You hate yourself. Every morning, you get up and perform the same old routine. It is a boring ritual that culminates in looking at the monster you’ve found yourself so divorced from. A stranger in the mirror. That’s what you are. A stranger. Routines are all that hold you together, but it gets tiring. Being alive can be such a tedious task. If the prospect of dying didn’t fill you with dread, you might be inclined to just end it all. No, you can’t bring yourself to do it. No matter how much the thought of death might appeal to you, the transition seems more terrifying than anything else. So you live despite not feeling truly alive. A walking corpse that just waits impatiently for something else to do the job for him.
Routines start to feel like puppet strings, they pull each task in a mechanical fashion, and you follow obediently. No chaos, no uncertainty, it is all predictable and planned to the letter. Get dressed, eat your cereal, and transition yourself to work. A banal, and familiar evil that, while you resent, it doesn’t bring any stress or anxiety to you. Even though there is no excitement, there will never be any escape from the routine, but the comfort and security should be a boon… shouldn’t it? No, you find yourself bored. Bored of the familiarity, tired of everything, and that sickening sense of ennui. If only you could bring yourself to die. To drive off the side of the road, into the river, and just end it all. Such a boring man.
The routine is sometimes shaken, usually brought about by outside influence, but in rare occasions you seek to shatter the framework of familiarity in a fit of madness. Screaming to the cosmos in a fit of rage that you are master of your fate. You can break free of the puppet strings, you aren’t a slave. Only to then take it all back, return to the routine, put the strings back on and calm the fear that starts to bite into you. The fit comes and goes, but it starts out as an itch of acknowledgement towards the framework. Noticing the routine, and becoming uncomfortably aware of just how rigid it is. The suffocating awareness builds. It scratches, and whispers in your ear. The crushing ennui. The hatred for your servitude, the overwhelming need to be free.
Today in particular, you’ve become aware of the itch once more. The need to break your routine, and it is growing with each day. So you take an unfamiliar street, it might not be the fastest way to get home, but it is full of different sights. A quiet road that smells sweetly of mint and blossoming life. The aroma of spring. The cool wind kissing your aching skin, lovingly caressing and holding you.
It is in these moments that you feel alive. You might even be inclined to say you feel happy. It is in this moment that you become aware of a disturbing bright vivid blob of color trying to cross the road. You try to drive around it, but the dull thump of your tires running it down only confirms your failure. Going on autopilot, you stop at the side of the road, getting out of the car to see what you’ve hit.
You hear crying as you come towards the heavily mangled mess. A bright magenta corpse, completely eviscerated and cut in half with a large indent dividing her upper half from her lower. Spilled intestines, twitching under the excruciating agony of being crushed, but an alien sight. You’ve heard of them, Fluffies. Not really something you’ve taken time to explore on your own, but something that inspires curiosity upon seeing the real thing. A blight for farmers, and turning into a nuisance in their own right. You even remember hearing on the news in the past about regulations being made to outlaw their presence in certain states, although they’ve long since become an ingrained problem.
The first thing you are aware of is how fake the coloring of that creature is, a color that shouldn’t be possible for a living creature. It painfully heaves each breath, and you another little spackle of color unlike itself waddling up to the dying creature. A lone green foal. It takes you a moment to notice that amongst the gore, there are faint blobs of fluff mangled with the failing remains of the creature. Flattened, bloodied, and very much dead. She had most of her offspring on her by the time your car ran her down. And now, they are permanently smeared in with her trailing organs.
“chirp Mummah! chirp Nu sweepies! peep”
It is so tiny compared to the mare, struggling to shake her out of her dying haze. The distressed sounds leaving its tiny mouth, sobbing hysterically as it clings to her face. Even as blood oozes from her quivering lips. She lets out weak wheezes, she doesn’t seem to notice the little thing, her eyes staring into the abyss itself. Gurgling out disgusting fluids, moaning, her only words are, “…babbehs…whewe babbehs…” She coughs out a mixture of blood, mucus, and saliva, her rattling breaths turning into one final sigh that ends it all. The only sounds you hear is the soft sobs of her last foal, struggling to wake her from an eternal sleep. It clings to her, whimpering and pleading for her to wake up, completely oblivious to you.
