>It was a solemn day at the fluffy shelter.
>Pretzel, a brown fluffy with a white mane, had been there for months and his allotted time was up
>Pretzel is placed in the gas chamber
>Shelter attendants bow their heads and walk away
>The chamber fills up with yellow-gray haze
>“Smeww wike nummies! Am time fo nummies?”
>Pretzel eagerly inhales the fragrant cloud
>“Smeww su good”
>“Nummies soon?”
>“Hewwo?”
>“Hewwwwwo?”
>Pretzel waits in the box for a long time. Gradually his skin begins to itch
>“Su itchy!” he cries, as he scratches himself with his hooves and rolls around, trying to sooth the itching that is covering his entire body, “Pwetzew am su cough itchy…”
>“Hewwo? Miss Mawcie? Hewwo!? Pwetzel think Pwetzel xxamxx hab cough sickies. Pwetzel see pwaces am sowe and nu can make good bweevies and am SU ITCHY.”
>“An stiww smeww nummies. When nummies?”
>Much time passes this way
>Pretzel’s nose is running, he’s constantly coughing, his eyes are nearly swollen shut, and his skin is beginning to blister
>“huu huu! cough Miss Mawcie, pwease cough hewp Pwetzew! sniff Pwetzew hab wowstest sickies. Nee medcine cough cough cough”
>He stops to scratch himself, bursting some of the blisters.
>“Owwies! wheeze Pwetzew hab owwies! Huu huu huuu…”
>Time passes
>"Pwetzew nee make poopies! sniff Pwease someone bwing wheeze Pwetzew to wittabox su no Sniff su no make bad bad poopies! cough cough COUGH
>With this last cough, bloody diarrhea spurted prom Pretzel’s backside
>Nu! Pwease stay in poopies! Pwetzew am good fwuffy!"
>Pretzel moaned. His insides felt almost as bad as his outsides.
>He went back to calling for help, occasionally stoppoing to cry about the bad poopies. At least the nummy smell covered up the poopy smell.
>The blisters gradually cover Pretzel’s entire body, and with the itchiness he’s constantly popping them. It’s painful and his fluff is coming out.
>“huu Cough huu huu, Pwease sniff pwease stay on Pwetzew pwetty fwuff. cough huu huu HUUUUU…”
/>He’s reduced to constantly crying, both from the pain and for the loss of his fluff. From the itchiness, from the stomach upset, from the bad poopies, from his eyes, which were now completely swollen shut and weeping blood, and from the fact that nobody had yet come to help him or to give him any of the food that he could still smell.
>Pretzel’s symptoms only intensified. He was soon unable to do anything but sit in the floor of the little room weeping and wailing with pain, stopping only to cough up blood
>Pretzel’s fluff was all gone now. It littered the floor of his small chamber.
>His sobs and screams, now interspersed with frightened chirps, intensified as his skin gradually began to slough off in emulation of the fluff. Blood sprays from his mouth whenever he coughs or screams.
>Pretzel wails and chirps in pain for over an hour until finally the bleeding in his respiratory tract fills his lungs and he drowns in his own blood
>If it hadn’t been his lungs it would have been his skin; there was very little of it left still attached
>The next morning Marcie and the other shelter workers clean out the gas chanber before they open up the fluffy shelter
>The end credits roll to the tune of “Mustard Gas” by Darkest of the Hillside Thickets (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uREig9-hGwA)