The Clearcreek Fluffy Shelter was not typical of most fluffy shelters in the nation. An elderly woman had willed her spacious home upon her death to serve as a place for fluffies to go. Whether it was out of love for the little critters or because perhaps she found some amusement in her home becoming the last stop for many of them was anyone’s guess, though. This was a three story manor with old brass fixtures and creaky wooden floorboards, barely warm enough in the winter with only a few kerosene heaters keeping away the bone-sinking chill that these horrible Midwest winds brought.
A parlor which had once been filled with antique furniture draped in plastic now served as a reception/intake area, a desk sitting in the middle of the room while just behind it were a few filing cabinets. Otherwise empty, no matter how much the employees tried to make the place seem more warm with colorful posters of fluffies or numerous plastic potted plants. Most other rooms had been completely gutted in order to house biopets or the supplies required for them. All except one.
Aside from the moldering bathrooms with their leaky pipes and gurgling sinks filled with drain flies, there was a kitchen. Realtors would describe it as ‘rustic’ though the reality was, it sucked shit. There was a coffee machine with the pot always filled with burnt, four hour old sludge that had to be choked down. Who could forget the microwave? Straight from Goodwill and requiring a good smacking around if you wanted it to heat up last night’s tuna casserole to a lukewarm temp. The icebox had a real funny habit of going out, too, and shook wildly at random intervals as the ancient motor seized.
Pride of the room went to a bulky stove/oven. Gas fixtures, of course, and did you expect all four burners to work? Don’t be ridiculous. Only one happened to light properly and went up with a roar of flames and a loud ‘fwoomp!’ as you brought a match to it. You may be wondering: Why would anyone care at all? It’s not like employees would be using it on their short lunch breaks and fluffies didn’t really require it for their care.
Only one person in this place used the stove and that happened to be Marie. A young woman with mousy brown hair and heavy-framed glasses, she was currently staring at a large pot of skettis that was burbling away on the burner. Skettis, not spaghetti. Specially made for fluffies. Great Value angel hair pasta which had been boiled far past al dente, the sauce a gruesome mix of copious amounts of margarine and generic ketchup. Sure, they loved the canned stuff whether it was the slop produced by Hasbio or the (slightly less) offensive dreck served up courtesy of Chef Boyardee but this was special. Far too sweet, gloopy, dripping with oil. They went nuts for the stuff which she’d begun to ladle out into little tin bowls. Ten in all, each carefully placed onto a rolling cart.
Wheeling the cart out into the narrow hall, rattling along the somewhat loose floorboards, she hummed to herself. Stopping outside a door with a brightly painted sign reading ‘The Bye-Bye’ room showing art of fluffies chasing butterflies in some idyllic meadow, she had to ease the cart in carefully.
The Bye-Bye Room. This was the end of the road for many of the fluffies who came through here. Bad colors, those with disabilities, particularly bratty ones were those who went through the room first. Given a day in a holding pen before being brought over here for ‘processing’. Those with fantastic colors or extremely sweet temperaments might last a week or so in the display cases meant for public adoption but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that most of them ended up back here too.
This Bye-Bye Room looked like a paradise to the miserable castoffs here. Unlike most of the estate which had seen little improvements, the walls were colored a bright pastel pink with lots of puffy white cloud and sparkly rainbow decals plastered here and there. Plenty of toys, too. As Marie entered she could see that two of the assembled ten were playing on a plastic toddler slide. An orange and green mare was at the top of the slide, trembling as she looked down at what must have seemed like a mile high dropoff for her.
“Scawdies, bwuddah!” She told the stallion that she’d been brought in with. With a brilliant smile, the male got up on his hind legs and did a happy li’l dance.
“It am otay sissy! It suuu fun!” Her enthusiastic sibling chirped from the bottom, a mono blue unicorn and cute as a button. Taking a deep breath, she dropped down to her rump and slid smoothly down to be caught up in a big hug. Tumbling to the floor, both of them giggled and kicked their hooves around at the fun they were having.
