Nyu Fwend? (by VitaAbusus)

Vanilla was a very lucky fluffy. Her mother, a beautiful sea blue topped with a fiery red mane, was a loving one who cared for all her children equally and taught them the lessons on domesticity, on manners, on civility. Her daddeh always made sure that Vanilla and the fluffies had no need unfulfilled, bringing enough oats, fruits, and vegetables for their hunger; clean, refreshing water for their thirst; and many toys for the foals to share and enjoy themselves with. And her home was a vast green field with no bumps, stumps, dips, or whips to cause hurties or boo-boos, for it was owned by a hugbox farmer (the daddeh), who prided himself on selling the best fluffies to a great life. Indeed, it was as close as paradise for the fluffies.

Indeed, Vanilla considered herself lucky to be among the few not subjected to what terrors the world outside the field, and she did her best to not take it for granted. Every bright-time, she would play with the other foals, sharing toys to make sure everyone got to experience happy-times. She would make sure no-one got left out, no matter if they were a poopie-color or a “munsta” babbie (she’d prefer to call them “wingie-pontie”). She always thanked her daddeh for the nummies and good wawas and toys and everything, and she always knew not to cross him less he give her the sorry box or, worse, the sorry stick (although she herself did not need the threat of the sorry duo to behave). Indeed, her white fur and sunny yellow mane reflected the pure spirit within her.

That does not mean she didn’t have her wants. Although her physical needs were met, her emotional needs were lacking. Specifically speaking, she wanted more friends. Now, there were already a large amount of fluffies: 20 adult ones and 30 foals. But a friendly foal like Vanilla was able to quickly burn through the amount of potential friends, and she had made more friends than she can count. What she can count was the number of not-friends, which sadly was 0. Now, the farmer did bring in new fluffies, which Vanilla was able to befriend quickly, thanks in large part to her and all fluffies’ natures. But the farmer also took away her friends, much to her sadness, so the number of friends always stayed constant, and the number of not-friends always stayed 0. She never communicated this discomfort, this desire, for she knew she was already lucky to even know so many fluffies. But, she couldn’t help herself and kept hoping for new potential friends.

One bright-time, while the foals were singing and dancing and playing with toys, Vanilla found herself a little distance away from the rest. The other foals were occupied with their own fun; the younger foals were mostly hugging themselves and singing off-key melodies, while the older foals were playing ball and huggie-tag. Vanilla, the eldest of the foals (to the point of becoming a young mare, though too young to breed), was near the fence separating the field from the forest. Vanilla knew that the forest was no place for a fluffy, with all the creatures and hazards and what not. But, she couldn’t help but find her thinky-place focused on the forest, focused on what fluffies could possibly be there, what possible-friends she could possibly make. She stared into the dark woods, away from the bright joy of the fluffies.


Vanilla thought she heard something. She turned in the direction of the faint sound.


Vanilla slowly waddled over, careful not to run too fast lest she scare off whatever made that sound. Following the direction of the fence, she arrived at a peculiar spot of the fence. The fence was chainlink, with holes allowing fluffies to see but not to leave. However, at one spot, near a pole connecting chainlink together, a small hole was there, apparently forgotten by the farmer and left undisturbed and unburied. But that was not what Vanilla focused on. Instead, she focused on what was in front of her.

In front of her was another fluffy, This fluffy was white, but unlike her, with her yellow mane, it was white from head to hoof. Its fluff, its eyes, even its horns and wings. It was a peculiar sight, and one that would scare away a regular fluffy. But Vanilla wasn’t scared for 2 reasons. One: she knew that the wingie-pointie fluffies were just like regular fluffies, and thus shouldn’t be feared. And two: the fluffy wasn’t a scary one, but a sad one. For it was crying into its front hooves, sitting down and sobbing quietly, which was unusual for a fluffy. Vanilla approached as far as she could and spoke.


“Huhu- huh? Hu r you?”

“Hewwo. Me Waniwwa. Nyu fwend?”

“Fwend? Yes pwease. Wan be new fwend. Me nu have fwends. Me nu have fwuffies to be with.”

“Dat su sad! Y nu fwends ore fwuffies?”

“All sick. Nu feel guud. Me twy to find hewp. But nu fwends tu hewp.”

“Me hewp! Me get daddeh! He hewp!”

“Weally? Tank you!”

