The first thing you ever learned was that life was cold, uncaring, and unfair.
Mummah did not love you. You were the first of your siblings to get a name, but it was a mean name. Poopie. Yickie, dummeh Poopie.
She never willingly gave you milkies, no matter how often you begged or how hard you cried. Instead, she dropped you in a place that smelled the worst. A place where she put all her other poopies. The only time you felt warm here was when she covered you in her foul smelling poop or rancid peepees.
You never understood why until the day your see-places finally opened. You stared at your reflection in the cracked mirror discarded among the rest of the trash. At first you had thought it was another fluffy, but when it didnât respond to your questions, and only copied everything you did, you slowly realized that the other fluffy was you.
You looked at your matted fluff and saw poopies. At least you though it was poopies until you desperate tried to give yourself licky-cleans to make them go away, only to realize that it was just your fluff.
No wonder mummah hated you. You were ugly. Dark brown, with an ugly dark green splotch that mottled the left side of your muzzle. Your hoofs didnât look so pretty either, under all the caked shit and dirt. Your mane was also pitifully ugly. The ugliest, muddiest pink? Or maybe purple? You couldnât tell, but it had uglier tinges of green forming at the ends. Your body wasnât full and fluffy like your mummah or siblings. You were all skin and bones with your dull, grey eyes sunken in and bones showing through. You never grew out of your baby fluffâŚ
Your tummy had the worst hurties, but youâd been used to it for as long as you could remember. Your teeth were still tiny nubs, barely able to chew through anything tougher than your familyâs shit. You licked your dry, cracked lips as your eyes drift over to your mummah. The only time youâd gotten milkies was when you had stolen them late at night when everyone was sleeping. Youâd only been caught once, and the beating your mummah gave you was enough to deter you from trying again any time soon.
Your tummy grumbles loudly, and your mummah notices you. You quickly look away, hoping sheâll ignore you. Youâve learned not to search for her love, because she has none to give to you. All her love was reserved for her âbestest babbehsâ. You hear her hoofsteps and you close your eyes, bracing yourself for pain. Yet the pain doesnât come.
Instead, you hear your mummah huff in agitation. âHewe, dummeh poopie. Nim Mummahâs poopies.â
She tried to bury you in a flood of smelly piss and shit. With shaky legs, you manage to force yourself up and move away, ignoring the splash of putrid liquid hitting your backside. You had to get out of the way before she could kick you while scraping pebbles and dirt onto her mess.
You sigh quietly, shakily moving over to your newspaper bedding. It was soiled and reeked as much as everything in your little corner, but it was the only thing close to comfort you had.
You ate as much as you could stomach from the left over poopies your mummah and siblings left you the previous bright time. No matter how often you had to do this, you could never get used to the taste nor keep your weak, aching stomach from lurching and threatening to throw it all back up.
When had finished fighting your body into cooperating with you, you curl up in the crusty, putrid news paper you call a nest. Your body trembles from the cold as your mind proposes the same question itâs been asking for a while. Do you want forever sleepies?
You debate on it, as you usually do. Being awake wasnât pleasant in the slightest. Everything hurt, sometimes you felt too weak to move. Your family didnât care for you, sometimes actively seeking you out only to torment you.
Sleep wasnât much better either though. It wasnât easy to do unless you managed to pass out from exhaustion, and it was always cold and uncomfortable. You were still hungry, and your mind always showed you mean sleepy time pictures. Experiencing those forever wasnât really appealing.
But was it really any better than being awake?
You decide that youâre too tired to think about it any more for now. Maybe youâll want to die later. After a nap.
You close your eyes, and try to dream. You try to imagine what youâd be like grown up. You imagine yourself starving, just as much as you are now. Only you look worse. Youâre missing fur, your mouth a putrid mess as wormy things wriggle out from the poopies youâre forced to eat. Your full of sickies, your eyes look cloudy from the goopy nasties stuck in them. You smell beyond wretched. You imagine your family being found by a smarty, and making a deal with your mummah. She gives you to him for enfies, so that she and your siblings can have nummie skettiesâŚ
You donât like these sleepy time pictures. These are the pictures that make you want to say yes to forever sleepies. You desperately try to imagine something else. Anything else to see if thereâs anything worth living for.
You imagine a bright blue sky. You imagine a big, bright green field of grass nummies, and running through it as fast as you can. Youâre big, and full, and fluffier than ever! Your mane and tail bounce with every bounding trot. You carry a stick in your mouth as you rush your way over to a human. You imagine this human is your mummah or daddeh. You give them the stick and they tell you how good you are at playing with them. They ask you for a hug and you feel your heart swell with joy. They love you. Even though youâre still as ugly as ever, they love you.
This is a good sleepy time picture. It makes you not want the forever sleepies quite yet. You know that these good feeling pictures are only a dream, but you cling to it, pretending itâs real, if only for just a little longer. You hope that one day, if you were able to survive to be a big fluffy, youâd get a taste of that life. To have a home, to have a real mummah or daddeh and not the cruel and hateful being that brought you into the world.
Just a little of that love, before you die. Thatâs all you really want.
