Short Story: Suffering
(semi-Part 2 to Change of Plans )
2/26/24.
It has been four days since the Retard incident. Your plans for a long, drawn out death of a foal that trusted you fell through when the rat flung itself out of its box and rained spaghetti and shit all over the basement floor. After it happened, you thought you would feel some sort of remorse, some sort of sadness for killing a living being. All you thought about was the cathartic, almost erotic emotions of destroying an anim– no – a biotoy’s life. You would never, ever, kill a real animal.
In a moment where death has left your mind, you leave your cluttered and disgusting room to get rid of the laundry rotting in the corner. You gather it up in a white plastic basket and head downstairs. Flashes of the pink foal appear almost every time you blink. Her eyeless corpse. Her broken jaw.
You close your eyes.
You breathe deep, once, twice, three times.
You slowly open them again.
As you do, something red catches your attention.
You drop your laundry where you’re standing. Almost robotically, you walk over to the pooling red liquid.
You stare at the blood stains still staining the room you slaughtered Retard in. You feel your heartbeat rising. Flashes of your shoe making contact with the foal’s face flood your memory. The rush as your plunged your fingers into her eyes, plucking out the sensitive organs.
A realization crosses your mind.
I need another fluffy.
—
You jump into your beat up old Subaru, brakes squealing as you begin to pull out of the driveway. They don’t usually do that, the fuck is going on here, you say to yourself. You shift back into park with a clunk, angrily opening your door. As it swings open, the outside makes contact with a soft object that hit the ground with a loud “HUUUUUUUUUUU!!!”
“WAI MEANIE HOOMIN HID FWUFFY IN DE NOSIES!! BIG HUWTIES HUUUUUUUU!!! VROOM MUNSTAH EATED SPESHOW FWEN AN’ BESSES BABBEHS AN’ NAO BIG HUWTIESS!!! HUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!! WAI FWUFFY!!!”
You blink. You watch the blue-green abomination on your driveway sob. A wretched smile falls upon your face. Your eyes light up, and you feel your heart racing in just the right way. You slam the car door shut, frightening the already disturbed foal. He cries out for his mate and his babies.
You, instead, go looking for them.
You open up the hood of your car, still warm from running just a few moments ago.
Lo and behold, your engine bay has been covered in viscera. Miniscule bits of rosy pink fluff are scattered across it. You can even make out the pieces of what used to be a mother fluffy’s teats. It smells horrid, the acrid stench drifting up your nose. A solemn reminder to never eat fluffy flesh.
You look deeper, and see a small, blue fluff. A lone survivor.
You reach deep into your engine bay, snaking past sharp gears and wires, and snag the barely-formed foal.
It was still curled up, asleep. Its siblings and mother were obliterated when the car started. Screams must have been drowned out by your music. You feel a bit disappointed, wishing to have heard that deadly cacophony. An idea for the future for sure.
With the foal still cradled in your palm, you take a step back over to the sobbing father fluffy. He begins to back up as you approach, crawling backwards and showing his stomach in a feeble attempt at mercy. You can see his pathetic crotch shriveling up in absolute terror.
You sit down in front of him, legs outstretched at a 45 degree angle. You show him your precious cargo, his little last remaining foal. You cradle him in your palms, almost inviting him to come reclaim his progeny. The father begins to timidly walk over, incredibly untrusting of the monster that just killed his family. As he smells the foal, he breaks into a run.
He jumps into your stomach and begins hugging you.
“*FANGOOFANGOOFANGOO NYU DADDEH YU SABE BESSSSESSS BABBEH!! FWUFFIES WIWW BE BESS’ HOMESIE FWUFFIES EBA NYU DADDEH!!!”
You stare down at him, no emotions on your face.
You cup the foal in your hands, facing back towards you, so he is witness to what comes next.
With the father fluffy cradled between your arms, looking tenderly and lovingly at his foal, you crush its head between your thumb with a sickening crunch.
“Your child needs you.”
You drop the now headless foal.
The father breaks into hysterics once again, lunging after the falling foal.
You roughly snatch him by the back of his neck mid-leap. You bring him up to eye level, the blue-green fluffy squirting liquid diarrhea in terror.
“You’re gonna die today, shitrat.”
You scoop up the destroyed foal, throwing it with your other hand into your neighbor’s yard. It’ll be fun to hear the screams when he wakes up in a bit.
You slam the door behind you, almost sprinting for the basement door.
To your new favorite place in the whole wide world.
You didn’t want to drag this one out. No long game, no mental scarring (other than what you’ve already done), no special friend.
