Well Now I Don’t Want To
[Author’s Note: A series around the fluffy from Well Now I Don’t Want To. This first part serves as a prequel, but the other parts will pick up where the aforementioned story left off.]
Many people believe that fluffies are cursed, and not in the common internet meaning of the word, but actually cursed. How else could fluffies suffer such terrible fates on such a regular basis? Mere evolutionary maladaptation couldn’t account for it, as was evident in a number of species such as the common sloth. Regardless, whether originating from the natural or the supernatural, fluffies have terrible luck.
In most cases, it’s safe to assume that the average fluffy is hounded by the twin specters of suffering and death, as the universe’s ultimate insult to these creature’s pure desire to survive. But what of fluffies who want nothing more than to die? Maybe this cosmic malice would manifest in other ways. A charmed life, perhaps.
…
Six months before the events of “Well Now I Don’t Want To”…
A very special foal was born to an unremarkable feral fluffy family, although you wouldn’t know it to look at him. A sort of desaturated pink color with a matching mane, he was the sort of foal that was treated as a worst babbeh by many mummahs, but in this case he was lucky enough to be born into a well-adjusted family. Other than a certain urgency to his chirping, there was nothing notable about him. Yet.
As he grew he showed certain eccentricities. From the moment he opened his eyes, he’d frequently refuse milk, to the point of growing much more slowly than his brothers and sisters, much to his mummah’s dismay. It wasn’t as if there wasn’t enough milk to go around, indeed since the foals had been born food had been far easier to come by than their parents were used to. Still, the little foal, who would one day be named Phoenix refused to eat.
From the time he could speak he exhibited more strange behaviors, from a more robust vocabulary to, more concerningly, frequent requests to be killed. His parents, of course, were scared and worried for Phoenix, but there really wasn’t anything they could do, apart from the normal fluffy remedy of hugs. Why he was so eager to perish, they couldn’t guess.
…
Phoenix walked the streets, shivering from the cold. It’d only been a few hours since he’d left while his parents slept, but already the biting cold was beginning to cause him to slow. Hopefully it would be enough.
He’d only waited as long as he had to run away because he knew that prior to the cold-times his parents would stop at nothing to find him. He didn’t want their deaths on his conscience if something happened to them. Still, now he could do what he always wanted to.
His stomach rumbled, be he didn’t mind. The chill in his bones was welcomed by him, as it brought him ever closer to his goal. Soon, he slowed to a stop and collapsed, too cold to keep moving. Now, he just had to sleep…
…
He awoke in a warm dark place, surrounding by fur. He could immediately tell, both from smell and from the coarseness of the hairs, that he wasn’t in a fluffpile. Of course, he’d planned as such, as no fluffy would be out in the cold at night. How, then, had he not frozen?
He opened his eyes, briefly blinded by the bright sunlight. He’d slept for longer than he thought. Curled around him was a large dog, which would periodically nuzzle him as if making sure he was alive. He could smell fluffy blood on the animal’s breath, so why was he still alive?
With a soft whine, the dog gently lifted him, carrying him a short way before breaking into a gentle loping gait. As they rounded a corner, he heard shrieks of fear and cries of "Barkie munstah! from a voice he recognized. Abruptly, though, the cries of fear turned into confused muttering as he was gently set down in front of his family once more.
“Wy? Wy can fwuffy nu die?” he asked himself.
…
A few months passed, and Phoenix found himself nesting in garbage as was common with fluffies. He could easily have made or found better shelter, but this offered minimal protection from any wandering humans or munstahs, and he didn’t want to miss any opportunities.
He’d tried a few times to die from exposure, but each time something or other had saved him, so he’d given up on that. No sense in being physically miserable in addition to his normal cerebral suffering if it wouldn’t get him what he needed. So he stayed in his nest and hoped.
“Hey, look! It’s a fluffy!” a voice grabbed his attention.
“Hell yeah! I’ve been wanting to play with one for a while, but they’ve mostly been hiding in the sewers lately,” another voice said.
“Looks like this one doesn’t know what’s good for it. Let’s grab it.”
Two teenage humans rushed at Phoenix, quickly grabbing his unresisting body. He was lifted and inspected, as the two excitedly discussed what to do to him. He didn’t really care, at this point, as long as it was an ending.
“Actually, this one’s kinda cute. I’d feel bad hurting him.”
“Dude, that’s pathetic! It’s just a fluffy…huh, I kinda get where you’re coming from. Let’s go find a different one.”
Phoenix was livid at having his opportunity torn away from him after having hope dangling in front of his eyes. As the humans wandered off, he gave chase as fast as his short fluffy legs could carry him.
“Git back hewe! Du wat 'ou said 'ou’d du! Mummahfwuffas!”
Wait, what had he just said? “Mummahfwuffas” wasn’t what he’d wanted to say at all! Why did he have this inherent knowledge of profanity if he couldn’t use it? He slowed to a stop and began walking back to his nest. This would require a remedy.
…
“Fwuff! Fuff! Fwuck! FUCK!”
Well, it’d taken a few days, but he’d finally managed to curse. The restrictions built into his mind seemed weaker in that area than the ones that denied him a self-inflicted death by starvation or drowning. He wasn’t sure why he never went into a wan-die loop, which would allow him to starve himself to death. Maybe intellectual suffering wasn’t visceral enough, or maybe he was just unlucky.
…
A few more months passed, and he still sat in his nest. He never bothered to go out and scavenge, since food would just find its way to him anyway, much to his chagrin. A noise attracted his attention. A sadistic laugh from the man who’d silently moved to tower over him.
A tiny light of hope began to shine in his heart. Maybe this time would be different.
Part One
16 Likes
He’s going to be an inverted Wiley Coyote, isn’t he?
5 Likes
Sounds like a good description, actually. Comedically bad at dying.
4 Likes
Him and Racecar.
3 Likes
Cursed to fall upwards in life when all you want to do is die, tragic.
1 Like
omg even teens thinks he is cute and not want to kill him damn phoenix 
He and Bomba should he friends.
1 Like