SENECA MOUNTAIN
Chapter Three (and a Half)
or, “What I Did Over Winter Break”
The white pickup truck rumbled down the park road on the cold, misty Tuesday morning. Whereas David Owings would have a white Christmas over in the mountains near Seneca, Ben Hess would see little more than mud and dead grass in the Kanawha Valley.
But at least his favorite uncle had allowed him to ride along as he worked that day. Frank Boggess was a maintenance supervisor for the City of South Charleston—in addition to managing several of the utilities guys, he had to take on a day-to-day route himself. He chose the city park.
Not only was it a cushy job for half of the year (the park was busiest during the summer, and there weren’t any sizeable crowds from late October until Little League season started at the end of March), but it was Frank’s opinion that if you had to work hard, you might as well work outdoors.
“We’ll drive down to the end of the park road to the Little League fields, then work our way back to the entrance.”
“Sounds good to me,” the boy said. “Hey, Frank—you ever see any fluffies out here?”
“Oh, yeah. All the time. Why?”
“Just curious. What do you do with them?”
“Well,” his uncle said, “if they’ve got a collar, we take ‘em to the pound until the owner’s been called. Then, either they pick ‘em up, or we put ‘em down.”
“What if they don’t have a collar?”
“Then we kill ‘em and chuck ‘em in the trash. Sanitation raises all kinds’a hell, though. They always call me up, bitchin’ about the stink.”
“I’ll bet,” Ben said, as the truck pulled to a stop. Both he and his uncle got out and walked the perimeter of both the soccer field and the two small baseball fields. All the locks were still secure on the building doors, and they didn’t find any trash apart from an empty Natty Light bottle and a handful of used condoms at the edge of the parking lot.
The next stop on the way back up the hill was a softball field and the soapbox derby track. Everything looked to be normal aside from a dripping faucet, which Frank quickly fixed with a Channellock wrench. Ben wandered over to the home team dugout and admired the view over the tree-covered hills, and then heard a rustling sound down in the bushes over the hillside.
“Huuuu…nu am nuff nummies fo fwuffy. Dwy weafy nummies nu taste pwetty…"
The teenager pushed his glasses up on his face and a burgundy-colored fluffy pony came into view. He watched it unhappily chew the dead leaves on the ground and crept over to where his uncle was putting his toolbox back in the truck.
“Hey, Uncle Frank!
“What?” he responded, half-jokingly.
“There’s a fluffy just over the hillside there”.
“Well, ok then. Let’s have a look.”
Uncle and nephew walked over to the end of the concession stand and could see that the pony was still trying to eat crunchy brown leaves for sustenance.
“Oh, yeah. I’ll bet that’s ‘Bubba’.”
“Bubba? You gave it a name?”
“Well, technically they’re all named Bubba. Take a look at his ear.”
Ben looked closer and saw a shiny metal ring attached to the fluffy’s right ear. He turned to Frank and asked him what it meant.
“It means,” the man replied, “that we leave him alone.”
“Huh? Why?”
Frank chuckled as they walked back to the truck. “The city decided last spring to release a dozen fluffy pony stallions in the park, each in a different location. Only, they aren’t really stallions anymore. See, they took ‘em all to the vet and got ‘em snipped—just a vasectomy, though. If they’d gone and completely neutered them, then it wouldn’t have done any good. With ‘em all this way, they still go around looking for ‘mares’—once they’ve done the nasty with a mare, she won’t go looking for another stallion, because she thinks she’s already got a bun in the oven.”
The teen was impressed. It sounded like an effective plan. “You think it’s working?”
His uncle nodded. “Based on what I’ve seen. I’d have to check the books to be sure, but I think there’s only been about a third of what we normally have to kill over a summer. Means less time breaking necks, and more time to sit down to lunch—I can’t complain.”
They took the truck up to the picnic shelters next, where they found more beer cans and assorted trash. Up by the tennis courts, they found a fluffy dam rooting through a family-sized Cheetos bag.