When it does notice you, it looks up at you with big bright yellow eyes, they become so noticable with just how bloodshot they are.
“Huuhuu! Sabe mummah. peep Nee’ mummah. Huuhuu! chirp Nee’ miwkies! Nee’ wub!”
It just demands. That is it’s first course of action. Begging you to bring her back. Like you have that power. That capacity to just undo such terrible destruction. You sigh, “I can’t. She’s dead.”
“Nu! peep peep Nee’ mummah! Nu sweepies!”
It goes back to shaking her lifeless face, getting onto its hind-legs and pressing unto her face in a vain attempt to shake her out of her eternal rest. The effort is too much, it falls onto its side, sobbing loudly, “Mummah! Huuhuu! chirp Mummah!”
There is only so much you can do. The thought of leaving comes crawling into your head. It is easy. Too easy. The thing isn’t your responsibility. In fact, the world is better off with less of them out there. You did, what can be seen as, a very charitable act for the community. Less Fluffies in the world, but you stare at the sobbing thing. That tiny creature. And the itch returns. To shake up routine further. You’re alone, and this thing is alone too. Alone because of you. You start to smile, a forced smile that shakes at the corners of your mouth, quivering as you hold it there. A fake smile. A lie.
“Want a home?”
The little thing looks up at you, trembling under the weight of its loss, you look down upon the pitiful creature and tower upon it like a God. “peep Nee’ mummah. Mummah nu wakies. Huuhuu! Wan’ mummah. peep”
“That’s fine. I’ll just leave you with her then.”
You turn on your heel to leave, it seems to think more on its present plight and you hear a loud squeal, “Nu! peep Take babbeh!”
The fake smile on your face leaves, it turns real. A baleful smile that creeps over your features, hidden from its sight, “Oh, you change your mind?”
“Huuhuu! peep Take babbeh!”
You try to hide your itch, the itch of change, the itch that is crawling within your head and making all this happen. The most benevolent smile, a fake smile. “Alright, let’s go.”
Reaching down, you take him into your hand, such a tiny thing. It fits perfectly in your palm. Encrusted with filth, you think on it as you reach your car, opening the passenger side up before resting your jacket on the seat as some protection. It is carefully placed on it, staring up at you with tear soaked eyes, “Dank’oo.”
“No problem. Stay right here until we get home.”
“chirp Otay.”
It seems so depressed, makes sense since you just killed its mother, but the sorrow in its voice seems like honey to your ears. You get back in the car, and start it up, the loud noise scares the foal, it lets out a nervous squeal and you hear a soft “pfft” as it defecates into your coat. “Don’t worry, it won’t kill you.”
The thing says nothing, it just covers its face as you carefully drive, trembling and crying. Driving to your house, you take the creature from your passenger side, staring down upon it as you walk into the house. It stays silent, trembling in your hands, cowering with its hooves still over its eyes. So much like a child. A stupid innocent child. From the mess it made of your jacket, you know that on its own, it will make a terrible mess of your house.
The horror stories of Fluffies, they’re all over when you bother to look. The smarties, the shitting, and all the miserable ubiquitous traits they harbor. It’s your favorite coat, you’d rather not have it be shat upon, but it is the easier thing to clean compared to the upholstery of your car. It goes into the washer, extra bleach and detergent for the disgusting mess, and you place the foal in the bathroom sink. First thing, cleaning the creature.
“peep Whewe am babbeh?”
It looks around, hooves still close to its chest; confused and terrified, it shifts its attention up to you. Expecting an answer. “We need to clean you up. You are absolutely disgusting.”
Just hearing the way you talk, it lets out a distressed chirp, crying to its self, “Sowwy. peep Daddeh maddies. Huuhuu! chirp Babbeh sowwies.”
The tone of its voice, even with its heart shaken by all the things that have happened, its first reaction towards your attitude is to apologize. Perhaps, it worries that you will abandon it. You turn the water on, trying to get it warmed up for the foal. It looks at the water with dread, squealing out in fear, “Wawa bad! peep Wawa bad!”
“It’s the only way I can clean you. I’m here to make sure it doesn’t hurt you.”
