Rent-A-Fluffy
Rent-A-fluffy #2
Rent-A-Fluffy #3
It was Christmas now and one of the fluffies was feeling quite festive. Bolt had a Santa hat placed over his head and a little rinky-dink plastic tree set on his podium.
“Jingew beww! Jingew beww! Stoopi dummeh Cwismas smeww! Hae Cwismas! Teehee! Dummeh mummahs ‘n daddehs!” His personality seemed to get worse with each bad event that happened. It’s like he fed off of it. Every single huwty that others got only seemed to embolden him. The cattleprod and sink time barely even seemed to work on him now, though the employees had largely stopped caring. Everyone wanted a fluffy at the moment. Even one with a shitty personality.
He at least seemed preferable to Izzy. She had a habit of crying almost constantly. Standing there, tears tracking down to the podium. It was hard to grasp at the straws of nice things. Her fellow fluffy was like a blackhole that sucked up every positive feeling one could muster up. The mare didn’t even look up to the mummahs or daddehs that passed by. What was the point in any of it?
“Look mom, he’s so cool!” A boy with a group of his brothers said, pointing out Bolt to his overweight mother. One of them agreed. “Yeah! Those are the best colors ever!”
Bolt glared at them, stamped a hoof, stuck his tongue out. “Hewwo dummehs. Dipey babbehs.” They all cheered. He acted really tough! This was the perfect choice for a family of only boys. The mom sighed, scooping Bolt up.
“Alright. You can have this little asshole. But it counts as all of your Christmas gifts…” Holding Bolt up, Izzy finally glanced up to look at him. He didn’t look happy at all. These days the cattle prod made him shriek for a moment than go right back to bad behavior but now…he looked a lot like Parakeet had when he’d been shocked on his first and only working day here.
It took ten minutes before Bolt was brought back out of the store. He looked straight at Izzy. “Bye dummeh Izzy! Bowt see yew abin!” Sticking his tongue out. The mare didn’t even have to wonder. She kind of knew what was going to happen.
Nobody came for her. Whether or not there was a big want for fluffies at the moment didn’t matter. Izzy stood on her podium every day with no other fluffy to look at. On occasion an employee would walk by and zap her with a cattleprod so she sang a Christmas song.
“Mewwy mewwy Cwismas. Snowy snow ‘n pwesents….huuu….” The mummahs and daddehs who walked by her saw only a creature of abject misery. Who would want to bring that tearstained, glum looking thing into their household?
Every night it was back to the kennels. Before, there were at least other fluffies to talk to. Even Bolt. Yet now it was all alone time. There wasn’t even the ramblings of the stallion to keep her company. She ate the kibble that cut her cheeks and gums. Lapped up old water which was kind of yellow. Made good poopies and peepees. It was the only thing to do.
Just like clockwork. Two weeks later after Christmas had ended the excitable employee who had dealt with Parakeet walked in with a big bag.
“Dude! Dude! You know that white trash that didn’t make a single payment on that asshole fluffy? Look at this shit!” He dumped out the contents of the bag so his manager could see. It was Bolt. Well, Izzy thought it must be. Most of his fur had been shaved off. Needles stuck out out the top of his head, one of his ears was a bald and charred lumped of burnt flesh. One eye had been put out and was now just a staring cavern of bloody ruin. His hooves were completely worn down and almost bloody stumps at this point, and a long cardboard tube stuck out of his poopie place.
“Dude! They were setting fireworks off out the ass of this thing! I mean look at it! DUDE!” The guy’s manager stared at him. Crossed his arms.
“I’m going to fucking write you up. I don’t want to see what a bunch of Hills Have Eyes rejects did to it. Put. It. In. The. Kennel.” The employee looked hurt, scooping Bolt up and dragging him off to the stock room. It really was like history was repeating itself. The day dragged on before Izzy was finally brought back to her little living space.
“Alright, c’mere. You know the drill.” Bolt was taken out from his kennel. He didn’t fight it. Didn’t beg for huggies or wub. A rubber stamp pressed onto his forehead. ‘DAMAGED MERCHANDISE’. Inside the trashcan he went, the employee having to grunt and force him down with a foot since he still had a long tube sticking out his poopie place. He left for the night, and there was silence for a moment. Then Bolt carried on as he always did.
“Izzy! Izzy! Bowt am twashy nao! Bowt am dummeh! ‘Aw fwuffies am ‘fo twashies! Nu am ‘fo wub! ‘Dis am Bowt’s pwace!”
His legs still worked and he was fully grown unlike the foals. Damaged hooves or not he rattled rapidly against the plastic trashbin. “It am dawkies in hewe Izzy! Su dawkies! Su huwties! Aw ‘fo Bowt! Aw ‘fo fwuffies! It am Bowt’s twashies naow, it am Izzy’s twashies tu!”
Izzy shook her head. She didn’t want to be trashies. That’s not what fluffies were for at all! They were for love and to make heart-happies!
“Nu! Izzy neba am be in twash pwace! Nu wan! NU WAN, BOWT!” She sank against her kennel as is to further distance herself from the place.
“Yew am hab wowstest huwties tu! Nu babbehs, nu happies, nu wub ‘o wunnies ‘o huggies! DAWK PWACE ‘FO IZZY! WOWSTEST HUWTIES ‘N MUNSTAHS!” He laughed and laughed in the trashcan. Izzy tried to ignore him and sleep. Tried to think of anything else. Yet he continued on and on. It seemed like the more he talked, the more he got whipped up into a frenzy. He screamed and screamed at her. Kept at it until his voice got hoarse and croaky. The stallion taunted her, coughed, rattled around. He didn’t cry or beg for help. All he did was torment the mare until finally the trashcan was quiet. The room felt too silent. Yet in the darkness it was like his words kept repeating around her.
Another morning on the sales floor. Yet Izzy didn’t know something: Fluffies may have been a big hit but a few weeks after Christmas they were being abandoned in droves. Her value had just plummeted quite heavily.