“SCREEEEEEEE! Nu huwt mummah! Nee’ nummies fo make miwkies fo babbehs!”
Ben watched as his uncle picked the earthie mare up by her tail and then shift her weight so he could wring her neck. A thought crossed his mind and he blurted out, “Uncle Frank, stop!”
The man’s mouth hung open. “What? C’mon, Ben, it’s part of the job.”
“No, no, that’s not what I mean at all. You’ve got an animal carrier in the back, right?”
He convinced his uncle to shut the sobbing fluffy in the carrier, and she immediately started “huu huuing” over being put in the “sowwy bawks”.
“Does anyone care if you take these things home with you instead of killing them?”
Frank furrowed his brow. “Well, as long as they’re off city property, nobody’s gonna screech about it. But if you think I’m gonna take these little shits home and start taking care of them—”
“No, no, that’s not what I’m saying at all!” Ben protested. “Have you ever had a fluffy steak, Uncle Frank?”
“Nah,” the man replied. “Everybody I know who’s tried it says it’s trash meat. My next door neighbor took a few when he got tired of freezing his ass off during deer season—said it’s the worst thing he’s ever put in his mouth.”
Ben shook his head. “You can’t kill a feral and eat it the next day. Look, I eat these things a few times a week at school—Seneca gets them from a farm, where they feed ‘em grass and such—and it’s awesome.”
“Well, whaddya wanna do, kid? You can see, all the grass is dead.”
“What if we took this one, got a de-wormer for like five bucks, and kept her in one of those big ol’ Tupperware containers out in Grandma and Grandpa’s shed? And it’d probably be ok just to give it table scraps and the like, like a hog.”
His uncle, still skeptical, scratched his head. “Who’s gonna feed it? You?”
The boy shrugged. “Why not? Give me the next two weeks, Frank. I’ll fatten her up, and we’ll ask Grandma to cook her at the end of that time. If it’s awesome, her foals will be grown enough to eat by then. If it sucks, I’ll break their necks and throw ‘em out, and none will be the wiser.”
Frank agreed. At his prompting, the mare went out and found all her foals to take to the “nyu wawm howsie”. When the work day was over, Ben and his uncle cut a large, round hole in one end of a Tupperware container so that the dam’s back legs and ass stuck out and wouldn’t soil the box. Her large teats rested against the inside wall so her unweaned foals could still nurse.
The Boggess family had a Merry Christmas that year, and an even happier New Year’s Eve thanks to Ben’s thoughtful suggestion. From then on, Grandma Boggess’ fluffy roast was a staple at every church picnic and VFW potluck in the Greater Charleston area.
God, these parties are boring.
A fourteen year old boy with bright red hair stood next to the living room wall, hoping not to be noticed. Every year, it was the same thing: his parents were obligated to throw the biggest Christmas party in town for all of their “friends”, and he tried to avoid getting drawn into idle prattle.
It had only gotten worse when Josh Crowder’s dad was elected to the US Senate two years ago. Before, he at least knew some of the people at the party from around town, and some of them were authentically nice people who cared about each other. But here…here…in Washington, DC, “friendship” was just another word for “the guys who have done me the biggest favors over the past year”.
Josh pulled at his collar, trying to relieve the pressure he felt around his neck. With so many people in the room, the temperature rose, which in turn made him swell, which made his collar and tie feel like a tightening noose in an already tense environment.
There was no one here his own age. He saw a little girl with long blonde hair sitting over next to the window and looking sadly at the snow falling quietly in the front yard. The girl appeared to be only eight or nine years old, but she was the only minor in the room besides him. There were some attractive college-aged women in the room, but the high school freshman knew why they were there—they were Congressional interns, likely “working after hours”.
Ugh. Two more weeks and then I can go home. Of course, where was home anymore, if not Seneca? He was glad that his parents had decided not to bring him into this shithole of fake people and overpriced everything. And staying in Charleston wasn’t an option. At least at school he had friends like Ben and David, and he didn’t need to be introduced as “Senator Crowder’s son” every time he met someone new.