The way you are talking, you take a moment to register that it feels like you’re trying to accommodate its simplistic nature. It’s too stupid for anything else. It trembles in your hands, but you let it touch the water with its hoof. Warm enough without scalding the thing. Letting the water run over its velvet hide, it’s fear turns to a soothing coo. You apply some shampoo, a little dollop, and run it over its body. It is at this time that you notice its a “he”. His fluff is so heavily caked in with grime, turning the water as it passes over him into a dark brown.
A few rinsings, it clears up. The water turning perfectly crystal once more. It is this moment that lets you truly look him over. He’s a unicorn. The little protruding horn visible in his mane. The green of his fluff becomes more vibrant. Less of a puke green, more jade in tone. A rather beautiful color, but you think onto the speckles of dead foal mangled with its mother. Much more vivid than him. He must have been either the runt or the less favored of the offspring. Enough that he was forced to walk instead of being carried by his mother. A lucky break in his case.
You dry him off, he giggles a little, still sad, but comforted by your gesture. Staring up at you, he pauses for a moment before lifting his hooves up towards you. It confuses you for a moment, he lifts them both up to you, resting on his rump, “Huggies!”
Lifting him up, you let him get close to your chest, and you feel him lean into you, his little legs can’t really do much, spreading out to try and get as much of you in his hug as he can. His cheek pushed onto your shirt, he coos, and lets out a happy giggle, “Wub daddeh. peep”
Already, he has become attached to you. Something you remember that they’re prone to do. Fluffies were made for humans. For children, but they seem to have that innate need for love. Something that makes them quick to attach to anything that gives them a hint of positive affection. He doesn’t let go, even minutes into the hug, he just coos against you. Trembling happily, his tail quivering very visibly in your hand. So desperate for love. You don’t pull him away, you just walk out of the bathroom with him cupped close to your chest in your hand.
The first thing you do out of the bathroom is look on your computer, free hand typing out “How to raise a Fluffy?” and “Things that a Fluffy needs”. There are many different choices. The first thing you click on takes you to a bright pink pastel page with pictures of Fluffies smiling, little hearts, and everything. It is so saccharine and sweet. Everything you hate. Quickly, you click out of it. Instead, you go for another page, one that discussing important basics and the reasoning behind them.
It adds up. You never thought it was cheap, but… you look back at the little colt as it clings to you. Why did you want to keep him? You think about it. The saccharine aspects they have, their adoration and adulation, their simplistic nature and infantile traits. Did you think that saving this thing is worth the effort? Shouldn’t you just kill the miserable creature, or abandon it to die like a rat? What about it holds your attention?
Love. You’ve never had much luck with love. Both externally and internally, nothing loves you and you certainly have a hard time loving anything. Not even yourself. Yet, this thing is freely offering it. It holds you, you’re his world, and his kingdom. You alone dictate his fate. Maybe saving him will save yourself?
You start chuckling, that’s rich. No, you had the itch. To shake things up. That’s all this is. A fleeting whim. Nothing else. An expensive fleeting whim. Compared to the mundane boredom you’ve been rutting in, it is a whim that you don’t mind acting upon. Worst case, it’s a waste of money. Nothing comes from it, and the thing goes in the trash. You need the escape. It’s all you’ve wanted. And he’s offering it. Plus, you look at it as not a true pet. A toy. A thing that you can freely discard upon any moment it proves to inconvenience you.
In the middle of the country, there was once a mare who had seven little foals. She had a special friend, but he died in the great war with the barn cats in her old home. It was one of the reasons behind her leaving home. It wasn’t safe for her or her children. She loved them dearly, especially her five little ones that she always lavished with all her adoration. One had a beautiful blue fluff, another had purple like herself, there was a yellow like the sun, lightest purple like the flowers she loved to smell, and the last one was a spitting image of her special friend. And there were the twins. Two that looked not so pretty.
She didn’t hate them, she loved all her children, but without her special friend to help her out, she had to make sacrifices. That meant they had to walk while her favorites rode on her. They wandered, searching for a new home, and a new daddy to care for them. The twins were identical in appearance, but not in personality. One of them was so much braver than the other. He didn’t look like her special friend, but he acted like him. The other didn’t have that backbone. He always hid behind his braver and stronger brother and he never spoke more than a hushed gentle tone.
