Gumdrop was in constant pain. Not a single bone, bit of flesh, or patch of skin felt right. She itched, burned, ached, and throbbed. She would have thought herself a munstah had she been able to see herself. She certainly smelled like one, with no mummah or daddeh to give her bathy time, she smelled rancid, the smell only made worse by her keen senses. Her haunches were caked in filth, the mares limited energy being used to at least keep her special place clear for when her foals came.
Gumdrop had nothing but time, and her thoughts. Thoughts of her Mummah. Thoughts of her soon to be babbehs. Thoughts of her special friend, a deep navy blue unicorn whose name she never learned. Of all the things she would do when she got home. If she got home.
She quickly tried to shake these thoughts from her head, literally as she shook her head side to side, her clumpy mane flopping painfully against her neck. “Gumdwop gunna go homesie soon!”
The mare sat upright, her nestie shifting underneath her growing stomach. She had no way of knowing how malnourished she was, in her current stage of pregnancy she should have been immobile from the swelling of her womb, but she could still walk, if uncomfortably, her tummy and milky places dragging across the rough ground.
She wrapped her arms around her tummy. It almost reminded her of the huggies her mummah gave her. She hummed a Mummah song to her tummy babbehs, who kicked and shifted in the amniotic fluid. “Teehee, Mummah wubs hew widdwe kickie babbehs.” The mare didn’t know she could love something so much. More than teebee, more than her wagin, even more than sketties. It gave her so many heart happies just knowing that they were coming soon.
Too soon.
Gumdrops stomach was gripped by a powerful contraction as her water broke, soaking the dry grass and fluff of her nestie as she screamed in sudden, unexpected pain.
“SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! BIGGEST POOPIES! BIGGEST POOPIES!” The mare wailed, flailing her hooves and managing to tear her small bed apart, scattering dry leaves and bits of her fluff into the air, falling to her side with a thud as she began labor.
She had not been ready for this. She was barely a mare, having gotten pregnant sooner than she should have, she had no knowledge on pregnancy besides what her inbuilt coding had told her. But what her programming did tell her was the babbehs were premature. The babbehs were coming too soon.
“GASP” the mare desperately sucked down air, feeling like she was being split open starting from her special place. “BABBEHS PWEASE NU HUWT MUMMAH, MUMMAH AM GUD FWUFEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!”
The mare trailed off into a scream as her first foal slid out, weekly peeping as it hit the cold, sandy floor. “criiip. criiiiiip.”
The mare had no time to question the odd noises of the foal, nor the brainpower to devote to the topic as another contraction started. “SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!”
Foal two.
Foal three.
Foal four.
All marked by screams of pain and contractions so rough that one of the mares ribs refractured, the hairline crack splitting the bone in half. The mare began to seize as eclampsia gripped her, the convulsions combining with contractions to force one last foal out of her, the fifth and final. She lay there for what felt like a forever before she had gained enough strength to first regain consciousness, then stand. She could feel sicky wawa building in the back of her throat, then taste it as it ripped through her mouth and soaked into the sandy embankment. Gasping and heaving, she contracted one last time to push out the after birth. She stood there dazed, before a faint peeping drew her attention. HER BABBEHS WERE HERE!
The mare squealed with delight despite her ordeal, whirling around to be confronted by the squirming mass of creatures that she had just given birth to. She felt the sicky wawa building in her throat again as hot tears welled in her eyes at the sight.
They were mangled monsters. The first, a navy blue wingy babbeh, its coat with the same glittery sparkle as its mummah. It was already dead, its tummy sketties sprawled outside its body, one hideous seeplace planted in the center of its head open and fixed on her, forever blind.
The second, a pale blueish white pointy babbeh. It lacked an upper snout, its jaw weakly swinging back and forth as it tried to force air into two weakly pulsating pink sacs that protruded from its chest. They pulsed faster, and faster, and then with a shudder, the foal went limp and still.
The third, a fleshy blob with unfeathered wings and no fluff. It was already taking forever sleepies when it was born. It had two headsies, five leggies, three seeplaces, four nosies… Gumdrop wouldn’t look at it any longer to count its deformities.
The mare wailed with the anguish only a mother deprived of her children could, deep, soul crushing sobs. She felt all energy in her legs vanish, falling to the side in hopeless despair.
“Wan…. Wan di-“
Suddenly, the mare heard a peeping. She scurried over quickly, sliding around on the sand slick with various fluids. Nearly hidden by the corpses of their siblings, lay two, perfect foals. The slightly larger one was a deep green, pointy babbeh who chirped and peeped with ferocity, searching for its care taker. The other, a smaller black no pointy no wingie babbeh, the lightest wisps of a silver mane poking from its neck. It instinctively smelled around for a source of milk, weakly attempting to crawl towards the source of the life giving nectar when Gumdrop had swept it up and begun to clean the sand, afterbirth, and detritus off of the foal, her tongue quickly learning that it was a colt.