Three foals were off in the corner, playing. All three were chasing around a ball, hooves happily squeaking across the floor as they chased the bright red rubber object. Marie didn’t know what colors they’d once been but each one dressed up in a tiny knit fluffy sweater. Some jackhole had had splashed gasoline all over them which had caused their fur to slough off in great big clumps. By some miracle they hadn’t been blinded but did it really matter? They were in this room. End of the line.
“Miss Mawie!” Cooed a butternut brown pillowed mare, wriggling her stumps happily. Many of them knew her name here, even after such a short stay. She was one of the few rays of sunshine most of them had seen in their (usually) miserable lives.
Marie shot the mare a smile. What was HER name? It was somewhat difficult to remember all of them. They came and went with such frequency that their names and features often became a blur. It came to her suddenly. “Hey Oatmeal.” With a rattle of bowls, the cart came to a stop and all of the fluffies who were capable of walking skittered up and began prancing around her heels.
‘Nummies?’
‘Am gud babbeh!’
‘Wub yew!’
A cascade of enthusiastic voices. There was a ritual behind this though. She needed to hear what they wanted. It’s what counted the most here.
“What’s your favorite food?” She asked the collection of foals in their little sweaters.
“Skeggis!” Each chirruped with looks of wonder in their eyes. Three bowls of steaming, gloopy pasta was placed onto the floor in front of them. Each in turn tried to messily eat from the same bowl and began to argue with one another until Marie quietly split them up and placed each in front of their own. One scrabbled his hooves against the bowl and pranced happily in his food, hopping down and getting tiny pasta sauce hoofprints everywhere.
Moving onto Oatmeal, she asked again: “Your favorite food, sweetheart?” This earned a shy smile and a bashful waggle of stumps.
“Oameaw wub sketti buh nu am hab weggies. Am get suuuu messy, Miz Mawie.” That was no problem. Going to a smaller rainbow colored dresser in the corner of the room, Marie slid a drawer open and located a plush bib that had a cartoonish puppy stitched on the front. ‘I love chow-time!’ it declared in big blocky letters. Affixing the bib to Oatmeal, she slid a bowl of sketti down in front of her.
“Dank yew. Yew am nicie wady and Oameaw wub yew.” So grateful and already beginning to munch down the skettis. Strands of noodles and blots of sauce stuck to the bib because just as she said, she was messy as heck.
Next up was a common sight here: A feral fluffy who didn’t even possess a name. This was a scraggly blue and orange stallion who’d had fleas upon coming to the shelter. She’d washed him off and combed the infestation out of him, the poor thing shaking the entire time. Now he was simply sitting there in the center of the room as if shellshocked and completely unable to fathom what was going on.
“What’s your favorite food, sweetheart?” Looking up to Marie, he bent his ears down and looked back down to the floor. Trying a bowl of skettis first, she watched as he regarded it for a moment before pushing it away with one hoof.
This wasn’t an uncommon thing here. The ferals who had lost all hope simply believed themselves to be bad and undeserving of such fine things as this. Even if you left them alone with it, they wouldn’t partake. Switching out the bowl of skettis for the single bowl of kibble she’d brought along, the stallion bent down to crunch on the dry stuff with a blank expression.
Wheeling over the cart to the last fluffy, she regarded him with a warm smile. An old brown stallion whose mane had started to grey out. This one obviously wanted to play with the younger fluffies in the room but lacked the capacity to do so: Standing up was a shaky process and it seemed even that simple task was nearly enough to wear him out. Even so he had resolved himself to playing with some of the sensory toys usually reserved for pillows. There was a funny little feather to tickle his nose with, a strand of bells to shake and create pleasing noises, a tray of plastic buttons that didn’t do anything but light up and create stimulating clicky noises.
“Hey, Hickory. What’s your favorite food?” Already lifting up a bowl of skettis to present to him. Hickory was from a loving home, that much she knew already, and wouldn’t be turning down this precious stuff.
Pausing mid hoofpress against one of the light-up buttons, Hickory looked up to her sleepily and gave a tail waggle. “Hickowy bestest nummies am mummah chowcy chip cookehs.”
Well. That was a stick in the wheels of her usual plans. Waggling the bowl of sketti out enticingly, she tried to lure him into changing his mind. “Are you SURE it isn’t skettis?”
