Based of of this image I liked it alot
Your name is Rock, and you are special to this herd.
At least that is what Judas, the smarty who leads this herd, tells us. His words and kindness are unmatched, you dont know that any smarty treats their herd better. At least by not what you have been through.
It’s okay now, because the herd loves you because of your color, not despite it. You and your friends feel like you belong somewhere finally, no longer pushed away as “poopie” or “ugwy” or “munstah”. Your group knew the truth. Judas gave you the truth and you are in his herd to enforce it.
Judas said that only fluffies like us should be in the herd, that we are perfect because we are green, or brown, or a munstah, or otherwise rejected by other fluffies. In fact, it is the hate of other fluffies, giving our kind “fowevah-sleepies” because we dont look right. Because of their sins, their hatred for us, we must defend our selves promptly, and save any other mistreated fluffy and make them understand the truth.
He had the solution, and we followed him into his crusades.
He said that herds that hate them, want them to “go fowevah-sweepies”, are everywhere. And that we can only be safe when we give those herds “fowevah-sleepies” before they could. No one wanted to at first, but than you remember Judas’s words.
“Did yu aw fowget what yuw “pweety” mummah did tu yu, whewe teh hoomins weft yu, o’ what stweewy pwaces yu wewe moved awound in? Du yu forget yuw forevah hurties nao? Nu, nu yu shawt not! For Chudas know what bad dings happen tu yu. Yu wiww nevah fowget, an’ dey need tu wecieve ouw wetwibushun”
Retribution was a word you did not understand, and most didn’t know or wouldn’t tell you when you asked them. Judas said “yu wiww know when yu fweew it”.
You never understood why he knew you would feel it until you participated in your first crusade. Your herd has successfully found a “pweety” fluffy herd that mistreated their “poopie” brothers harshly, and now your herd is here to stop them before they hurt any other good fluffies.
But you aren’t leading the effort, because you are not anything special.
You aren’t strong enough to be a toughie, you couldn’t fight other tougies with sharpie hurties and stompies, killing the other toughies and stallions.
You aren’t fast enough to be a sneakie, able to sneak behind the group to attack the mares and smarties who try to run away, killing off any stragglers that might escape toughies.
You didn’t have the nose or eyes to be a scoutie, who even now keeps looking for the hidden foal or mare that needs to be eliminated.
You aren’t a mawe, so no taking care of babies left behind by other mummahs and grow the herd, fulfilling the promise to help those in need
And you aren’t smart enough to lead with the smarties, who came up with all this and give your herd its love.
You are a runt, even to this herd but the smarties said they gives you something to do, something that they trust you with, especially even.
So they give you another job, one that any fluffy can do, but the one which is worse than anything else.
Foal stomper
The smarties say that all members of the enemy herd are potential dangers to ours, and that includes the foals. It’s just natural of “pweety” fluffies to look down on us, so we must stomp down on them. Even if they are only “wittwe chiwpy babbehs”.
During the crusade, the other herd scattered away from eachother once the toughies were killed. Foals from these cowering fluffies were either left behind or next to the corpse of their parent. The foals are then brought to the smarties, who decide what to do with them. Some are designated as baities, some are forced to be poopie bebeehs, and some, well, worse.
They give you the other herds “bestet-bebbehs” and other favorited foals, and you are to smash them into the earth beneath untill they are dead. You aren’t sure you can do this.
You feel like a munstah. Stomping the life out of foals who are just little and shouldnt know any better. It’s chirpies and not that much older that are brought to you to stomp.
Not only do you stomp the foals, you also have to take their mangled corpse and put them into a plastic bag carry the “nummie sack” to bring back to the herds foals. Judas said that Nummies from fat, overfed foals give good nutrition to the herds foals while saving on time and energy needed for foraging.
You think herd maybe munstahs, but as judas assured you all that “ib we awe munstahs, what does that make them?”.
“Hewe yu gu, wock. Dis wun is bestest bebbeh in whowe wowwd, appewhentwy. Du it fow us.” Says raspberry, or at least you think that’s his name now. You don’t remember if he took a different one or not.
That last thing he said was a common saying around the herd. It helped keep the gruesome reality of their raider nature in focus to helping those who are unloved. This was necessary to protect themselves, after all.
