Roadkill (common_miracle)

Substential amount of fluffmarts have closed down after the initial boom for fluffies some years ago. Not all of them took disposing of their now non-premium product very responsibly. There are no laws yet-in-place regarding fluffy onwership and disownage, only guiding instructions provided by Hasbio official and various online sources claiming they know better from the next. This lead to runaways and survivors of mass fluffy dumps becoming feral and turning into a minor neusance to local residents. Slowly, fluffy shelters started becoming a thing. Still, they were a rarity unless in bigger city centers.

It was a quiet, somewhat chilly may dawn. The time when spring field crickets play and birds quiet down somewhat. The sky was hazy orange-brown and was slowly darkening as the time went by. Rural roads get little traffic at this time of day, especially ones that lead to long-unused industrial grounds that are of plenty in the rust belt region.

Purple mare runaway was trotting along just such a road. On her back was her lone foal - a turd colored pegasus filly with eyes still shut, who was soon-to-be a talkie babbieh. The mare had just three things in mind: To find food so she can produce milkies, to find shelter so she can make sleepies, and lastly to find a mummah or daddieh so she can be loved and have the previous two things for free. Especially a good, caring one and not bad ones like the “meanie-mista” whom she presented herself to before. He took all of her other babbiehs and called the last babbieh a “shit stain”. It was heartbreaking. “Why mistas be so meanie to fwuffy?” she questioned herself, jolting back in memory to where she ran away from a “Bad homsie 'wit no wuv 'fo babbiehs.” It was difficult finding a good owner. She had to be carefull to not dirty up her fluff too much or loose her “lastest babbieh.” “Mistas 'an missies wuv pwetty fwuffies 'wit babbiehs!” She thought, unaware that she was spelling her thoughts aloud.

While she was daydreaming, her foal was half asleep in her back fluff, cooing. This ensured the mother that everything was alright. The yet-nameless critter had a very simplistic mindset - she only wanted to be with her mummah! Right now she was free to sleep and drink away her days as she snuggled mummah’s fluff. The smell of it ensuring her that she was were she ought to be. With a belly full of milk her only real duty was to let mummah know whenever she needed to relieve herself by peeping with urgency. Although, if she couldn’t keep it, she just did it onto mummah’s fluff. Such was her life. Unaware of potential dangers for such a defensless pair or what happened to her brother’s and sister’s.

As the road went by, the mare was getting sore and tired - her hoove pads not designed for long walks, especially on hard surfaces. The grasses were plentifull but they were “no gud gwassy nummies,” at least not for a previously domestic mare who was used to processed foods. As she was looking around she spotted a dumpster: “Big twashies boxie!?” she exclaimed. She sped up her pace, mind occupied with thoughts of a potential meal, memories of previous life and keeping check on her lone babbieh.

The crickets played loudly and the wind gusts became stronger and louder as well. The fluff keeped fluffies safe from cold as long as they remained dry. This time the mare felt the cold wind in a spot to her side, near where her babbieh laid. It must have been soaked. “Babbieh ma’ peepes on mummah 'gain?” exclaimed the mare with a tone of annoyment. Her doughter only coo’ed in response. Then she heard it through the wind - a steady tone of a machine, it was close. Too close!

From the perspective of the little foal everything happened in a flash - mummah suddenly started moving very fast, this made the foal jump up and down. She couldn’t possibly balance herself in such a rush! As mummah was running the foal felt herself slipping and finally being plunged to the side by forces unknown.

Her brain, now besieged with feelings of pain, shock and confusion was unable to process what happened. In place of thought came the innate reflexes of a foal - loud peeping full of fright along with scaredy peepies and poopies. With the poorest of abilities to process the situation, the scared foal began to cought from trying to peep louder than she could. It seemed like forever before the overwhelming feeling of pain has ceased enought for her to try to listen-in for her mummah. A streak of blood was dripping from her nose onto the ground. If she had teeth, she would had lost them in the fall as the snout seemed to be the part of her body which was struck during the impact. Luckily for the little creature, her gums and tongue weren’t in much pain. In fact she only dropped some 30 centimeters before meeting the pavement, which was somewhat warm from the sun.