Giving a smile that showed off a scant mouthful of teeth, the elderly fluff shook his head from side to side. “Mummah cookeh am bestest nummies an’ wub mummah an’ wub cookeh.”
Sigh. It’s not like she had to do any of this. It was just supposed to be one last nice act before they shuffled off to the great pearly gates of Skettiland or wherever it is they went. Fine. Chocolate chip cookies. Easy enough, she’d go out and get some after the rest of them ‘finished up’.
Speaking of which, all of them were done eating their skettis. Oatmeal was squealing happily and waggling her stumps around with such speed that she could likely start a fire with the friction. Each of the fluffless foals in their little sweaters were stretched out in front of their bowls, a fair amount of food still lift in each one since they’d been (generous) portions for even an adult. Their tongues stuck out with satisfaction, bellies all rounded out and creating noticeable bumps against their knit clothing.
“Alright cuties!” This was a forced cheerfulness. It’d been hard to muster when she’d first started volunteering here but over time it had become easier and easier. Walking over to a large rainbow painted crate in the corner, she tapped a hand against it and lifted up a trapdoor on the side. “Come play in the Fluffy Palace!”
All but two of the fluffies began migrating over to the crate. Oatmeal had to be helped off of her cushion and carefully positioned into the area and Hickory tried, failed to stand and make his way over. Marie gave him a dismissive wave to indicate that she didn’t want him to bother and he just sat there with a sheepish expression, tail giving a lazy wave. Last one to meander into the box was the nameless feral. Standing there at the entrance to the sliding side door, he gave Marie a faraway look. Almost accusatory. Finally bowing his head, the stallion shuffled on in.
Fluffy Dream Palaces. Contraptions which were once common sights in every Fluffmart across the country. Humble wooden panels decorated in rainbows and cherished characters across fluffy media. A wide observation panel was at the front of the crate, in better conditions this could be dimmed though this was a model which had been in operation for years without any proper servicing. Inside this crate was a layer of plush astroturf, a few scattered toys, and a back panel which actually served as a monitor. Milling around the inside, the fluffies seemed somewhat confused but excited. They were, after all, together and being allowed to play with more toys instead of whiling their time away back in the holding kennels.
On the front of the Fluffy Dream Palace was a small panel that allowed one to peruse a number of different things. Like a digital jukebox, a human scrolled through the various offerings which played small clips on the display. Marie hunched down, took a look to the current occupants before settling on her selection. This was a donated commercial version of the product so she’d count out about $2 in quarters, slipping them into a coin slot near the media selection and pressing her selection. Immediately she could hear a small motor kicking on and a hiss of air as the device perfectly sealed itself from the outside world.
Lights dimmed inside of the crate to give a cinematic flair, the back panel coming to life with Captain Flufftastic swooping into view. This heroic fluffy had been dead for years by now or so Marie could only guess, though Hasbio still capitalized on him with reruns, cartoons, or horribly produced AI slop. Trumpets blared out from speakers hidden in the side panels to give him a truly wondrous entrance.
“Hewwo fwends! Do yew wan hewp Cap’in Fwufftastic sabe da babbehs!?” He asked, looking out to the collection of fluffies currently gathered around. The trio of sweater-clad foals began running around in circles excitedly.
“Yis! Am hewp sabe babbehs! Am supeh hewo!” One exclaimed while his brother and sister looked on in astonishment.
Oatmeal sniffled, looking toward the interactive screen and wiggling stumps pathetically. “Oa’meaw am dummeh an’ nu can hewp. Sowwy Cap’in Fwufftasic.” Tears dripped down her cheeks until the superhero fluff seemed to look right at her! This was a prerecorded thing of course, whoever in charge having thought ahead that the disabled fluffies might become sad at being unable to help.
“Dun wowwy, eben YEW can hewp!” The Captain exclaimed, randomly pointing a hoof out. Giving a soft gasp, Oatmeal waggled her tail happily and gave a squeal of excitement.
