“Dewe yew gu, big bwudda.” Punch told her much bigger brother, Fruit. They were both fancy colors: Fruit was plum with a red mane and tail. Her big bwudda was inverse. What was Punch doing? Why, feeding her bwudda the bottle that got heated up every day by the Fluffmart employees.
Punch was a generation behind her bwudda. Why the naming scheme? They couldn’t be sold. Punch had a large spot on her tummy from when she was born. Something of a li’l thing that stood out even when she stood up. That’s why she hadn’t ever been adopted out. Fruit? Well.
He was an SBS. His eyes were open but he didn’t see much, at least Punch didn’t think so. Always staring up to the lights above him. Giggling and wriggling around his weggies. Punch really loved her bwudda. Did he love her?
She thought so.
Mummah was long gone now. Letting him finish his daily warm miwkies, Punch reached over to gently pat at the stallion’s tummy. He burped loudly. Coughed, gagged, threw up on himself.
“Punch wub yew. Pwease nu. Pwease?”
Big daddehs and mummehs didn’t like it when you pooped or threw up. Fruit was always throwing up. Always pooping in his diaper.
They were a package deal. Punch really loved her brother.
+++++
As a nice couple were walking by, Punch got up on her hind legs.
“Hewwo nice mummah and daddeh! Pwease wub Fwuit ‘n Punch!” Dancing for them. As she always did. What did Fruit do? Why, he shit his diaper. Not just a normal poopin’, either. He made that fucker fall right off his body with the weight of his feces.
Did Fruit say sorry? Did he say anything? Of course not. All he did was cheep and peep. By now, Punch was used to it. That’s just how he was.
“Pwease, big bwudda. Pwease be gud?” She asked him. All Punch got was her big brother tucking his hoof into her mouth and suckling on it innocently.
It’d be awhile before a Fluffmart employee would be by. Punch was left to her own devices, trying to shove a shit-filled diaper onto her sibling while he babbled nonsensically.
+++
“Punch haechu. Haechu, Fwuit!” The mare told her big brother, tears rolling down her cheeks. She didn’t hate her bwudda at all. His fat cheeks, his adorable giggles, the way he puckered out his mouth when he was waiting for miwkies?
She loved it all. Yet they were a package deal. The mare was rotting here with her brother, Unknown to her? With jacked up prices. Such good colors. Yet Punch had nabbed up her bwudda by his neck fat, had dragged him over to the water dish.
Fruit had never drank water. He was a spechaw babbeh. So spechaw. “Wawa.” She told her bwudda, dragging Fruit’s face into the dish.
At first he burbled. Gasped. Began to kick his weggies around. Innocent eyes looking up to Punch, it seemed as if they were pleading. More tears rolled down Punch’s face. She shoved him back into the dish until the kicking and bubbles stopped.
(A very short story inspired from chat!)
Wawa ba’ fow fwuffy, dat guud enough fow fwuffy….