Vanilla was happy. Not only was she able to find a new friend, but perhaps so many more! And, of course, she knew it was important to get her daddeh to save her new friend! So she ran across the field, to the big house where her daddeh would be. She did her best to avoid the other fluffies, but there was bound to be some upset when speeding past fluffies. Ultimately, she arrived at daddeh’s home, and knocked hard on the door. It took a few forevers, but daddeh came outside.

“Daddeh! Hewp fwuffies!”

“What? What’s wrong with the herd?”

“Nu! Nut hewd! Fowest! Fowest fwuffies need hewp!”

“Are you sure, Vanilla?”

“Yus! Cum!”

Vanilla ran back to the fence, the daddeh following her. She arrived back at the spot, pointing where her new friend was. Only, when she looked out…

“Vanilla, where are the fluffies?”

Vanilla looked, and saw no one. No white fluffy. No friend. No one.

“Bu, bu, dere wus fwuffy dere! Wite fwuffy, with wite pointie and wite wingies and wite ewething! Fwuffy say dere be oder fwuffies dat need hewp! Nu wie! Nu wie!”

Vanilla sounded upset at this revelation. Where did her new friend go? Did it leave? Did it go back to the forest? Did it… go forever sleepies? Rational thought was not the strength of the fluffies, and Vanilla found herself obsessing over whatever her thinkie-place could conjure up to explain her friend being gone.

The farmer, a hugboxer, trusted Vanilla. She was a responsible fluffy, not one prone to tricks. And while the idea of a white alicorn was farfetched, it wasn’t impossible. Not only that, but the allure of such a beast could be a massive boon for his farm. Such genes were rare in the genetic pool of fluffies, a deliberate attempt by Hasbio to prevent underground breeding from emerging as completion. He was willing to go out with Vanilla to try to find the fluffy, but as he looked up, he saw a blood-orange sun descending into a bloody horizon.

“Don’t worry, Vanilla. I trust you. We’ll find the fluffy tomorrow. But now, it’s almost the darkie-time, and we’ll need to rest for tomorrow’s journey. Come here.”

The farmer picked up Vanilla, and Vanilla, with some reluctance, acquiesced. She wanted to find her new friend, to help, but she knew that without him to guide them, there can be no help for the other sick fluffies. Not only that, but she knew the darkie-times were not safe for fluffies. She only hoped that her white friend was safe.

Vanilla was returned to the other fluffies, and after a dinner of granola, carrots, and cucumber, the fluffies emptied themselves in pits for composting and gathered around themselves to form a fluffy pile. Vanilla was at the edge of the pile, finding herself still drawn to the woods.

It was in the middle of the darkie-times, where the less-bright ball was at its highest, when Vanilla heard her friend again.

“Huhu. Where fwuffy fwend?”

Vanilla awoke and rose quickly, then ambled quietly as to not disturb the pile.

“Fwend? Me hewe. Me gu tu yu.”

She quietly followed the direction of the crying. Strangely enough, the crying did not change in volume. It stayed constantly faint. But Vanilla didn’t think about it. She only cared where it came from. She soon returned to the spot of first contact. There, she saw the white wingie-pointie fluffy, crying as before.

“Fwend! Me hewe!”

“Huhu- Fwend? You hewe? Tank you! Come! Fowwow fwuffy!”

“Nu… nu can. Metal,” she pressed on the fence, “meanie. Nu can.”

“Dig, Waniwwa. Dig unda.”

Vanilla looked down. She saw the hole near the pole, though it was much bigger than before. She didn’t know that, but she did know that she could easily dig through it without much delay. She was about to, but remembered something.

“Nu can. Daddeh say dawkie-times nu safe fo fwuffies. Daddeh say hewp in bwitie-times.”

The white wingie-pointie fluffy started to cry, louder.


Vanilla, not wanting to wake the others, and moved by the sudden distress of her friend, quickly shushed the white fluffy.

“Ohkay. Waniwwa wiww cum. Pwease be nu loud.”

Vanilla got to work. Indeed, with the larger hole, Vanilla didn’t have to dig too long, only a half-hour. Still, it was a tiring affair, and by the end, Vanilla had to take deep breaths less she pass out. Still, she promised to help her new friend, and thus she left paradise and went to the other side.

“Thank yu! Come! Fwuffy guide fwiend!”

The white fluffy entered the darkness of the forest. Vanilla, initially paralyzed with fear, followed her friend. Her fear didn’t matter, as long as fluffies needed help! Still, her fear followed her as she passed the rough thin branches and walked across the hard, cold ground. Animal calls broke the silence, and broke Vanilla’s concentration as she found herself panicking over those strange unfriendly sounds. But every time she stopped, she continued, each time in the direction of her friend’s call.

