Punching Bag (H83r)

“D-don’ be scawedies widdow babbeh… m-mummah am hewe… mummah wike nice mistow! Nice mistow am gon’ gib fwuffies nyu housie! D-d-don’ cwy, babbeh! Gibbin mummah heawt-huwties an’ scawedies… huu huu huu…”

The fat bitch of a fluffy consoled her last remaining spawn, a tale as old as fluffies themselves. The incompetent father got himself killed while looking for food. The other foals that the mare had died to the elements or were consumed amidst a pile of garbage and feces that passed for the nest of these disgusting vermin. Street fluffies lived shitty lives day in and day out, but today was especially shitty for someone, which meant that these unlucky schmucks were going to get it especially bad. Through no fault of their own, aside from being at the wrong place, at the wrong time. Leave it to a desperate baby fluffy to squeal – literally – on its dirty, hapless mother.

“Babbeh nee’ nyu housie! Nesties nu smeww pwetty! Nummies am owwie fo’ babbeh! Cowd! Mummah am munsta babbeh-nummew! Nu wike mummah! Hewp!”

While the foal must have thought this appeal was the most compelling way to move a person to compassion, in actuality, the man hearing its cries could not have cared less. Leering down at the small fluffy, that man could only imagine terrible thoughts, soaked in blood from broken flesh, tenderized with broken bones. So, he took the baby fluffy. Roughly. By the scruff. Upon hearing the ensuing cries of discomfort, the haggard mare huffed and puffed her way after the stranger. His giant strides rendered the act of following after them, the fluffy equivalent of an Olympic sprint. It did not take long for the mare to fall several feet behind, but still she called out with all she had to reassure her young.

“Mummah am hewe! Pwease nu be saddies!”

The baby fluffy blubbered senselessly while leaving a trail of defecation and urine for its mother to trample upon in her panicked frenzy. “Huu huu! Mummah am comin’, widdow babbeh!”

Commendable of her to keep trying so hard for the foal that was driven away from her so. Not that the one who absconded with her offspring cared to consider the fluffy’s actions so. This man did not have any regard left to give outside of his own misfortunes and stresses, so he did what came naturally in world where miserable fluffies seemed more prevalent than the very air one breathed.

The man walked back to his meager home: a duplex, with two doors. He went up to his, fished the key from his pocket, and then stepped into the foyer after opening up. The panting mother fluffy was further up the sidewalk and steadily catching up.

“Mummah… am hewe! Mummah… stiww… hewe!”

When the mare was close enough for the foal-napper’s satisfaction, he placed the baby fluffy down, right at the corner of the doorframe, opposite the hinge. Then he waited for the mare to waddle even closer to her screaming child.

“Babbeh hab owwies! Owwies! Wai huwt babbeh!? Nu wub babbeh!? Wai!”

“Huu huu huu, mummah wub babbeh! Babbeh wub mummah – !”

Rather than comforting the foal, the insipid anthem of these moronic creatures caused it to screech and wail even louder in despair and fear! “Nu! Nu wan’ munsta babbeh-nummer! Hewp! Hewp babbeh!”

“Mummah comin’ babbeh! Mummah… comin’!” The mare coughed, shedding some indignant tears from her disgusting cheeks. Why did the mean man make her have to work so hard for her baby? Nevermind that she had already forgotten the way back to the alleyway nest! But that wouldn’t matter, just so long as she was able to get her last baby back –

The mare took one step too many closer to the door, so the man slammed it shut. The door did not care for the despondent foal in the way. The loud retort that shook the frame made the mare inadvertently release her bowels, and she continued to void herself in disbelief at the spray of red and bits of meat that flew into her face.

The mare, stunned, fell onto her haunches, right into the worst of her mess. “B-babbeh… nuuu… n-nuuu… huu huu huu… pooa’ widdow babbeh!” The fluffy broke down into shaking sobs. She buried her snout into her forelegs, as if somehow blocking the sight from her eyes would be enough to undo the atrocity. Then she started to suck on her hoof, forgetting the nastiness she had trudged through up until then.

