A foal sits crying on the floor. His daddeh left him there to go run errands. He is not in his saferoom. He has no saferoom. He is still only a little baby, weaned mere days ago, and so he normally stays in a microfluff habitat in the living area of daddeh’s studio loft. But daddeh has to replace it today while he gets nummies and “head.” The poor, lonely, trembling babbeh didn’t know what daddeh needed a head for. He already has one!
Normally a foal left out in a cluttered and cramped apartment, where space is at a premiun due to shelves and furniture being placed to maximize usability, would in mere moments succumb to accidentally getting fucked to death by an inanimate object.
So daddeh put him in an empty toilet paper tube.
His little weggies were still growing, his joints still malleable from youth. Only his head stuck out. The rest of him was confined to the cardboard his daddeh had stood on end where he couldn’t hurt himself even if he did somehow manage to tip over or even roll a bit. He’d been there all morning. Daddeh woke him uo earlier than usual and let him play in his Special Playpen, a small dog-bed with lavender inside it.
He was so excited! It was only for special occasions. But after a couple forevers, daddeh came back and retrieved his Clear Housie Nest. Then he picked up the foal and pushed him headfirst into the tube.
“Eeee! Nu wike meanie toob! Wai daddeh makin tooby num wittwe babbeh?”
“Shut up, you dumbass baby. You shit in the water circulator dish and fouled the entire pump system. Now I have to get a new house and throw your old one away.”
He was shocked. “NUUUU! GWASS HAOOOOSSEEEEEE! DADDEH WAAAAAAI?”
But daddeh just rolled his eyes and set the babbeh down in a cookie tray, leaving without an answer. That was two hours ago, and since then the babbeh has been screaming off and on. Sometimes for help, sometimes for forgiveness, sometimes in righteous resentment, and a few times in genuine rage.
But now? Now he’s just weeping softly because he shit and pissed his tube.
“Huuuuu wai daddeh gif babbeh wowstest papew huggies? Am gud babbeh! Onwy wan wub an huggies…” He couldn’t understand why his daddeh would leave him like this! His neck hurts because he can’t rest his head. He’s too fat, so if he slumps over his neck fat makes him uncomfortable. He’s impotently kicking his little weggies around under himself, his front weggies folded awkwardly against his body. His shoulders have been aching since he went into the tube, but now his right weggie is getting worse.
It isn’t stopping.
Before, he was mostly just whining and being an overly dramatic babbeh. He held out hope that daddeh was listening and would have heart hurties hearing his bestest little babbeh suffering and free him. But now, the pain in his hip was reaching a critical point.
He started out weak, winded from sobbing and limply thrashing about. "Hewwwwwp…Daddeh peeze…" His voice was scratchy and his throat hurt from yelling, but the pain was too much. “Huuuuu, huuu huuuuuu, huuuuuu HUUUUUU! DADDEH! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! OWWIEOWWIEOWWIE WEGGGGGGIES!” It felt like his legs were tearing apart. In reality, it was just a bad cramp. But he didn’t know. He couldn’t have known. All he knew was his leg hurt more with each passing moment.
Then his shitting finally tipped him over. Unable to shield his face, he hit his open mouth on the edge of the cookie tray. His teeth had only come in over the last week, and the two top front ones popped right out and klinked across the floor. He was barely aware of that, because the impact on his hips succeeded in dislocating them both.
His shrieking had finally broken his voice, allowing only a strained hissing wheeze sound to carry forth his song of anguish. He blacked out from the pain and the exertion, the taste of blood in his mouth.
…
Daddeh came back when the sun had gone down. He didn’t hear his colt complaining, so he figured he must have given up and taken a nap. He retrieves the babbeh, not noticing his teeth. Instead, his heart is melted by the sight of a chubby sleeping babbeh all smooshed into a tube. He looked like a tube of biscuit dough trying to expand. The poor babbeh had been so worn out from screaming and suffering all day that he was practically comatose. He didn’t stir as daddeh placed him gently inside his newer, bigger Nu See Howsie. He looked so precious in his adorable little tube. Daddeh tore it off of him, freeing the beleaguered foal.
Daddeh had purchased a nice comfy pouch, designed to comfortably and safely hold a babbeh in place when their enivronment is being cleaned. He felt pretty clever, having thought up that cardboard tube on the way out the door. He felt kind of bad leaving the little fella, but he was just so nervous around “hoomins hu nu am daddeh.” It would have been too stressful for such a young fluffy.
While putting the limp colt into the new SafeSleeper pouch, he inadvertantly popped both hips back in. This was finally painful enough to wake the poor suffering babbeh, though it took several seconds for him to become aware.
By that point, daddeh had gone. He had turned and was walking out the door. The babbeh tried to call, but his voice was so meek and quiet he could barely hear it himself. It was dark now. Time for sleep. Daddeh wouldn’t be back until morning.
He looked across the box at his nummies bowl. Everything was bigger, cleaner, nicer. Daddeh had really given him a lot here. His bowl even had his favorite: Cold Spaghettios with a little sugar stirred in. He liked the cold ones because fresh sketties burned his mouth. Freeing himself from the loosely draped pouch daddeh had left him snoozing in, he tried to walk to his food.