He watched as his mom walked into the dining room with a thirtysomething blonde woman (who was apparently the little girl’s mother, as she told her where she was going before she left the room), and his dad stayed in the parlor talking to the woman’s husband. He must have been a Congressman or something—Josh saw a flag pin on his lapel, and recognized it as North Carolina’s flag. He wondered if he should introduce himself and find out if the man was from Charlotte—it might be kind of cool to tell David he had met his Congressman.
But Owings stayed at school, didn’t he? Lucky bastard. Maybe he’s not too in love with things from home right now. He looked back over at the little girl sitting in the window, and wondered if he shouldn’t go over and cheer her up a bit. She looked so sad.
His plan short-circuited when he heard a scritch scritch scritch at the back door. Since both of his parents were occupied with guests, he decided to check and see for himself just who the hell it was.
Josh opened the door. “Yes, can I he—”
“Pwease, nice mistah! Be nyu daddeh fo fwuffy? Cowd times am hewe, an cowd snowies am bad fow tummie-babbehs!”
“Uuuugh. Hang on a minute.”
“Otay, nice mistah! Fwuffy wait hewe.”
He shut the door so the little shitrat wouldn’t scurry in and shit all over the townhouse (or his parents’ guests). His father was nearby, so he decided to ask him what to do.
“Oh, Josh! This is Eric White—he’s the new congressman from NC-12, down near Charlotte. Eric, this is my son, Josh Jr.”
The younger Crowder extended his hand. “Congressman White.”
“Josh, nice to meet you. Your dad here tells me that you go to Seneca Mountain Academy?”
“Yes sir, that’s correct.”
“That’s an excellent school. Do you like it there? My wife and I are looking for a secondary school for her daughter to attend in a couple of years.”
“Yeah, it’s really nice,” Josh said. Not wanting to get drawn into an extended conversation, he added, “sir, might I borrow my dad for a moment?”
The Congressman excused himself, and the boy turned to his Senator father. “Dad, there’s a lobbyist at the back door.”
The elder Crowder’s brow furrowed. “A lobbyist lobbyist, or a Georgia lobbyist?”
“Georgia.”
The Senator sighed and rubbed his temple. “Can you take care of it?”
I was going to anyway, but since you asked… “I really wouldn’t want to ruin my suit.”
“There’s an extra fifty bucks in it for you if you do. And I’ll replace the suit.”
“Actually, the cash won’t be necessary,” Josh said, “get me an earlier flight back to ROA, and it’s handled.”
“Done.”
The two Crowders shook hands and the teenager headed for the back door. He opened it, and sure enough the purple unicorn was still there.
“Pwease be nyu daddeh an wet soon-mummah in da wawm howsie! Fwuffy an babbehs gif ‘oo wotsa huggies an wuv!”
Promises, promises. Now I know why the people here call you fuckers “lobbyists”. Residents of posh Beltway neighborhoods were particularly averse to fluffy ponies. Josh shut the door behind him, closing both himself and the fluffy out of the house. He grabbed the water hose off of its reel and turned the water on.
fssssssssssssssshhhhhhh
“SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
The rotund dam rolled over and over across the backyard. The music playing inside was so loud that the teenager didn’t have to worry about guests hearing the mare’s screams.
“SCREEEEEEEEEE! Nuuuuuuuuu! Wawa am bad fow fwuffies! Am bad fow tummie-babbehs! SCREEEEEEEEEEEE!”
The boy turned the nozzle off, hung up the hose, and went back inside. If that didn’t scare the bitch off, then nothing will.
Of course, he soon found out that the fluffy hadn’t run away after her shower of shame. When he looked out over the new fallen snow in the backyard the next morning, he saw her lying dead on her side, frozen to the ground. He put on his boots and trudged out to dispose of her, but when he grabbed the unicorn’s two left legs and pulled, the mare broke in half lengthwise. Not quite frozen internal organs, including a uterus bloated with six dead foals, spilled out over the ground.
Goddammit, he thought. I should have just whacked her with the shovel.