And those who seek to hurt your tribe are right in front of you.
“GIBE bested bebbeh back to mummah, ugwy dummeh” the foal spat.
Even with the venom from the foal, you still felt guilty about how you have to kill this wiwwe fluffy. You really don’t think you could do this.
“Poopie fluffy, mummuh and daddeh wiww gibe ou sowwy-poopies for messing with spawkle”
Then you remember
You remember your first interaction with another foal that’s not your siblings, and how that foal balked, disgusted at you before running to their parents. You had the “wowstest hurties” when the foals parents got to you, and you learned an important lesson.
These foals were already like their parents before them, down to their brutish hatred of you. You know what needs to be done.
You raise your hoofs into the air and slam them down hard, screeing with all your conviction. It doesn’t kill the foal.
“SCREEEE- Owies, wy meanie munstah hurt bestest bebbeh, am gud bebeeh. Huu huu” the foal creaked loudly. Like the foal that got you beat, you needed this one to shut up.
You stomp again, and again, your hooves wet with blood. The fifth time, the foal doesn’t move, it’s insides now “outies” and it’s eyes shot with overflowing blood. It’s weak chirping gone soft is haunting your ear.
You look to the pile of fluffies and grab a blue chirpy. You have more hesitation about this one. The little chirpy is nearly cute before you, laying their peacefully and suckling on its hoof. The foal begins to chirp for its mother.
You remember again
You were only a foal when you saw another mare, watching her run straight over to a blue “chirpy” when the foal starts to chirp harshly. Looking over to your left, you see a brown foal, shivering and quietly numming on poopies, next to his crushed sibling. You heard about how that mummah killed her brownie bebehh when it wouldn’t stop chirping for milkies, saying “poopie bebbehs no nee miwkies and no have enough miwkies fow notha bebbeh anyway”.
That foal talked to you, just that day before. Chirped at you when you walked over and played with it. And then it was gone for being itself.
Presently, you raise your hoofs again, knowing that this gluttonous foal stole what you and your kind deserved. He deserves this.
You crush the chirpy with a loud scree the bebeeh dying after horrible pain and suffering.
The other foals and bebbehs look on in fear. You know that look. It was the look those fluffies gave your parents before those monsters killed your parents. Before your sissy was killed by humans who called her ugly and threw her against a wall. Before you learned the truth.
And these “bebbehs” are to also learn the truth of this world.
You stomped them mercilessly, instantly maming each and every foal given to you with loud and reckless vigor. You wouldn’t forget again. You wouldn’t let any other foal go through a beating because they weren’t the right color. You wouldn’t let another foal starved because they were “poopie”. You wouldn’t let the memory of your family fade away, they must be remembered.
And you remembered them best when you are killing foals who are like their parents. Killers of yours.
You smash 10 more foals, all of various ages and colors, then look to the pile and see no more left. With the last scree of the dying orange bebehh, you begins to break down, unable to process all the emotions you feel.
You hear something in the distance, but your crying drowns it out, but not before you recognize the smarties and their mutant alicorn toughie coming to you. You needed to stop crying and show that you could do what judas asked you to do. He didn’t like flufifes who didn’t.
“Weww done bruddah. Chudas knew yu wewe wight fwuffy fow dis. Yu ave’ stwong heawt tu be abwe tu du wight ding.” Judas said to you. Other fluffies would always be surveyed to by the smarties to count how many survived and how effective they were. It’s part of the herds collective duty to its members and all fluffies like us.
“By teh way, du wock want new namsie? Dis is firstest cwusade, and wock can pick namsie from odda fwuffies who nu desewve it.”
You almost forgot that you were allowed to rename yourself, and he was encouraging you into doing so by taking the name from another herds fluffy. Its more of you reclaiming their pretty name as your own for what you deserve.
But you thought differently of your name.
“Nu, am wock. Wock named wock by famiwy. Wock nu fowget famiwy. Wock nevah fowget famiwy. Wock nevah wet dem go again. Wock nevah fowgibe odda fluffies for what they did.”
“Den wock haf found wetwibushun. Howd it tightwy, for wid it is teh stwongest wock can be”
My first time writing fluffies and may be like my fourth written piece ever. Tell me how bad it is.