His front weggies hurt so bad he almost blacked out again. Instead, he just fell over and made some sicky wawas. They didn’t taste OR smell pretty. Every step he took with his front legs felt like sprinting on a freshly rolled ankle with a side order of constant charley horse. He was sobbing, but no huhuhus came out. Being unable to externalize his agony took a sad, scared, tired, and hungry fluffy and frustrated the hell out of him.
He hurt so bad he wanted to shriek. He couldn’t shriek no matter how hard he tried. It only made his throat hurt more, and that made him angry. So angry he wanted to stomp and kick and give sorry hoofsies to his stuffy friend or pillow like daddeh taught him to do when he has wowstest angwies. But he can’t. Stomping makes his weggies burn with pain, and that starts the cycle again.
By the time he reaches the Sketties, he collapses into them. They’re all over his face and tummeh fluff, making him icky sticky and biggest grossies. He doesn’t care. This is the only good thing today. He’s in agony and daddeh abandoned him and he’s sad and scared and furious with no way to express it. He’s a tightly wound spring under a lead brick. Sure, he’s compressed to his maximum and is ready to burst out with all that energy.
But a lead brick is a lead brick. So he doesn’t burst. He sobs quietly into a bowl of cold canned pasta while drifting in and out of the waking world. As he finishes it, the sleep takes hold. His voice is finally returning. The last thing he hears before drifting off is the surprisingly welcome sound of his own misery.
“Huuuuu…”
…
Jerry is an adolescent colt who lives with his loving daddeh in a very nice apartment where he has his own saferoom. His daddeh loves him, and he loves his daddeh. Even if his daddeh has been dummeh from time to time.
“Jerry! Suppertime!”
“Hooway! Jewwy cummin daddeh! Wait fow Jewwy! Nu num aww da nummies, daddeh! Tee-hee!” Jerry was almost a stallion. He’d grown enough to not need to live in a terrarium anymore, but some things were still difficult. The walk from his saferoom to the kitchen is about fifty feet. Not bad, only takes him about ten minutes.
His front legs have never been right. The trauma of dislocating them combined with having been mooshed into a tube for several hours has given them serious long term flaws and weaknesses. His shinbones bend in slightly. His front hips pop out if he tries to move too fast, and while it doesn’t hurt like it once did it’s still quite painful.
He can walk fine, he just has to walk slow. Very slow. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever run again. Daddeh apologized when he found out. He made saddy wawas and they had lots of huggies and made huhuhus together. Daddeh named him, knowing that was a big deal for fluffies. He wanted to give Jerry something to make up for what he’d lost.
Thirty feet into his journey is the hardest part. A single step up, from the living room to the kitchen. He slowly approached and as he reached the step, he reared up on his hind weggies. Pausing to take a breath and compose himself, he leaned forward and allowed his chubby tummy to cushion him as he impacted the step, finally letting his Huwty Weggies gently come to a rest. Then, he started pushing with his back weggies. Trying to push himself over was tricky, but eventually one of his thrashing attempts to push off with his hind weggies actually caught and he was pushed forward.
He was lucky today. Only had to lift himself a tiny bit with his front weggies once he was up. A couple minutes later, he was slowly waddling over to daddeh for good nummies and bestest bewwy wubs. “Hewwo daddeh! Nummies weddy?” His daddeh gave him good upsies and put him in a Nummies Bed, designed to comfort the torso and extremities of a fluffy focused on enjoying their meal. This wasn’t some crude contraption, this was that good shit.
Jerry happily munched on spinach alfredo vermicelli while a low power fan created a weak vacuum that whisked the occasional fart into an exhaust filter where it could be neutralized. Anyone who’s tried to eat a meal with their fluffy can attest to the many benefits of such a device.
Daddeh gave him wonderful petties and gud scratchies behind his ears and on his neck. The tv was on “Wook At Aww Da Pwaces,” a FluffTV travel show starring a sad pillowed unicorn whose name was Racetrack and whose daddeh is about to be contacted by Racecar’s daddeh’s lawyers because that is some Mega Bloks level knockoff bullshit.
Jerry’s Daddeh was entirely too online for his own good, and complained about stuff like this. Jerry liked it because all the stories were about fluffies and he could understand them as a result.
Jerry had troubles. He had struggles. Sometimes he was a little stinker and daddeh had to put him in a sorry box and he cries and cries until he’s freed. Sometimes his hurties are worse than other times, and sometimes they’re so bad that he falls down and gets owwies. He’s never really gotten any faster. When he was a foal, he was slow because he was tiny. Then he was REALLY slow because he was tiny and his joints had been mangled. Now he’s bigger, but he’s still slow. A walk across the room takes as long now as it did when he was learning how to do it. But he can make it. He always does, albeit with some consternation. Most days, he never even thinks about things he can’t do. He’s never done them, so they’re hard to miss. Most days that’s enough to insulate this loving and compassionate little ball of chubby goodness from the bleak reality that he’s never jumped and never will.
“Dis bwite tiem, Wacetwack went…tu Wacetwack! Gunna see aww da fwuffies wun in da waces!”
He sighed.
Most days.