“Huwwy, fwends! Smawty fin’ nyu nummies-tunnew! Am gud pwace fow soon-mummah nestie!”
“Yaaay! Smawty am bestest smawty-fwend evah!”
“Huwwaaaaay!”
“Yaaaaaay!”
The two teenage girls giggled as they watched as the microfluffies bounded through the tunnels in their nutrigel habitat. The creatures’ exuberance and playfulness was an entertaining and restful break from the morning’s busy shopping ventures.
“That one down there looks like David’s,” Maddie said, pointing to a yellow micro that was sleeping in the fluffpile, “only this one has a purple mane and tail. David’s is yellow all over.”
“You talk about this ‘David’ a lot,” her cousin replied. Hannah Peskowitz was a year and a half older than Maddie, but the two were inseparable when they got together. “Is it official, then? Is he your boyfriend?”
The younger girl sighed. “I don’t know. I mean, I want him to be, and I think he wants to be, but he’s just so shy. I guess I’m not really sure what he wants.”
“Have you kissed him yet?”
Maddie blushed. “Once. On the cheek. But that was right before I left school, so I don’t really know how he felt about it.”
“Oh, come on, girl! You’re selling yourself short. What guy wouldn’t go crazy over you?” Hannah said. “I mean, especially now that you don’t have to wear those Coke-bottle glasses anymore.”
The awkward freshman touched her temple with her fingers. It still felt strange, but she had indeed opted for contacts instead of new glasses at her eye appointment on her first day back home. She told her parents it was because she couldn’t find new frames she liked, but she at least knew that she did it to look prettier for David.
“Yeah, you know, you’re right,” Maddie replied. “Hey, that little pink one there, with the wings—did you just get her? I don’t remember seeing that one before.”
The older girl bit her lip. “Um, actually…they’re all new.”
“Huh? What happened to the old ones?”
“They, ah…they all died.”
“How did that happen?”
“Well,” Hannah started, “you remember how Mom and Dad and I were going to take that trip to Turks and Caicos right before school started?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, Emma Green was supposed to check up on our apartment while we were gone. She got the mail, took Benji out for walks, and gave him food and water…but she forgot to add more nutrigel for the micros.”
“Ohmigod, they all starved to death? In just a week?”
Hannah laughed nervously, “No, no…if only…actually, things got much worse than that. See, microfluffies are really sweet and gentle if you take good care of them. And they’re more sociable than regular fluffies.”
“Uh huh.” Maddie watched her older cousin with rapt attention as she told her story.
“But they turn feral a lot more quickly if they get neglected, or if they escape into the wild. Which is why they had all those problems over in that building on 77th. You remember?”
The younger girl nodded. She remembered. Several years ago, the building her cousin mentioned had to be condemned only six months after it had gotten top marks from the city building inspectors. Apparently, a whole herd of microfluffies had moved in next to The Meatball Shop, attracted by the smell of marinara sauce. They reproduced so quickly and defecated so much that the whole block had to be torn down.
“So here’s what happened—I hadn’t filled the nutrigel myself, because that way Emma would only have to fill it once during the two weeks we were gone. Since she didn’t remember, they ran out before we got back home.”
“Ultimately, the herd split into two factions—the ones that were willing to eat other micros to survive…and the ones that weren’t. You can guess which ones won that battle.”
Maddie gasped. It was a terrible way for any living creature to meet its demise, let alone a sapient one.
“There were a few still hanging on to life by the time we got home, but…they had lost their minds from doing what they had to do. I couldn’t help them.”
Both girls turned their heads slowly and looked at the nutrigel habitat. One of the stallions had dislodged a large piece of gel from a tunnel wall, and now they all chased the new “nummies-baww”, giggling as they went.
“But,” Hannah said, snapping back in chipper fashion, “the good news is that one of my friends from school had some foals to give away. So I cleaned out the tank, refilled it with gel, and now I’ve got a herd again!”
