OVERHAUL CONT.
A hapless creature contrived from means too great for its understanding, and obscured from the masses living lives of structured apathy, dictated by productivity quotas and time tables.
Azure pelt, dirty and disheveled. The fluffy pony had three limbs. A black, infected-looking cyst-like stump surrounded by singed fur was all that remained of her other foreleg.
Cheeks streaked dark with tears and smears of dust and dirt. Ever since the incident that brought such suffering upon her, the mare hadn’t stopped crying. For the first few days, all she wanted was to stop feeling the misery. But then as the forevers continued to drag on, even her yearning for release went away. Her yearning for everything she thought she needed went away. Food. Water. Companionship. Purpose. All left bereft. And yet she was still alive. Empty, but alive.
She watched the shapes of people walking up and down the neon-bathed streets, the seemingly endless crowd. Blankly staring with a vacant mind. In that way she was closer to most people than anyone wished or cared to acknowledged. Time kept slipping by.
On one rainy evening, the crippled mare had the first idea in her head since she resigned herself to the desire for termination. The weeping mare realized that she had the means to bring this upon herself in the form of her three remaining legs. She had the power to make eternity end. Wordlessly she crawled out from her hideaway at the side of a building, sequestered away behind a garbage bag that was as neglected as she was. The mare started towards the bleeding lights that mixed in the haze and puddles. So bright. So dreary.
The fluffy dragged herself across the coarse paving. At first no one in the current of bodies paid any mind to the shape of refuse laboriously making its way towards them. The majority of the passerbys were gone in their haste to ever notice something of the sort. When the fluffy finally made it to the sidewalk, pedestrians stopped in surprise. If only for a moment, they stopped to look at the thing, which did not stop to look at them.
Upon realizing that the mare was not a “real” creature that belonged in the sanctuary bio-domes, and was instead one of the mysterious fluffies that had taken up refuge in the Ubdermetro, most people went along with their business. Some lingered a little while longer to pity the fluffy. Some still sneered internally at the pathetic sight. All left her be and walked around her over the minutes it took her to crawl to the edge of the road.
The fluffy could feel the ground rumble under the weight of the machines that roared down the path, truly indifferent, stopping for no one. Fast machines that rolled by as a blur. Trundling giants whose engines were deafeningly loud, and whose black breaths billowed in their passing as a choking miasma. The headlights were painful reflecting off of the wet blacktop. The spray from the tires drenched the pony, washing away the filth on her fur but leaving her yet unclean. She could not be deterred. Just a little farther more, and she knew that all of this would not be her problem anymore. Forever had an end, and it did not involve burning.
However a sharp tug on the scruff of her neck was an unexpected sensation. An unexpected feeling, period. She had forgotten what it felt like to be touched. She was too lethargic to do any more than register that her salvation had been denied, and hung loosely in the grasp of her captor.
Roddenbury did not know fully what possessed him to pick up this thing that may as well have been a wet rag left in an alley for a week – because that’s what this fluffy looked and smelled like – but now that he had its weight dangling by his fingers, he had to make a snap decision and follow through with it. “Goddamn it, Roddenbury,” the trucker cursed at himself underneath his breath. Was he really just going to pick this thing off of the street and carry it back to his apartment that barely had enough space for himself to live? “Goddamn it, Roddenbury,” he cursed again while he swooped his arms under and around the fluffy to swaddle her like an infant.
When he squeezed her to his body, the water soaking her fur ran freely down his raincoat. He was grateful that his uniform was spared. If not, he would have had to reimburse the hauling company for his negligence. It soon became apparent that once out of the rain, on the elevator ride down to his residential level, Roddenbury’s coat smelled of mildew. Even in the cramped space of the lift, the man could sense the conscious efforts of his fellow commuters to distance themselves from him and the curled up mass in his arms.
This was not how this day was supposed to end. This was not in keeping with the routine. Where in the all encompassing algorithm was this decided for him? It wasn’t. This was his own brain acting out and making rash decisions without forethought or consideration for what was to come next. And this was entirely unlike Roddenbury. For the entire descent, the man stared out stoically without seeing the people around him. This was the modus operandi for the common man in this day and age, but Roddenbury’s situation struck him as different. His motives were not the same, but for what reason?
It would have been easier to just keep going and ignore the fluffy. He’s ignored their pleading before and it was not that difficult. But ignoring useless, annoying begging was different than watching something squirm into traffic on purpose. There was something so… heartless… so heartless in ignoring a pain like that.
These weren’t the times to be feeling sentiments that one’s wallets couldn’t float but here Roddenbury was, saving a fluffy from itself, and alienating those around him further than the constructs of the society in which they lived.
Once back in his apartment, Roddenbury made a beeline to the bathroom. He put the fluffy in his modest tub and ran the water. Her ears swiveled at the noise of the faucet being loosed but she had no further reaction. While the tub filled, the man whipped off his coat and draped it over the shower curtain’s railing. He’d deal with its offputting smell later, once he took care of the fluffy’s offputting smell.
Without depleting his supply of cleaners and soaps. Ideally. If he could keep the smell of diesel out of his uniforms despite clocking into a mechanics’ hangar every morning and operating a big rig every day, Roddenbury was somewhat hopeful that he could rectify the garbage smell of a three-legged fluffy.
It took almost all of the free time the man could afford in his evenings. He was due to be in bed, and he hadn’t even addressed his own needs for the night. His routine was all sorts of disrupted, but at least the fluffy was tolerable to the nose now. Not the best smelling thing, but not actively offensive and he was not keen on being too close to the “stray” that smell would be an ongoing issue. Roddenbury removed the fluffy from the tub and wrapped her in one of his spare towels to dry.
He still had his coat to take care of… and as far as taking care of this pony went, he was clueless. Disregarding how no one but the faceless corporate entities responsible for the creation of fluffies knew what they were intended for, this fluffy in particular was in severe condition. Roddenbury had a feeling that discolored stump was indicative of a disease, and one that would prove fatal in time. For all he knew, that was why the poor creature was attempting suicide.
As he cleaned off his coat, the trucker couldn’t help feeling that he’d done something wrong. Was his effort at kindness misdirected and doing more harm than good? And was he too ill-prepared for what he had committed to unwittingly? The mare was so lifeless in demeanor… was there anything he could do to improve the quality of her life, for what time she had left?
Uncertainty. He had not contended with the unknown for quite some time. That was perhaps the worst part about having his routine broken. And for the fluffy, who broke her routine as well, uncertainty began to creep up from the abyssal nothingness that had come to define her.
Uncertainty as to when and where the next bout of sadness and pain will come from. Uncertainty as to why it was that she was not experiencing any sadness and pain now. Uncertainty as to why she was still able to feel after being numb forever. What wasn’t uncertain was how much she wanted to feel again. She wanted to love and be loved. Could she love this person who took her off the street? Could he love her?
Uncertainty.
Better prospects.