that humans were trouble. Would Kimmy like for a nice human to take her home, clean her ‘owwies’, wash her, hug her, tell her that she was a good girl? Absolutely, of course, but that wasn’t reality for a broken toy like her. The best Kimmy can do is survive until the next day.
Morning broke and the hunger was ravenous, Kimmy’s belly growled, begged for nourishment. “eee, su… Hungwies…” she mumbled through dry lips, “tummeh nu mayk poopie ow peepee nu mowe, nu can num dem…” she sniffled.
Kimmy had stuffed her four stillbirths into a discarded crisp packet, out of sight, out of mind. A terrible, horrible, unforgivable thought presented itself as she stared at the packet on the other side of the alleyway. She crawled herself towards it, she huffed at the cloud of flies that encircled it, forcing them to disperse to some degree. She could smell them, they stunk like Kimmy’s rapist too, just like their surviving sister, but the pungent funk, the toxic miasma about them assaulted the mare’s nostrils and accentuated their already trauma inducing aura. It was an earthy stink, like a pork dinner left to rot under the summer’s sun for several weeks, like roadkill with an undercurrent of fetid eggs.
She dug her muzzle in and flipped the packet over, out fell a pile of rot and tiny bones. Their pink and gelatinous flesh had rapidly decayed in the humidity of the naturally formed hotbox that was the empty packet. The pale and veiny tissue of the young had turned a vile mix of concrete grey and fetid green. Maggots writhed and wriggled in their sickening dance of carnivorous joy, consuming every putrid chunk of fatty flesh, tender cartilage and underdeveloped organ that was available.
Kimmy wanted to gag, the stench, the sight, the empty eye sockets, the peeled back lips, the frozen looks of lifeless horror; it was all so utterly maddening.
“grrr… c-com hewe, dummeh bad speshew huggies bebbehs” she grumbled, trying desperately to psych herself up for the chomp, “Kimmeh nu wan gu fowevah sweepies” she hissed through gritted teeth. The mare picked up the most intact foal of the bunch betwixt her incisors, it dangled against her chin by one of its legs. She vigorously shook the blob of putrid meat until the majority of the wriggling larvae were scattered and sparse.
She sat and whimpered as her teeth pressed down. The taste of her stillborns was sickening, with the natural sweetness of the fatty foal meat contrasting against the earthy rot. The sensation of wriggling against her tongue forced puke to rise in her throat and when she refused it an exit, it made one through the detour of her nostrils.
Kimmy consumed every last rotten chunk, every pungent sliver, crunching every tiny and brittle bone. When she had concluded her meal, she looked out onto the street, to the faint red marks upon the road where her lover and children had expired; silently she vowed to live, for her sake, their sake, and even pinkie’s.
She fed the child with what little milk her cannibalistic endeavour could produce, but she would not sing for her, there was nothing good to sing about. Kimmy would be a liar if she sang the ‘mummah song’, as she did not ‘wub’ this ‘bebbeh’, and it clearly was not fond of her either. Regardless, the child was hers and she’d rather suffer with someone else, than endure her existence alone.
The fetted foal meat only sustained her and staved off hunger for about a day and a half, more would be needed and she knew it.
Kimmy began selling herself to whatever stallion found their way into her alley. The deal was always the same: they got their ‘gud feews’ and she got to eat in exchange.
Pinkie was hidden well, as Kimmy didn’t want her monster child to scare away potential customers. She buried the filly under a newspaper and made sure to overfeed her until she slept soundly. She didn’t want Pinkie to be awake for this, god forbid one of her first memories was the noise of her mother being violated by three stranger stallions with ‘wowstest wump huwties’.
Most of the time her customers were quick and did as requested, other times the stallions had no interest whatsoever in making good on their promises to be gentle or bring her food. They were far and few between however, so the setback was disheartening, but not life threatening.
Eventually little Pinkie opened her eyes one humid evening, her first word being no more than a tiny rasp. “peep, chirp …nu smeww pwetty… peep” she noted as her sniffling nostrils turned towards an empty packet of crisps on the other side of the alley.
“oh… hewwo Pinkeh… am yew tawkie bebbeh naow?” Kimmy asked, her dead eyes looming over the child.
“hewwo mummah! Am ‘Pinkeh’ bebbeh namsie?” she asked with a cheerful cooing.
“duh, dummeh. Nu mayk stoopid askies” the mare huffed as she rolled her pale pink eyes. “Naow shuddup an com git miwkies” she grumbled before painfully shifting her wounded body into an upright position, and weakly massaging her teats with her hoof.