Not even a name.
No. Destruction and distress, for the rest of this fluffy’s short life.
—
You slam the fluffy chest first into your bloodied table. He wheezes out, lungs completely void of air. He wriggles a moment, then begins to flail his arms. You hold him down with your left hand as you turn on the power strip beneath your table. You take a look around for a tool, something to kill…
Then you spot it.
But first.
You pick the fluffy back up, it takes a deep breath, and lets out a long wail.
“WHAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH NYU DESWEB’ DIS! FWUFFY WA’ GUD DADDEH AWWAYS FIN’ NUMMIES FO’ FAMIWYYYY HUUUUHUUUUHUUUU!!!”
“You have no idea what the fuck is coming. I recommend keeping your mouth shut, or I’ll keep it shut for you.”
“HUUUUUUU DADDEH WAH MEANSIES??”
You take a deep breath.
You rip the fluffy’s front left hoof forward, and jam it directly into the electric pencil sharpener that you just plugged in.
It moves in the normal fashion for a half moment before tearing into the soft, precious fluffy fur and flesh.
The fluffy made no sound. Clearly it understood what I meant.
The sharpener began to pull the fluffy in, chewing through more and more of the blue-green arm. Tears flowed, staining the fluff nose down. With a grating screech, it finally began to wear into bone. The fluffy’s mouth was agape in a silent scream, its precious ‘weggie’ leaving it forever.
The sharpener came to a halt, a low buzzing noise indicating the leg had gone far enough. With a vicious pull, you drag the fluffy out of the electric trap and gaze at your work. The leg was ground down halfway to the elbow, with a single bone protruding out, sharpened like a Ticonderoga No.2.
The fluffy lied on its side, huffing and hacking up blood. It said nothing, but blood began to flow from his eyes like tears.
The exposed bone gave you an idea.
You leave the basement for a moment to retrieve a serrated knife from your kitchen. The fluffy is wailing as you return.
“WAI HURRRRRKKKKKKKKK FWUFFY HUWT SU MUCH?? WAI NU HAB NISE DADDEH?? WAI HAB BIGGES’ MUNSTA DADDEH EBA!!! GON’ GU FOWEBA SWEEPIES WIKE 'PECHOW FWENN HUUUUUU!!”
“I just hear you talking? You’re damn right you’re gonna go forever sleepies you little fuck.”
He immediately seizes in fear, his body almost frozen. Seems he didn’t know you came back.
You crouch down and meet his terrified gaze. The fluffy shits itself and squeezes its eyes shut.
“OPEN YOUR FUCKING EYES!!!”
“HUUU SKAWY DADDDEHH HUUUUUU!!!”
You flip the knife around, and punch the handle directly into the fluffy’s left eye.
You stare at the victimized eye.
He wouldn’t budge.
You struck him again in the same way.
His eye begins to bruise and swell.
You strike him three more times in rapid succession.
His eye is now a dark purple, green mucus and blood seeping from the still shut eye.
You glance over at the other eye. You realize it is open, eyelids peeled almost all the way back.
You figure he had it open after the first strike.
The next step was in order. You hold the knife by the handle, and plunge it deep into the fluffy’s hip. With a sickening twist, you slice a massive gash directly above the fluffy’s hip bone. His mouth is frozen shut, pupil focused directly on the new wound.
His mouth cracks open in a silent scream as you reach three fingers from each hand and find a good place to…
PULL.
With a loud RIIIIIIIP and a PLAP of blood on the floor, the fluffy’s entire lower section was torn off in one fell swoop.
They really do make them softer now.
All that remained was the spine and hips, dangling nothing more than flaps of flesh.
It took a moment for the fluffy to realize he was half his former weight, and broke his silence in an ear-piercing screech. It began at a regular scream, then went to an octave so high, you couldn’t hear him anymore. But you heard him. You left him to bleed, while you fashioned his final resting place. You tied a piece of wire to a thick sharpened steel rod. It was shoddy construction, so super glue was needed to keep it in place. Your construction complete, you ssnatch the fluffy for the final time. You hold him firmly in your grip, his stomach facing away from you. With a vicious, sadistic strike, you plunge the rod into the back of the fluffy’s neck and out through its mouth. The scream was reduced to a gurgle as flesh and blood spewed through the forced open mouth. The fluffy then began to retch and regurgitate its own organs with a bile-filled throw up. You hung the ravaged, but still alive, fluffy from the ceiling, where it would hang until it died.
You would think about what went through his mind at his end…
…but the only thing you want is another fluffy.