Maddie thought long and hard about her cousin’s story. She was glad that David only had to deal with one of the beasts, knowing how quickly things could get out of hand. The ghastly tale just made her want to hold him tightly all the more.
“As for this…David,” the older girl said, “if all else fails, just show him a little cleavage. God gave you so much of it for a reason, you know.” She reached out and groped her cousin, causing the younger girl to yelp with surprise.
“Girls,” an older woman said, poking her head in the doorway. “Are you all about ready for lunch? I was thinking we could all go over to the Hummus Kitchen.”
“Sounds good to me, mom,” Hannah said. “What about you, Maddie?”
“Sure,” she replied, as they both stood up. The three women walked out of the apartment and down the street. Retail shops and local restaurants lined the streets, and Maddie could hear the speakers in one shop playing Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” as they passed.
“So, Maddie,” Aunt Esther said, “tell me about this boyfriend of yours…”
The young man stood on the beach and let the water lap at his feet. He could stand in this same spot all day without the water either receding or getting his shorts wet. The lake didn’t have much of a tide.
But his plan wasn’t to soak in the sun and stare off into the green lake all day. He was waiting for someone to arrive, and hoping his peaceful surroundings would calm his nerves. As far as the latter point goes, it wasn’t working.
As he stood by the water’s edge, he heard a voice behind him calling his name. He turned around and saw her, standing at the top of the boardwalk stairs. She wore a red and white-striped bikini top, a pair of short shorts that accentuated her thin waist, and an old pair of flip-flops that he had seen her wear to this beach a thousand times. Her long, strawberry blonde hair was held up by a clip, and her most important feature—her smile, which had made his heart flutter since they were kids—made her freckled nose wrinkle mischievously.
They had a long history on this beach—as kids, they would ride their bikes here every day during summer. When the two-bit carnival came to town, they and all their friends would blow every penny of their allowance on candy, rides, and games. The summer the boy turned fourteen, he mastered the shooting gallery and won the stuffed pony that the little girl from three doors down the street wanted. She kissed him full on the lips in the middle of the carnival midway. It was a first for both of them.
The teenagers would experience many firsts here. It was here that the girl told him that she loved him for the first time. He too first knew what it was to love a girl when they gazed into each other’s eyes as the sun set in the west. And, at sixteen, the couple sneaked behind an abandoned hot dog stand by the boardwalk and gave themselves to one another.
All the boys played football on the beach during the summer and professed dreams of playing for The Ohio State University down at the ‘Shoe, including the midway shooting champion. His girlfriend encouraged his foolish dreams, and promised that she would be at every game, cheering him on.
Of course, it became readily apparent by junior year that of all the boys, only one had any chance to play even Division Two football. This boy, however, accepted a Cross-Country scholarship to a small college in West Virginia. The girl who loved him decided to study business at Kent State.
Long distance relationships can work out. But there must be a firm foundation and a high level of trust in the first place. Fortunately, both the boy and the girl were committed to their love. Not a day went by that they didn’t talk either on the phone or in a visual chat. And they went back home to Cleveland, and to their beach, every chance they got.
That was what made this day so hard. The boy, now halfway through college, still had no idea what he wanted to do with himself after graduation. Today, he would tell his girlfriend he had been accepted into that “English Summer” program they had discussed. He was afraid that she would be offended by his willingness to give up their short summer together, and that this would be the end.
But the girl didn’t react that way at all. She threw her arms around him and told him how proud she was, and that when he got back she’d give him a week to make up for all the ones he’d missed. They unfurled a picnic blanket on the beach that day, ate sandwiches, drank the bottle of Prosecco the girl had swiped from the pantry at her parents’ house, and then found their way behind the old concession stand one more time…
…and then the boy woke up.
Of course, the boy had been a man for a decade now, and sometimes felt decades older. He reached for the rackety phone, which had the audacity to wake him from his sleep.