All of the fluffies who were able to bounced around in front of the interactive screen, hooves slapping around at cheesy little cartoon aliens that popped up. They were given compliments by Captain Flufftastic, the fluffy saying how proud he was of them for stepping up to save the day. Getting them all whipped up into a playful frenzy was all part of the strategy. It caused them to breathe harder and become distracted, the carbon monoxide filling the area catching up to them before they knew what was even happening. The foals went first, being the most active. One by one they slumped down to the astroturf, cuddling together in a pile as what they thought was just sleepiness was actually their lives sapping away. The other more active fluffies soon joined them, draping over toys with dreamy expressions or sinking right down to the plush ground. Oatmeal happened to be one of the last ones to go, happy squeals going to tired whimpers as she tried to fight sleep before her eyelids drooped down forever.
Last of all was the unnamed stallion. Still facing the observation window, looking out at Marie. She had thought from the beginning that he was a Downer, but this was confirmation. Far more quiet than they often were though he had that look in his eyes. Vacant though accusatory. As if to say ‘This is your fault’.
“It’s not my fault. So stop looking at me like that.” Marie would mention, the stallion not giving a response. Instead, keeping the baleful stare. Unlike the other fluffies he knew that death was coming. Welcomed it as a matter of fact, for it was what Downers knew fluffies were worth. Trash. Brought into a world of pain by uncaring humans. It’s not as if his ‘kind’ were anymore intelligent than any other fluffy, just that they realized what would come to them. No hope. No love. Brought into nothing, going out as nothing. It took longer than usual yet the light went out in his eyes. Face dragging down against the glass to leave a trail of mucus leaking out of his nostrils, he simply lay there in an undignified pile.
Three minutes were up. There had been a great amount of research done before the Fluffy Dream Palace had gotten brought to market, and none had survived past that mark. Captain Flufftastic looked out over the dead fluffies as triumphant music scored out over the side speakers.
“Dank yew ‘fo bein’ da bigges’ hewos! Cap’in Fwufftasic wub yew!” The video cut out abruptly and a seal unlocked, venting out carbon monoxide in steady levels. A monitor measured how much was vented out at once and kept the room safe to inhabit. Once enough had dispersed, a flashing light began pulsing at the top of the cabinet to indicate there were corpses to collect.
“Miz Mawie? Fwuffies sweepin’?” Asked Hickory with a sleepy expression. An old fluffy, he needed his nap but everything going on was fairly interesting. Looking over her shoulder, Marie nodded.
“Yeah, Hickory. Sleeping.” Bending down on her knees, Marie opened the sliding hatch on the Dream Palace and began unraveling a roll of Goodbye Bags. Bright pink, cheap plastic, a lilac scent that made her nose curl. These were industrial bags with little informational panels on the front one could write on with a permanent marker. Slipping on a pair of gloves, she began filling up bags.
Bags were filled out, one apiece aside from the foals. The three little ones were bundled up together, Marie taking the time to strip them of their sweaters.
They’re just dolls
She told herself, looking at their pitifully naked bodies. Deep breaths. That fucking Downer, Hickory, both had fucked it all up. A normally smooth process was making her…
No, don’t think about it. Marie had to fill out the information panels on the bags. Their names, suspected ages, colors. She’d never understood why. Who was reading them? Why did it matter? Diligently filling out the panels like a good volunteer, she got to the Downer’s bag. N/A would be the thing to normally throw on the name line. Instead she wrote down ‘Paisley’. A little ‘fuck you’ to the depressing creature. It would have thought itself unworthy of anything. Hah!
Sealing off the bags with biohazard stickers, she’d set them all in a pile and straightened up. Grabbed her coat, got ready to go out.
“I’ll be right back, Hickory. Be a good boy.” She told the elderly fluffy. He gave a nod and watched as she left.
++++++
Ol’ Hickory knew the other fluffies weren’t asleep. At first he’d thought so but fluffies, well, they have a particularly strong sense of smell. The scent of…fowebba sweepies was on the air . It had been here all along but was now even stronger.
This stallion had never lived on the streets or even the shelter. He’d been adopted by his mummah and didn’t remember life before that. Had never experienced this smell of death before recent events.
