Yuck! The special-nummies daddeh always ate tasted so gross! Puffy hated the taste, spitting out the nummies. How could daddeh stand to eat them? She’d been so excited when she saw a few tumble to the ground, had carefully gathered them up and hid them so she could try them and see why daddeh loved them so much.
What a waste. She guzzled some water to try to wash the rest of the bitter fragments out of her mouth, then slumped down in her bed, feeling more tired than usual. She had to struggle a little to breathe, but that didn’t keep her from sleep long.
…
Puffy retched as she ate more of the special-nummies. They tasted so bad, but somehow she felt drawn to eat more of them. They made her feel calm, safe, like there was nothing that could go wrong. So she ate them even as she suppressed the urge to vomit.
There weren’t any left, though. She felt a bit sad about that, but reasoned that it was going to be fine. Everything was always fine. After all, she had plenty of other nummies to eat instead.
…
Puffy woke up, but her leggies didn’t. She hated when this happened, the awful pins and needles running through her legs. Somehow the sensation was worse than simply hurting. But it was okay, the feeling would go away soon.
…
Puffy was dying. Icy certainty had settled in a long time ago. The pins and needles had only grown worse, so placing even the tiniest bit of weight onto her hooves was unbearable. But…she had to run. She wasn’t safe. She didn’t know what she was running from, but she had to get away! The terror and dread forced her to move, running around the saferoom, never finding a safe place, even as each step sent waves of agony through her leggies. Even as breaths grew shallow and heartbeats flickered in her vision, she ran, stumbling over and over as blasts of static washed away vision and hearing, as she tumbled to the floor and stood yet again. She had to escape. She had to outrun the death she felt just behind her.
…
Aaron returned home to find Puffy in a heap on the saferoom floor, breathing shallow breaths and occasionally peeping, so lost in pain and terror that she’d reverted to a babbeh-like state. Ignoring the scardy-poopies soaked saferoom, Aaron picked up the exhausted fluffy, drawing a yelp when his hands brushed past her legs, and sprinted for the car.
…
Puffy was too tired to move. Her heart raced as if she was running, and her chest hurt with every breath, but her panicked state didn’t subside. She had to run, had to escape the monster pretending to be the vet, had to keep moving. Death was creeping closer, and there was nothing she could do.
She raged at her body, trying over and over to force her limbs to respond, but all she got was the never-ending pins and needles. Everywhere she looked, she saw reminders of her inevitable demise, and she knew there was no escape. She was too weak, her body too devoid of energy. She had to just lay there as death grew ever closer.
…
Aaron silently cried as he watched Puffy feebly twitching, trying to run in a body that’d long ago lost the ability. It was a miracle she was even alive, but Aaron blamed himself. He should have picked up the medication when he’d spilled it, but he’d been too tired, and had forgotten. Now Puffy was paying for that mistake.
There was nothing to do now but wait, see if the fluffy could hold out. The vet had warned him that even if she survived, the road to recovery would be long, maybe even her entire life. Whatever nightmare she was going through would scar her. But Aaron promised the semi-conscious fluffy that no matter what, he’d be there for her until the end.
…
Puffy lay in darkness. How long had she been here, choking on tubes, paralyzed by exhaustion but unable to rest? Would the ghastly sensation in her legs ever leave? Would she ever be rid of dread that seethed inside her?
Hours passed, each moment feeling like eternity. Strangely, she couldn’t remember things for more than a few moments, a haze enveloping her mind. Eternity passed between heartbeats, each thump promising to be the last. But she held on, somehow. She knew she was going to die, but somehow she lived on.
Why? Why couldn’t death just take her and be done? She didn’t want to die, no, the thought filled her with horror. But…it had to be better than this never-ending torment. This cruel mockery had grown old many eternities ago.
…
Six Months Later
…
Puffy tried to stand, but the agonizing pins and needles forced her to flop over. Daddeh picked her up, careful not to brush her legs, and gently fed her one spoonful at a time. Eating was a long and painful process, often interrupted by bouts of vomiting, but eventually she managed to eat enough to soothe the aching in her belly.
“Wan-” she said, but didn’t finish the statement. Truthfully, she wanted this misery to be over, wanted to die, but she still felt the terror, even if it was only a pale ghost compared to how it had been for those first hellish weeks. She wanted to die, but fear was overwhelming. She wanted daddeh to know, but was too afraid that he might give her what she asked for.