Next she heard a “thump” sound as wind along with other sounds seemed to quit down a bit. Thoughts started steering in her innocent mind: “What scared mummah so much, that she lost her beloved babbieh? No mummah means no milkies! Little babbieh’s can’t be without a mummah!” As she tried to stand up and find her mother she felt an overwhelming weakness in her joints “They weren’t ready for making walkies yet.” Instead she tried fluttering her tiny wings and wiggled around to make mummah see her. Nothing came from this action, but she tried again and again until she heard: “Ohoho, we have a survivor.” exclaimed the voice of a man. "Fucking vermin, man, I wonder where I will get a hose. The whole’s bloody front is sprayed with gore." he said with a tone as if accusing the little creature of the accident. Taking another look back at his ride and the carcass of the fluffy mother. Her body was split in the middle, looking like it bursted under the weight of the tire, producing a somewhat long splat of quickly drying fluids. Front part of the head and some of the legs were missing, seemingly nowhere to be found. “Right on target” he proclaimed with a bold smile, like that of a child. Turning his attention again to the chirpy foal, gaining closer by leaning hands on his knees. It has grown almost still from exhaustion and being unsure if the voice meant danger, the man swept back his shades until they hit the roof of his cap. “Now ain’t that nasty, damn me if I had a child who would want one of those things.” he uttered, like proclaiming to someone. “Best I can do is put it back where it belongs.”

The foal laid still and full of dread. She didn’t know what to do. Suddently she felt as she is being picked up by her tiny tail! “The pain again, why is a little babbieh given so much pain? Babbieh’s need milkies and love!” that was her understanding of the world. “Eeeep!” she peeped again with all of her might. “Sounds like someone stepped on a puppy. I bet they 'done put some of the dog’s DNA in there too.” said the voice. She felt powerless as she was swinging from side to side, the unknown being having her in his clutches. The wind was gaining in strenght again which made her swing even harder. “Screee! Cought, cought, screee!” It was too much pain for her to whistand as she felt the skin stretching and the bone becoming loose. The entire weight of her chubby, helpless body relied on a bodypart that was made to show how happy she is to mummah after having milkies or making poopies.

“O’ Lord, forgive us, for we have brought demons of our selfish desires on this very earth.” The foal heard a soft sound of garbage spilling into various crevices as the man lifted the lid. Then she felt herself launched into the air, spinning. For the brisk moment believing that her wings will help stabilize this flight and glide her away. The hopes being cut short by a soft landing onto a surface that seemed unnatural: It was completely soft and smooth on the outside but felt hard and bumpy on the inside. She squirmed her tiny hoofs around to feel the surroundings while making expressions reminiscent of that of a human todler throwing a tantrum. “Pthhh” the man spat upon her. It hit her right on the face. She froze, then started chirping. Through the closed eyelids she was able to notice that it was getting darker as the lid closed, but not completely, being supported by some of the trashbags from years past. Unaffected by decomposition as they held only plastic’s and other production waste. Next, the sore, brown chirpy heard steps and then the “thump” sound again. It was quiet for a moment. She thought of mummah and how she abandoned her babbieh to the monstrous being that brought the worst pain she ever knew. She couldn’t feel her tail anymore, it was a flap of swelling tissue still attached by the skin. “Mmmah, mmah” she muttered her first words while voiding what little remained in her bowels.

The world shocked her again as she heard the sound that she couldn’t describe, even in her own thoughts - that of a diesel engine starting, roaring and then propelling the car. It was so frightening her innate behaviour kicked-in again, peeping and chirping for help that is unlikely to ever come.

What is likely to happen to her next?
  • She could be found and given care by a stranger…
  • She could be found and abused by a stranger…
  • She could perish of hunger and cold, lying in her own filth…
  • She could be devoured by birds, live…
0 voters

I’m not a native english speaker so if something is wrong with interpunction or a sentence reads like it was written by a retard - let me know.


Foal-pov stories are so fun, especially when they can’t see. This was a rolicking good time.




Love these kind if stories.



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Dios,me encantó :pray:

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Simply incredible, it brings me great joy to see their hunger for affection tarnished with misery.


Love the little art pieces

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God, I love your fluffy models. They’re just so gloriously pudgy and pathetic.


Noooooo! Democracy is losing!


I hope a kind stranger takes care of her, enough to earn her trust and devotion, only to betray and abuse her.


I want it to starve let a rat or a roach have it’s way with the lil filly!!


I really hope that some kind person will find her and torture her, by cutting off her limbs, starving her and beating her.

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images - 2024-05-13T133015.844~2

I changed my vote from ‘die alone, cold, and unloved by anything’ to ‘found by a random abuser’ just to marginally increase the statistical likelihood of the fluffy’s suffering being canon. Democracy, my friends—It’s terrible, and that’s what matters.


Her fate has been sealed - with 40% being the winning option, she shall suffer yet further and harder. Thank you for voting.