Kimmy watched as her child waddled towards her and happily took a nipple. It looked up at her, and the mare’s blood ran cold with disgust. The eyes, those two sparkling orbs, they were the exact same shade of emerald as her cursed father. The horrid night came flooding back into the mare’s mind. “COM TU SMAWTY! GUN MAYK MAWE FEEW BESTEST GUD FEEWS!” came echoing through her mind.
“NU! GU WAY!” Kimmy snapped and violently swung her hoof at the memory. When the apparition faded, she looked down to see a speck of blood upon her nipple, and laying across from her was the tearful and frantically peeping ball of fuzz that was her daughter.
“PIPIPIPIPIPI… Pinkeh am sowwies mummah, nu meansie tu be bad bebbeh, nu kno wat du wong bu pwomis tu nebah du gain… PEEPEEPEEP…” the traumatised foal whimpered before suckling upon her hoof.
Kimmy wanted so badly to walk over and explain, but she just couldn’t. How could a fluffy possibly describe the maddening complexity of post-traumatic stress, and how could she even understand it herself? She suddenly felt a lot of things: fear, anger, and shame. There was no words nor combination of words in the lexicon of fluffies to best describe the way she felt, so she didn’t bother. The purple mare simply turned around and slept.
Time passed, as it always did and Pinkie was now a little bigger, even her long fluff had begun to come in. If Kimmy were able to feel anything positive anymore, then she very well may had felt something resembling pride; with tragic origins aside, Pinkie was growing into a beautiful filly.
The dynamic of the relationship had shifted somewhat. Once her long fluff came in, she no longer needed to have to sleep in her mother’s fluff to maintain warmth, or suckle her milk. In truth, Pinkie could theoretically take her chances and she had considered it, but even from the relative safety of her alleyway home she had witnessed once or twice what had become of cocky fluffies. Pinkie was like her mother, she was a smart fluffy, she understood how things worked.
Occasionally the trash was non edible, and those were the days that Pinkie hated the most. As always she would be ordered into her newspaper hiding place, cover her ears and would stay silent as the grave, as stallions were invited into her nest and took turns on her mother. Kimmy never sounded like she enjoyed it, she always cried, Pinkie hated those days. Most of the time she would wait for the sound of hooves scampering away and soft sobbing, before coming out to find some random trash to eat. There were the days however when the stallions would get what they wanted, three, five, even ten at a time, and then leave without paying. It was the days where they took so much and gave nothing that slowly whittled away at her mother. Pinkie had never known her mother to smile, never known her to sing, or coo, or even hug her. In truth, her mother was a stranger, and yet the pink foal wanted so desperately to help.
“mummah?” she asked as her tiny hoof nudged her guardian awake.
“wat!?” Kimmy hissed, her back still turned to the child.
“pweas nu be saddies. Pinkeh wub ye-” the naive filly attempted to say.
“SHUDDUP!” the mother hollered, causing the filly to recoil at the sound.
“wy mummah hayt Pinkeh? Am sowwies fow bein bad bebbeh, nu meansie tu…” she croaked, fighting the lump in her throat and the tears welling in her eyes.
“…mummah nu hayt Pinkeh…” her mother sniffled, “…mummah hayt mummah…”.
“wat dat meansie?” the little alicorn asked, her head cocked to the side, “mummah… mummah wat dat meansie?” she inquired again as she attempted to shake her. “wan hewp, nu wike wen mummah git huwties fwom bad stawwions” she confessed, “Pinkieh wan stawwions tu gib huwties tu Pinkeh, so dey nu gib tu mumma-EEEEK” she suddenly panicked as her mother rolled over and slapped her across the face with her single leathery forehoof.
“NU! NEBAH SAY DAT! DUMMEH PINKEH NU KNO WAT AM TAWKIES BOUT!” she suddenly snapped, “NAOW GU TU SWEEPIES OW MUMMAH GUN GIB YEW STOMPIES!” she threatened.
The morning broke and the filly found her mother outside of the alley, sat upon the side walk, simply staring in the direction of the road. Kimmy did that often, and when she did, it could be hours until she would remember to eat; and yet regardless of how long she stared at the road for, she always walked back with a face soaked in tears.
“mummah, wy yew cwy at da nu-sidie wawkies?” the foal asked with a mouthful of breakfast.
“bebbeh nu gun unastan, eben ib mummah teww” she grumbled.