“Hello? Hey, mom. Yes, I told you the twenty-second–tomorrow. No, all the kiddies are gone for break, but that doesn’t mean I can just drop everything and go! Yes, I still have things to do…ok, if I drive up this afternoon, will you be happy? Ok. Ok, sure. Love you too. Bye.”
click
Brandon Simmons picked himself up out of bed. He sat on its edge for several minutes before feeling awake enough to go take a piss and make himself an Irish coffee.
No matter how hard he tried to drink his memories away, he couldn’t forget how the story that had begun in his idyllic dream had later that summer come to an end. As Brandon tried to force the pictures from his mind, he fondled the gold chain around his neck. He wasn’t one to wear jewelry, save for this chain which no one ever saw. It ended with a diamond solitaire engagement ring—purchased from a London jeweler—which hung near his heart like a pendant.
Several times it had crossed his mind to sell the ring. It had cost him more to buy it than to buy his first car. But he quickly put those thoughts out of his mind: to sell it would seem to him like a betrayal. And she was the one person to whom he would never be unfaithful.
Ugh. I’m still not packed, he thought. He threw some clothes in his suitcase, as well as the gifts he’d bought for his parents, and then put on pants so he could head down to the basement.
The basement in Mr. Simmons’ rental house was the kind that would frighten small children (and likely some adults, too), even if he didn’t do some of the things down there that made him call it “my second lab”. It was dimly lit, and there was a tint on both of the small, ground-level windows that would otherwise have provided sunlight.
On one side of the room were his lab tables—full of equipment he had either purchased online or he had borrowed from the utility closet in his school office. A cabinet was mounted to one wall, and next to that was a bubbling tank. On the other side of the room stood a small gate, which Brandon could easily step over, but the six adult fluffy ponies could not.
A gray unicorn stallion had stepped forward. All of the other ponies were huddled against the back wall in fear, but this one had established himself as the “herd leader”.
“Pwease, munstah hoomin wet fwuffies gu! Hewd nu du nuffin wong! Wiww gu tu da fowest an num gwassie-nummies, an neva bovew hoomins evah!”
The man ignored the fluffy’s pleas, though in the back of his mind he respected the fluffy for not abusing his position of authority and acting like an asshole, as was the “herd smarty” reputation.
That one might have made a good pet. Of course, there were lots of “good pets” in Cleveland that day, too. He walked over to the lab tables and opened the cabinet. Inside was a fluffy pony, restrained and set upright in a tank of liquid with only its head exposed. Its chest cavity was wide open, and Brandon could see that a tiny green lightbulb flashed inside, indicating that all was well.
“Huuuuu…fwuffy haf wowsest huwties…”
“Mmhmm…I’ll bet.” He made notes in his lab notebook, then glanced at the bubbling tank. Sure enough, the oxygen and the mild saline solution in the glass enclosure had kept his test subject’s heart alive.
“Damn…I really didn’t think that I could keep it going for this long. I think some congratulations are in order, don’t you, shitrat?”
“Wan…babbehs…whewe am babbehs?”
The man clapped. “Ah! That’s right. Now I remember what I was going to do this morning…thanks, you dirty whore.”
“Nu am diwty” hack “whowe. Am gud mummah.”
Brandon rolled his eyes as the exposed mare choked out her protests. You fuckers are all so predictable. Then, he grabbed a box from underneath the table. Inside was an artificial milk dispenser (which he himself had built) and four shit-covered earthie foals.
“Mummah!”
“Mummah! Mummah!”
“Das wight” haff “babbehs! Mummah am” hack “hewe!”
“They’re not talking to you, you stupid bitch,” the man said, angrily. “They’ve never even seen you!”
“Dat nu twue! Mummah wuv…babbehs…babbehs wuv mummah,” the mare tried to sing, but then broke into a coughing fit.
Mr. Simmons had built a foal harness, similar to the ones that FluffMart has started to use for “deweggification”, and he placed one of the baby fluffies into it. Seriously, I could have been an engineer. If I didn’t love teaching so much. Then, he secured the straps above it so that it couldn’t wiggle out of position.
“Whuh doin wif mummah’s babbeh?” the mare asked, sounding desperate. “Nu huwt babbehs! Am gud babbehs!”