Mummah. Mummah had gone fowebbah sweepies. Hickory was sleeping in bed with her and then he’d woken up. Tried to shake her awake because she asked him to so she didn’t oversleep and spend all day in bed. No matter how hard he tried, mummah didn’t wake up though.
She said one day if she didn’t wake up or if something bad was happening, to press the red button hanging around her neck. That button was special and would let people know that she needed help.
Well, help had come. Daddehs who said they were pawwy-med-ecks. Then mummah left because she was fowebbah sweepies. That’s all they told him and he’d had to come here.
That wasn’t so long ago. Every day he wished that mummah wasn’t fowebbah sweepies. Maybe she would come in one day and say she was here for Hickory and they’d go home together. That smell was here though. Looking to the pink Goodbye Bags with the unmoving lumps within them, he began to cry.
“Mummah. Hickowy scawdies.” He told an empty room. There was no mummah to hear his sadness now.
+++++
Looking up as Marie entered the room once more, Hickory’s tears had abated by then. Watching as she took off her coat and folded it onto a chair, the stallion needed to ask her something. Before he could though, she offered him something. Two cookies wrapped in paper, the woman having gone to Subway to get him something warm and yummy instead of the hard chocolate chip cookies at the gas station.
“Fo’ fwuffy?” He asked with a quavering voice, Marie nodding. Stuffing half of one into his mouth, he took the biggest bite he could. Overly sweet, fading warmth, though it was nice.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t get you one from your owner. That’d…well. I’m sorry.” Hickory could hear the sadness in her voice. It was like mummah got when her own babbehs didn’t want to come visit. Mummah loved her babbehs but they had been grown up and busy.
“Dank yew. Hickowy wub yew.” Was what he said, then perked his graying ears up. Offered a smile. “Am bestest cookehs ebah.”
Watching as he finished the first cookie, Marie gave a smile of her own. Weary and slight, but trying to show that she was happy that the fluffy appreciated the offering. “Come on buddy, let’s go to the Dream Palace. You can finish your other cookie in there.”
Lifting the stallion up off the floor, he tensed up a bit. The question came rushing back at him. Right. He needed to know. “Miz Mawie, am…am Hickowy goin’ fowebba sweepies?”
This caused Marie to jump a bit. Look down to the floor, and then back to the elderly biopet. “No…” Bit at her bottom lip. Shamefully: “Yes.”
There was sadness in here eyes. Fluffies were full of empathy. They could feel it when humans were down in the dumps. And…and fluffies weren’t there to make people sad. Hickory was scared to go fowebba sweepies, but he was even more scared that he’d cause someone to cry. Mummahs and daddehs were good. More than good. Leaning forward, Hickory snugged up against her and offered his tired body in a hug.
“Dun wowwy, Miz Mawie. Hickowy am otay. Wub yew.” Cradling Hickory against the crook of one arm, she fed $2 in quarters into the Fluffy Dream Palace. With a click, the side door came unlocked and she’d gently place him in there with his remaining cookie.
The fear began ramping up inside him. That fowebba sweepies was going to come. Nudging the chocolate chip cookie up to his mouth, he tried to make the scary feelings go away as Marie made a selection on the digital panel. Lights dimming inside the cabinet, Hickory looked up to the video display.
A dark sky with shimmering lights and an auroa borealis. It was so pretty, otherworldly even to such a simple mind as a fluffy. Comets traced across the black to leave glittering trails and stars sparkled in and out. Munching on the cookie, he thought of mummah.
What a pretty boy… Mummah often brushed his fur and fussed over small details. When he was a foal and more rambunctious, it’d annoyed him. Now he wanted it more than anything.
You’re so smart… The soft notes of an instrumental of ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ lulled him in. Mummah had played it for him. She thought he was the smartiest smarty because he got her slippers or reminded her about meddy-sins
You’re my best friend… Hickory was always there for mummah, and she was there for him too. People didn’t care what fluffies had to say usually but she let him talk all he wanted, and he loved to hear her stories. Stories of a time and place he didn’t comprehend but they made her excited, so that was enough.
He was sleepy now. Trying to keep his eyes open, drooling on the cookie, he thought maybe he’d sleep for awhile.
I love you, Hickory.