“dat nu twue! Mummah nebah eben twy!” she retorted with a tiny stomp.
“tch… otay…” Kimmy relented as she sat beside the foal. “Pinkeh nu am mummah fiwst bebbeh, befow hab Pinkeh, Kimmeh hab udda bebbehs and speshew fwend… da bestest speshew fwend…” she explained mournfully.
“HAB BWUVAHS AN SISSIES!” Pinkie asked, her tiny wings rapidly fluttered in excitement at the prospect.
“nu, shuddup, nu am dun espwainin!” Kimmy barked as she cut her off. “den wowstest stawwions com an gib bad speshew huggies tu Timbew an den fowevah sweepies… bebbehs tuu…” she sniffled.
“dat am su saddies… bu hoaw am Pinkeh hewe? Nu unastan” she inquired as she wiped her fresh tears away with her hoof.
“Timbew nu am daddeh, bad smawty am. Wen dey dun wid chiwpie bebbehs, dey den aww gib wowstest bad speshew huggies, an stompies, an bities, an da wowstest heawt saddies tu Kimmeh… Dat wy Kimmeh hayt wookin at Pinkie see-pwaces an nu wan smewwies eibew… Bebbeh smeww wike smawty, an hab himb gweenie see-pwaces, an dey gib bad thinkie-pwace pictews wen Pinkie am wound…” she admitted.
The heartbroken foal looked to the ground, her mind racing, her tiny heart frozen in absolute dread at the truth"…t-tayk see-pwaces…" Pinkie sniffled as she suddenly looked up again, her face shifted to one of sad determination.
“wat? Nu! Nu be dummeh! Nu gun du dat!” Kimmy protested, her expression worn as a fusion of shock, heartbreak and something else that she could not even detect within herself.
“NU WAN GIB HEAWT HUWTIES TU MUMMAH!” she cried, “WIWW WOWW WOUND IN POOPIES IB DAT MAYK PINKEH NU SMEWW WIKE BAD DADDEH! PINKEH PWOMIS!” she sobbed and hyperventilated as she threw herself into her mother’s belly fluff. “AM SU SOWWIES! NU AM WIKE DADDEH! PWOMIS! WAN BE WUVED! WAN BE GUD ENUFF!”.
Kimmy bit her lip as the third sensation revealed itself in the recesses her frosted heart, it was guilt, mountains of crushing guilt.
“PWEAS MUMMAH! PWEAS SAY ID! SAY DAT PINKEH AM GUD ENUFF!”
She continued to look down at those emerald eyes, her lips quivered, tiny wisps of air trembled from her throat, but not a word could crystallise itself from Kimmy’s mouth.
“SAY ID! PWEEEEAAASSS… HUUUUUHUUUHUHUHUHUUUUUUUUUUUUUU”.
Still not a word.
“…Mowe stawwions am comin, wan bebbeh tu gu hidies… gun git mowe nummies…” she spoke in a monotone sort of way. Her voice carried itself as hollow, defeated.
Pinkie knew not to argue, she ran to the newspaper and tucked herself in and covered her ears.
“hewwo mawe… Smawty heaw dat dis am bestest pwace fow gud feews, dat twue?” the approaching stallion chuckled as he approaching.
“…yeh…” Kimmy replied, her head hung low.
“yew gun git bestest nummies, bu aww ob hewd wan tuwn” he offered, licking his lips at the sight of her.
“…ota-” she said as she looked up, stopping in her tracks as the sea of huffing, wheezing and lustfully growling stallions encroached upon her, “t-t-tuu mush, tuu maneh!” she protested as she attempted to carefully walk backwards from the herd of thirty seven.
“HEAW DAT? DUMMEH MAWE SAY ‘OTAY’!” the banana yellow pegasus laughed, “WET HEW HAB ID!” he ordered with a motion of his hoof, like a fuzzy despot.
Pinkie sobbed softly as her ears we assualted by noises that she never heard before. Her mother’s screams and the endless chorus of “enfenfenfenfenf!” continued without end.
“NU MOWE! NU MOWE! SCREEEEEEEEEE!” the mare cried as one stallion exited and another took his place in whatever hole they could find, or make. Occasionally the cries would be interrupted by the sound of snapping bone and breathless gagging. It never stopped.