The taste promptly reminded her, and a rush of nausea blended into her turmoil. The man opened his door to the gagging and weeping fluffy and said, “Damn. What a shame.” His voice lacked any emotion, and he was unfazed by the sweeping maroon smear on the floor that had once been a foal.

“Do you want a new home, fluffy?” he then asked the mourning mare.

“Huu huu, munsta-mistow gib fwuffy nyu housie? Munsta-mistow gib wastest babbeh foweba sweepies… buh fwuffy nee’ housie… huu huu… huggies an’ wub ma’e heawt huwties go 'way? Can hab moa babbehs watah?”

“Sure,” the man replied with dispassionate dishonesty.

The mare sobbed a few more times as she crossed the distance to the threshold of the man’s door. Once past the edge, he started to relentlessly kick the mare in the side until she fell over, retching and gasping for air.

“D-daddeh, wai!? Am bad fwuffy!?”

“Yes. I hate you,” the man replied coldly. With this, he bent down and dragged the mare by the mane, enough for him to shut his door. She could not find it in her to scream, so winded and sickened was she.

The man hoisted her along by her forelegs next, not unlike how one would handle a dead hog. When she got her voice back, the mare complained, “Tu owwies… meanie mistow hate fwuffy! Hate fwuffy badsies! Fwuffy did nuffin wong! Am onwy wan’ be gud mummah, now am mummah-nu-moa!”

“And you’re going to be alive-no-more, shitrat.”

The mare huu-huu’d. “Nu wan foweba sweepies…”

“We all don’t want things to happen. God still shits on us anyway. Just like how he let you fuckheads be created.”

“Fwuffy am sowwy, munsta-mistow! Am sowwy fo’ bein’ bad fwuffy! Nu kno’ wha’ did wong buh neba do 'gain!”

The man punched her square in the jaw. Several of her teeth went flying out, clattering against his walls and floor. After this, the mare mumbled incoherently, lingering just on the cusp of consciousness.

The man went into his backyard with the mare. Just by the door was a garden hose that was coiled up. He shoved the mare to the ground and got to work fastening the hose around her neck in a crude noose. Using the improvised knot at a leash, he dragged the fluffy to the far side of the fencing partitioning the yard from the neighbors and the sidewalk.

Sensing doom was nigh, the mare slurred her panicked cries and flailed wildly. Paying her no mind, the man looped the other end of the hose around one of the pylons of the fence, and then yanked. The mare yelped as the hose hoisted her off of the ground, though it did not tighten around her neck. The failed gallows had her dangling precariously by her neck in terrible pain.

The man was not perturbed by this turn of events. In fact, it garnered a chuckle from him. A figment of amusement on this drab, awful day. He chuckled as he raised his fists and assumed a squared off boxing stance.

He chuckled as he jabbed a few swift punches into the fluffy’s gut. She kicked her legs out in some feeble attempt to defend herself. The man laughed.

He cocked his fists back and pummeled the mare in her thighs. His knuckles connected with bones, and the limbs now hung awkwardly and limp, bent in all sorts of wrong angles. He smiled and laughed at the mare’s silent cry of pure suffering.

He kept beating her, while making a mental note that he should invest in a punching bag soon, until the mare inevitably expired from the physical trauma, her innards bruised and bloodied. The man released her from the knot and tossed her in the garbage, before setting to cleaning up the red stains and fluffy waste that marred his home.

Despite the hassle, the man did feel better about his day, and was more confident in his ability to handle tomorrow as well. A happy ending, after all.


He should keep using fluffies as punching bags. They’re free, easy to find, and you get more satisfaction out of their pain.


The mess is the only real problem when it comes to that.


Wrap a heavy duty garbage bag around the fluffy, then tighten it up with some tape. Done.



I forgot that I wrote this. I think you’d like this one.

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Very beautiful piece.


An emotionally-healthier world.

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