After the first of the living had been cleansed, she placed it at her teats, a rush of endorphins flooding her as the tiny babbeh latched, its weak leggies and soft hoofsies kneading her milkie places as she picked up his… sissy, it was his sissy. She placed the green filly down and she latched onto the other teat just as her brother detached with a tiny pop. He was swept up into his mummahs arms once more as she began to sing to her progeny, a song marred by sniffles and sobs as the mare looked at the babbehs who could have been, who should have been.
“Mummah…. Wub babbehs,
Babbehs wub Mummah, dwink aww da miwkies an gwow up…. Big an stwong…”
The colt instinctively lapped against the wet drops falling against his face, finding them far too salty for his liking.
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The change of seasons was quickly approaching. Gone was the blistering hot summer afternoons, replaced by cold, wet nights. Evening showers had begun to sprinkle the areas, enough to slowly enable the Icky wawas to encroach upon the embankment, but not enough to flood it. Gumdrop was sobbing. She held her colt close to her chest, the filly still in her usual spot at the mares udder, suckling. It had been…. More than four bright times since she had the foals, and she was not home. She was supposed to be home now, supposed to be eating sketties, having a nice bathy time, gettin to run, to play, to curl up in her nice warm beddie!
The nestie was filthy. The miasma of the Icky Wawa had been melded with the stench of death from her forever sleepies foals. They lay buried under shallow mounds of sand in the corner across from the nestie, which had been hastily reconstructed after the thrashings of birth had destroyed it. Gumdrop had been disciplined enough to not make bad poopies, but her babbehs were not, even though she had sang the good poopies song to them as tummeh babbehs, even though she repeatedly tried to get them to go in the corner with the rest of the bad poopies, the foals just… wouldn’t. They soiled her soft tummy fluff with poopies and peepees the first night, the mare desperately trying to clean it out of her fluff but only managing to smear herself with it. The filly would soil herself as she suckled, and given that she did not much else, a large pile would form behind her.
Gumdrop could tell that the pointy babbeh was… off. Her mane consisted of little more than a few wisps of lavender that protruded from the back of her head, and she would cry and chirp and screech if she was refused her milkies. She had thought the pointy babbeh would be smarter, all the pointy fluffies she’d ever met had been able to count past four, why was this babbeh so… dummeh? Her brother was doing much better. He did what babbehs were supposed to do, he drank his milkies and chirped happily when his mummah sang to him, and cooed contentedly when she hugged him. She loved her babbehs, but right now, she was terrified.
She was trapped. She couldn’t understand why though. She had gone away, she had had her foals, shouldn’t she come back home now? Shouldn’t she be rewarded?
“Rewawd? Rewawd fo’ wha’? Habbing bad babbehs?” The voice of the icky wawa prickled the back of her neck as distant thunder boomed. “Ou am neba gowing homsies.”
“SHUDDUP! SHUDDUP SHUDDUP SHUDDUP! HATECHU DUMMEH WAWA, HATECHU HATECHU HATECHU!” Gumdrop stood over her foals protectively, her filly peeping in distress over being unable to reach her milkie places, the colt chirping in distress at his sissies distress. Tears streamed down the mares face as she glared at the eye of the monster, the lavender bone peaking from the center of the puddle. “Mummah Mewodie nu’ wan stoopid nu gud’ Mummah. Nu wan dummeh bad fwuffy.” The bone floated menacingly closer to the embankment.
“Dummeh mawe an’ babbehs am onwy gud fo’ bein’ nummed on.” Gumdrop dropped over her foals, protectively huddling over the babbehs. She sobbed, desperately wishing for her mummah to come save her.
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Veteran was an old fluffy. Part of a Veterans Day special he had come in an interesting camouflage pattern, and had been a gift to a Vietnam vet for target practice. Instead, he had become a companion, learning survival techniques, camping with his Daddeh, and hugging him during his ‘epi-zodes’. When his daddy gave himself forever sleepies, he had cried and tried to hug it better, but his Daddeh had taught him that when life gets tough, you ‘pony up an’ keep on movin’. And he had, pushing his way through a hole in the screen door of his Daddehs porch and beginning to wander the world as a feral.
And wander he did. He defied his programming and refused to make a nest. He would scavenge and forage on his journey, stopping only to make poopies and sleep. He learned the seasons and how to spend them, sneaking into the city when it was cold to take advantage of trash nummies and warm spots behind alleys, and moving into the suburbs to eat the abundant grass nummies and enjoy the cooler temperatures. He had joined many a herds fluffpile, but never took a special friend. His journey couldn’t support another, let alone a family. He stopped and smelled the air. He could smell rain on the horizon, the pressure in his ears and ache in his back leggie told him it would be a big storm. He would enjoy using it to get clean, but his programming made him completely unable to sleep when wet.