Pinkie worked up the courage to take a peak and her blood ran to ice. The image would be forever burned into the back of her mind, her mother, encrusted in semen and blood from head to tow, choking on the member of a red unicorn and a green earthy violating her rear. The mare’s broken, misshapen and crippled hind legs pointed in opposing directions. Her remaining foreleg was torn from its socket and flung across the alleyway, where the lesser poopies in the herd gathered around and dry humped it, as they waited their turn. For a mere second the mare locked eyes with her child, they begged in silence, for mercy, for salvation, and then they begged no more as the next stallion bit down on her right eye and ripped it from its socket. “SCRRRREEEEEEEEEEEE! SEE PWACE AM BWOKEN! PEEEPEEPEEEEPEEEEPEEEPEPEP” she panicked as the lime coloured unicorn proceeded to violently skull fuck her with spiteful glee.
“see-pwace am bestest enfie howe!” he drooled.
The madness continued, a carousel of violence, all the way up until the setting of the sun. The herd departed with a smile, all satisfied, all proud in their collective conquest, all but the smarty, who remained to savour the moment.
“…chirp…c-chirp…chirp…” the broken mare sobbed as she shook upon the cold, soggy ground, curled into a shivering ball of seminal, fecal and urine coated terror.
“Smawty memba dat Smawty pwomis bestest nummies” he grinned, “hewe” he chuckled as she turned around and laid a wet puddle of liquid shit by her chin. The pegasus proceeded to mix his droppings with the copious amounts of semen and blood upon the floor until it formed a sickening beige paste. “NAOW NUM ID!” he ordered as he put a hoof to the back of her head and slammed it into the puddle. Kimmy first fought with what little energy remained, but it swiftly died, the fire went out and in utter embarrassment she submitted and consumed her meal until she licked the concrete clean. “see ya next bwite timsie… enfie mawe…” the yellow stallion snickered before leaving to join his herd.
Pinkie waited until the alleyway was a silent as the grave. “MUMMAH! MUMMAH!” she cried and blubbered as she crawled out from under the newspaper and attempted to shake her mother back to consciousness.
“…gu…peep…way…” she mumbled back through her freshly broken teeth.
“NU! AM GUN WOOK AFTA YEW! AM GUN GIT FWUFFY DOCTAH! PWOMIS” the filly assured.
“…shud…dup…” her mother replied, “pweas…jus gu tu sweepies…su sweepies…” she added before her head slumped to the ground.
The filly swore to watch her mother, to stand by her all through the terrible night. “n-nu wowwies, m-mummah, Pinkeh am gun p-pwotec yew” she assured between sniffles, as she patrolled her mother’s weakly breathing body. She puffed her cheeks, screee’d and waved her hooves as the rats drew in. She tried, so desperately did she try, but her body was so small, her stomach was so empty, before she knew it, the final shreds of her energy gave way under the cold glow of the moonlight.
The heat of the early morning sun brought the exhausted foal back to the waking world, panic set in as the puddle where her mother once laid was uninhabited. Pinkie’s eyes followed the trail of red until a familiar silhouette laid out before her, outside of the alleyway, a tad further than usual. “mum-mummah?” she squaked as she cautiously approached, “mummah? Id nu am sayf ou ob awwey” she reminded as she attempted to shake her mother awake from the flank, “mummah, nu am gud timsie fow wookin at nu-sidie wawkies” she added as she circled to face her, “wy yew nu wiste-…” she attempted to ask until her blood froze, her eyes watered, and her fluff stood on end at the sight of what remained of her mother’s head. “MUUUUUUUUUUUMMMMUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHH!” the filly screeched as her eyes locked with the collapsed cranium of what was once Kimmy, her head flattened over, accented with tread markings across her shattered skull.
Pinkie didn’t know how long she slept in her mother’s fluff, but it was long enough that she no longer felt hunger, or thirst, the sun on her body or the wind against her face. Like her mother, Pinkie was far away, far from hurt, far from pain.
“I’m telling you, not a single fucking fluffmart in this pisshole town has a pink alicorn mare!” Rian declared into his phone as we wandered down the sidewalk, “yeah, yeah, I fucking know! I’ll find one, even if I have to start scouring the alleys” he assured before hanging up. “I swear, God, if you give me that alicorn then I will actually start going to church” he mumbled as he looked to the sky. Suddenly he cringed as the sound of something wet, chunky and gelatinous crunched under his sneaker. “FUCK ME- oh… hello…” he smiled at the peeping foal, sat atop the fetid remains of some worthless purple mare. Rian quickly called his boss back and giggled with glee as she picked up, “Jack, I’ve found our little miss Sody Pop!”.
-The End-