“Vaniwwa! Come here! Fwuffy needs you!”

Vanilla tried not to think on the threats. On the dark shadows of the branches. Of the unfriendly nature of the calls. Of the cold ground and bumpy obstalces. Of the strange, almost human speech of her friend. This she did not think, until she reached a clearing with a pit in the middle. The friend was not there.

“Fwend? Waniwwa hewe. Pwease cum.”

Vanilla slowly approached the ledge of the pit, hoping to find her friend. She peered down.

Inside was the corpses of so many fluffies. Their colors were the same drab brownish-grey, dirtied by dirt and dust and whatever grime floated down into the pit. The color of their faces, if there was a face that survived decomposition, was a greyish color that would invoke the jettisoning of one’s lunch. And the age of the fluffies were variable. Old. Young. Even chirpie-babies.

Vanilla backed out, hyperventilating as she took in what she saw. This was the fluffies her friend wanted to help? But they weren’t sick. They took forever-sleepies! And they took it so long ago! Why? Where was her friend?

“They were sick a long time ago.”

Vanilla turned. Her friend was there. But at the same time not. She could see through her friend. She could see the tree behind her friend. She could see the ground under her friend. She couldn’t see her friend.

“They were sick even after death. They lured me, you know. Just as I did to you. They cried, saying something about friends and sickness and help. And I, like the fool you are, followed. And there, I fell. See that fluffy on the top? That’s me.”

Vanilla turned, and nearly vomited. On the top of the pile of dead fluffies, there was one on top. But it wasn’t a white fluffy. It was a blue fluffy, with a green mane and no wingies or pointies. The body was fresh.

“They all had this shape. This form of an alicorn. Perhaps a hint of their true nature. Perhaps a way to pull in suckers. It doesn’t matter. It never matters.”

The friend was close. The friend was staring at Vanilla. The friend was no fluffy.

“You will fall, and I will rise. You will be stuck here, and I will finally be gone. As simple as that.”

The fluffy pushed Vanila to the edge. Vanilla was sobbing loudly, partly out of fear and partly out of a desire to be heard by her daddeh, by her friends, by anyone.

“One piece of advice. Do it quick. I may have faked my sadness, but the lonlieness is real.”

The white being pushed, and Vanilla fell.

Light. It was bright. It was bright-time.

The fluffy rose, and shook herself. She couldn’t remember what happened. She think she woke up, went to the fence and…

The fence! The woods! The pit! The fluffy! The-

The death.

In an instant, the fluffy turned. She saw the pit. She ran to the edge. She saw her body, freshly fallen. It didn’t fall much, but its collision with the bodies knocked it into the edge of the pile, where gravity and collisions did its work.

She was dead.

She didn’t cry. Not yet. She was in shock. She left the edge and walked backwards. In an attempt to console herself, she touched her head.

Something sharp was on her hoof

She looked up.

It was a pointie. White. In a white mane.

She looked around.

White wingies. In white fluff.

She cried.

The farmer looked for Vanilla. He asked all the fluffies, who, due to being asleep, did not know where Vanilla went. He looked at the fences, inspecting the ground carefully. Nothing. Not even small areas where the grass didn’t grow to show signs of disruption. The farmer went into the woods, with fluffies leashed to smell for Vanilla. None found her scent. They did seem perturbed at a certain spot, but it was only a clearing. Nothing more and nothing less.

The farmer still thought of Vanilla, but like all fluffies, she faded from memory. He bought a new fluffy, coincidentally looking much like her and a similar personality. It was no coincidence she was named Vanilla. She became pregnant, gave birth, and raised 5 foals. All were normal, but one was an exploring babbeh. She often left the nest and her bruddas and sisdas to find new places, even if it’s the same as the old.

When they were walkie, talkie babies, Vanilla and her children walked around the fence, teaching her children the rules of the farm. While 4 listened, one was exploring. The exploring babbeh, recently christined as “Lewis,” walked to a peculiar spot on the fence. It was near a pole, connecting the chainlink. Outside, there was a fluffy.

It was white, from top to bottom. It had wings. It had a horn. It was crying.


“Hewwo? Nyu fwend?”

Hey, so this is my first entry into these sort of contests, and my first story. I certainly hope you all like it. If there are any criticisms you have, sound away. Thanks so much for reading, and have a great day!

Theme Week


Veeeeery good!


Creepy ghosties. Reads like a ghost story but in fluffy form. I like it.