He thought to his mental map, which while it was imagined as a crayon map, was a surprisingly detailed map of his usual migration route through the city and suburbs. He could always hide in bushes, but those were hit or miss as to whether they would have a dry patch. Under a house was risky, meow munstahs liked to stay dry there, and humans would get furious about bad poopies. One place worked though, a housie owned by a nice old Mistah. He had a small housie that a barkie munstah once used, but the nice Mistah would let fluffies use it to wait out rainstorms. Veteran himself had used it a couple times. It was an ideal place he could dry off after washing himself in the grass. He looked around to check landmarks to know orient himself towards the house and took off at a trot, keeping to the bushes when possible.
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BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmm
The thunder was loud, deafening in the storm drain as the rumble shook the very ground. The babbehs chirped and made scaredy peepees in fear, Gumdrop lapping their tears from their face. “Pwease babbehs nu cwy, nestie am safe pwace, gonna be otay,” she sniffled. This was the loudest the storms have gotten. The suburb was experiencing an unusually small number of storms that had persisted for about four and a half weeks by this point. But that was about to change. Rain began to fall hard and fast, creating a mist of water that filtered down from the storm drain opening as the ground hungrily lapped up the moisture. But not quickly enough.
Water flowed fast, the stream slowly filling up the styrofoam clamshell, then flowing over it in a small stream. Into the Icky Wawas. Gumdrop watched in horror as the pool began to fill, slowly, ever so slowly. Water lapped at the sand, crumbling the loose beach that quickly disappeared into the black sludge. Another boom of thunder shook loose more sand, shrinking the embankment even further as she picked up her squirming foals and placed them on her back. The filly chirped in distress at the lack of a milkie place, its only source of comfort now the stench of her mother. She wiggled and peeped, searching for a nipple to latch to. Her brother wiggled his way towards his mummah’s nape, nestling himself under the back of the mane. “Dummeh fwuffies am onwy gud’ as nummies!” The Icky Wawa laughed as thunder boomed once again. Gumdrop could only watch in sheer terror as the icy liquid came up and over the embankment, lapping at her hoofsies hungrily. The cold stung causing the mare to shriek, the jolt jostling her filly off her back.
The babbeh landed and began chirping in pain and anguish as a the liquid tried to rob her of heat before she was snatched up by the scruff and nestled back into her mummah’s warm backfluff. She looked around for a nipple to latch to for comfort, finding a nub she shoved into her mouth. She suckled and coughed, gagging on the taste of the dried, crusty booboo juice that coated the no-longer-wingy place. She chirped and flailed, vomiting a small amount of chunky milk onto her mummah’s back.
The mare did not notice anything besides a small spark of pain on her back. Her attention was fully on the water she was watching crawl up her leggies. She jumped a bit as it unexpectedly stung her teats, the effort resulting in a small ripple that lapped at her. The water crested her leggies, lapping at her chest when she heard a burble. One by one her buried forever sleepies babbehs surfaced, buoyed by trapped gasses. One cyclopean eye, a gaping maw, a fleshy tumor, all asking the same question.
“Why?”
Gumdrop sobbed, watching as the monuments to her failure as a soon mummah floated in the deep murk.
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Frank paused the boxing match and listened. There it was again, a thudding against his glass sliding door to his backyard. Walking into the tiled kitchen he saw a familiar fluffy standing in a decent amount of rain. “Veteran? You know you don’t need to ask for perm-“ the pony cut him off as the man slid the door open.
“Pwease hewp, dewe am babbeh twapped in dwainy!” He spoke with urgency. Frank nodded and ran to grab his raincoat from the front door coat rack and his reacher arm from the garage. He ran out the front door, watching as Veteran ran back around the side yard with a speed that belied his age. Frank matched his speed, an easy feat with legs eight times the length of the fluffies. Only once up close with the drain could he barely hear the peeping of foals.
Pulling a waterproof flashlight from the pocket of the raincoat he shone it down the hole, just barely able to see two masses of green and black fluff squirming on the back of a grey mass.
“HANG ON, I’LL GET YOU OUT OF THERE!” He yelled, the sudden noise only serving to startle the foals, causing a sudden fit of peeping and chirping. He pried the thin manhole cover off and gagged at the rancid scent, covering his nose with his elbow before reaching the rubber tipped pincher arm down and plucking a black foal from her back. It wriggled and chirped and he transferred it to his hand as he dragged it out. He passed it to Veteran who snuggled the babbeh under his chest to keep warm. The green baby came next, it shrieked as the rubber prongs sank into her blubbery flesh, crying as she was dragged away from her final comfort in this world. He placed in Veterans arms as well, the foal chirping uncomfortably and wriggling, but unable to escape the stallions grasp.
Frank turned to reach back down into the drain but it was too late. The mass that was huddled in the corner was gone. All that remained was a thick black slurry. He searched the surface of the liquid but all that stared back was the glare of the flashlight on the glassy black liquid. He turned and looked at the trio next to him, all shivering in the cold rain. Tending to the living was more important than searching for the dead. “Let’s get you all inside and warmed up.” He swept all the fluffies up, using his foot to nudge the manhole cover closed with a metallic thud. He’d have to fish the body out later. For now, he needed to figure out what to do with these foals.