“Nee miwkies!” shouted the foal in the harness.
“Hmmm…you little shits are ten days old, and still only know a half dozen words? Maybe I should teach you a new one.”
Under the harnessed foal he placed a hotplate, which he turned up to 140 degrees. The suspended foal kept looking Brandon and pleading for “miwkies”, completely ignoring its screaming mother on the other side of the room.
“Mummah! Nee’ miwkies!”
The man turned on an audio recorder and began to speak. “Experiment number 42, testing the effect of a surface heated to sixty degrees Celsius, or, the average temperature of asphalt on a hot summer day, on a fluffy pony foal. Test subject number 1, a grayish-brown filly, is ten days old.”
“Mummah haf miwkies, babbeh! Come tu mummah! Mummah nu can move!”
“The foal, which is barely past the ‘chirpy’ stage, appears to be on the verge of learning a new phrase: ‘burnie-hurties’.” The suspended foal’s legs dangled as it continued to cry and beg. Once the hotplate had reached the necessary temperature, Brandon lowered the foal’s hooves to the surface.
fsssssssssssssssssh
“SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
“Observation: test subject 1’s soft hooves adhered to the hotplate almost immediately. It is unlikely that she could be removed from the plate without first removing her legs.”
“Nuuuuuuuu!” hack**haff “Nu take babbeh’s weggies! Babbeh nee’ weggies…fo wun, pway, an hugs!”
“SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
Brandon watched gleefully over the next couple of minutes as the foal’s hooves melted into jelly. It screamed so loudly that he resorted to earmuffs for the duration of the test.
“Observation: the subject’s hooves are now completely gone. Her lower legs are now starting to melt. I just hope her fluff doesn’t catch fire—though I have a fire extinguisher on hand, having to use it would mean aborting the test.”
“SCREEEEEEEEEEEEE! Mummah, sabe babbeh!”
“Huh…’save’…now there’s a new word…”
Once the foal’s legs had been obliterated to the knee joint, its soft belly fluff caught on fire. Sadly for Mr. Simmons, that meant putting out the fire and ending the test. He plucked the fire extinguisher off the wall and removed the threat immediately.
“Well, shit. Observation: the pony’s fluff caught fire on the sixty degree surface. Test aborted. Now, let’s try with a second one.”
“Nuuuuuuuuuuuuu!”
Test subject 2 was a little orange stallion. He suffered the same fate, but with the added bonus that his little scrotum exploded before he caught fire.
“Observation: it appears we just gave a whole new meaning to the ‘roasted nuts’ concept.”
Unfortunately, Brandon had to put out fires on the last two test subjects as well. Meaning he was then out of foals. He cleaned his work surface as the hotplate cooled.
“Well, I for one think we learned something today, even if the experiments didn’t last as long as I hoped. What’re your thoughts, ‘mummah’?”
“Huu huuuuu…am mummah-nu-mowe…haf wowsest heawt huwties…”
“Come on, now…I seriously doubt you have ‘worsest heart hurties’,” he said, walking over and tapping on the side of the bubbling tank. “No heart, remember?”
“W-wa…”
“Huh? What’s that?”
“…wan die…wan die…”
Mr. Simmons pulled out a lab notebook and started scribbling: 12/21 @ 09:41—Test subject #37’s litter were used as Experiment 42’s test batch 1-4. Test subject entered the “wan die” loop once all foals had expired. Will intubate for feeding so she doesn’t starve herself, and set camera to record during my time away. Also, thank God for my new backup generator. I won’t let all these stupid power outages screw me over again.
“…wan die…wan die…”
Brandon gave the mare a sad, remorseful look. He brought his face to within an inch of the fluffy’s and whispered,
“No.”
The dam continued to loop as Brandon walked away. All the penned fluffies, including the gray herd leader, cowered in the corner furthest from where the man stood wrapping up his morning’s work. As he walked to the top of the stairs, closed the door behind him, and prepared to take a shower, he whistled “Cleveland Rocks” as loud as he could.