The mare smelled the sweet aroma of delicious things, nummies that would give the bestest milkies for all her children. Her hunger, and her desperation drove her. To waddle and toddle through the long grass, until they reached a new place, a flat land of black that divided the fields apart. An unnatural black she was not familiar with. With bands of yellow like her dandelion-colored foal. She feared it. Something in her told her that it wasn’t safe. Screaming it. She didn’t want to cross it, but… the bestest things to eat for the bestest milkies are there across it. Her foals need it. She bit back her fear, looking at the two colts at her side. Their yellow eyes staring up at her, the braver of the two asking, “peep Mummah. Bwuddah hab tummeh-owwies.”
“Sowwy babbeh. Mummah gib miwkies aftah fwuffehs find nummmies. Otay?”
He looked back at his brother, hugging him to help with the growing hunger pains, “Otay. peep”
The three of them started to walk, mare ahead of them, and the ground began to quake. She started to shake, looking over to see a large scary loud thing rushing over towards them. She tried to run towards the otherside, the stretch so wide that it felt like an eternity. Almost there. Almo-
She didn’t feel the tires run her down, the pain so blinding that it incapacitated her, her body shattered on the spot. She didn’t recognize it at first, but she couldn’t move. Nothing worked right. Her vision quickly failing her, darkness swallowing everything up. It terrified her. Where are her babies?
The two colts fell behind, and when the rumbling started, the braver of the two had to make a choice. He didn’t want to leave his mother, but he saw the monster coming. A loud scary monster. His brother wasn’t strong, he wasn’t fast, and he could see the fear in his eyes. So the colt made a desperate and hard choice, “Run! peep”
He shoved his brother back, the two of them waddling frantically away as the car came through. It stopped, he looked back to see his mother laying in the middle of the road. She stopped running. He looked at his brother, his terrified brother, tears filling his eyes, “Mummah!”
“Otay. peep Babbeh go. Get mummah. peep Bwuddah stay.”
“Otay. Huuhuu… Wub bwuddah.”
The braver one went to his mother, he saw the monster stopping, but his attention went fully to his stricken mother. He needed to get her back up, they needed to get out of here. She didn’t move. Her eyes glassy, staring vacantly into nothingness.
“chirp Mummah! chirp Nu sweepies! peep”
He didn’t recognize the stranger, not until the human was watching the two of them. In his mind, he spaced off his brother, and everything else. The horror of losing his mother, his siblings, and everything. It shook him to his core. The strange human didn’t kill his mother. It was the monster that did it. A monster he didn’t see anywhere. The nice man saved him. He didn’t think about anything else until they got into the car. It started and that familiar roar terrified him. He covered his eyes, even after the human told him that it wasn’t going to hurt him. And he forgot. His brother sat there, watching as the human took his only living relative away. They drove off. And he waddled hesitantly towards his mother. He didn’t know what to do.
“…bwuddah? peep”
He’ll come back. That was what the colt thought. He always comes back. Time wore on, he couldn’t stay with his mother, but he couldn’t bring himself to go too far away. He knew his brother will come back, right? Loud monsters came, and they went. Running his mother down more and more until she became unrecognizable. His hunger getting worse and worse. Tears filled his eyes, he didn’t know where his brother went, and he started to worry. A monster came, it stopped at the side of the road, he thought for a moment it was the same monster that took his brother. A human came out, went to the back of the monster and grabbed a strange thing. He went to his mother, and started to scrape her up. The colt waddled to the human, looking up with hope, “peep Nice mistah?”
The human looked down upon him. Silently staring at him for a moment as he carried his mother to the monster. Throwing her body into a black sack, he didn’t seem to acknowledge the colt.
“peep Babbeh nee’ miwkies.”
He tried to get the human’s attention, struggling to keep up with him, the human stopped what he was doing. Looking back at the foal, and he pulled the thing out that took his mother. Glistening with blood and viscera. He said nothing, and brought the shovel down upon the colt. It was swift. And his last thoughts were of his brother. That this human could bring him back to his brother, and save their mother. At least, the colt will never go hungry ever again.