“Wan baff,” she corrected. The warmth of the bath was one of the few things that made the pins and needles…not tolerable, but somewhat less pronounced. Instead of being the forefront of her mind, the only thing she could think about, they faded to a mere unpleasant distraction. In the warm bath she could talk to daddeh, and sometimes even watch FluffTV on the little screen daddeh had bought for her.
She wanted to be able to play, to be able to run again. At least, she thought she did. It was hard to think, hard to want things. She felt like she was wrapped in an invisible blanket that cut her off from the world, made her feel damp and sticky inside her head. Did she want to play, or did she want to distract herself from how she felt, from the fear and the misery? Did it even matter?
The bath grew colder, and Puffy began to shiver uncontrollably. Daddeh added more warm water, and she relaxed a little, but the bad thoughts were back again, pushed into the forefront of her mind again by the brief moment when the pins and needles were back. Could she live like this? What if this never went away? How long would she have to suffer? Why couldn’t daddeh see how much she hurt and just end this?
As if in response to her thoughts, daddeh brought the tiny special-nummies to her, and she greedily swallowed it, the bitterness not even deterring her anymore. She felt it begin to calm her, felt the agony subside, but it didn’t quite vanish. Daddeh had told her that she’d feel like this until she didn’t need the special-nummies anymore, but even he couldn’t tell her how long that would be.
But for now, for a few precious hours, she almost felt normal again. The pins and needles still wouldn’t let her walk, but the awful thoughts vanished. At times like these, she felt like she wanted to live, like she could make it through this. She felt the drowsiness setting in, but fought it as hard as she could. She wanted to enjoy this as long as she could before the nightmare started again in the morning.
…
Two Years Later
…
Puffy ran around, playing with the other fluffies at the fluffpark. Daddeh sat by, watching her carefully, never letting his eyes wander. Sometimes she still fell over, still needed the tiniest bit of the special-nummies to make the thinking-place-hurties go away. But for the most part, she was able to live as a normal fluffy once more.
She didn’t really remember the time spent recovering. It felt as if it’d all been in a daze, as if it’s passed so quickly. Even if her friends told her she’d been sick for many forevers, it felt like only yesterday that she’d first eaten the special-nummies. So much time, vanished.
She played tug of war with one of the other mares, barely flinching as the rough dirt slid under her hooves. A barely-perceptible twinge lingered in her legs, like she sat wrong for just a minute. Not enough to slow her down, in fact she barely noticed it now, but enough to remind her of what the special-nummies had taken away from her.
[Author’s Note: Don’t do Xanax. Even if your doctor offers it, if it’s not for short-term seizure treatment just don’t.]
16 Likes
I’ve done it once, it was a really ugly fucking feeling. Never again
A really good story, probably one of my favorites actually. Great writing.
Sorry, that could conflict with my “Don’t take medical advice from a website about colorful horsepig torture” rule.
Fun story though.
2 Likes
Reminds me of my time recovering from polydrug addiction. Took years and is still in progress. Of all the drugs out there, benzodiazepines are one of the worst—mostly because they aren’t prescribed with the respect they deserve. You can thank big pharma lobbies for that. Benzos can be even harder to kick than heroin, and the withdrawal is so bad it can actually kill you.
1 Like
eeeh that feels wrong. Limit it as much as possible, try to find better alternatives, but if it doesn’t help - if you have a good doctor, listen to them
I have to take sleeping pills from time to time, currently on Xanax. If you’re not dumb, it’s a good medication
The story was cool tho! Looking forward to the next one!
I used to do Xanax in college. I stopped the night my friends had to drag my ass into my house and up to my room. I literally have no memory of that night at all.
Honestly that’s one of the best outcomes you could hope for. A friend of mine spent three years trying to quit after her doctor had her taking benzos (class of medication Xanax falls under) for too long and she kept having seizures whenever she stopped using them. That class of medication has its uses, but its incredibly dangerous, even more so than opiates, so it’s shocking how often it’s given instead of the literally dozens of safer alternatives.
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The next day was when I decided no more. I haven’t had Xanax in over a decade now.
But what of medical advice about colourful horsepig torture?