Slavery is Good
By Skrelptastic
“Hey, wake up!”
Phoebe’s voice jolts you out of your sleep, as you groggily jerk your head from its resting position on the passenger side window.
“Mmmm…are we almost there?” you yawn.
Phoebe rolls her eyes with a smile. “No shit, Sherlock. I wouldn’t have woken you up if we weren’t.”
You rub your eyes and take in the landscape rushing past you. As far as the eye can see are gnarled, leafy trees that seem to bounce as Phoebe steers the truck down a long, dusty road.
You sit up straighter in your seat. “So, run me through this whole “meet the parents” routine one more time. I wanna make sure I got it all.”
“Sure,” Phoebe says. “So my parents have always been obsessed with the old southern lifestyle. Plantations, canes, accents, you know. Just imagine…like…Calvin Candie from Django Unchained. That’s my dad, minus the human slaves obviously.”
Phoebe makes a hard right and you emerge from the dense thicket of trees into a huge open field. Off in the distance you can see an old white house, like something out of a movie.
“They moved out here with me to start all this when I was 7. The accent and everything is total bullshit, it’s just an act. We’re actually from Michigan,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “But don’t mention it to them, it’ll piss him off like crazy.”
“I can’t believe you grew up out here,” you say.
“Yeah, most people wouldn’t guess. It wasn’t my favorite but there were definitely…perks. But that’s rule number 1: Don’t break their act.”
“Got it.”
“Only other rule I can think of is don’t mess with the slaves unless Mom or Dad says so. But don’t worry, if they like you I’m sure they’ll let you have some fun.”
You turn your head and look at Phoebe. “Whoa whoa whoa…slaves? Last time I checked, that shit’s illegal.”
“Calm down Dr. King, they’re not human slaves.”
You’re confused. “So…what are they?”
Phoebe turns her head and just smiles at you. But it’s not a normal smile…it’s that bloody smile she only gets on one occasion. And suddenly it clicks.
“NO. WAY.” you grin. “You don’t mean…?”
Phoebe focuses back on the road, but her smile remains. “Look out the window if you don’t believe me.”
You turn and take a look at the fields next to you and what you see almost seems too good to be true.
There are hundreds of fluffies dotting the landscape, but they aren’t ferals…they’re slaves. Dozens of sobbing fluffies with baskets strapped tightly to their backs are being forced to work the fields. Men with whips patrol the rows of crops, beating the miserable fluffies that stop to rest or try to sneak away. Off in the distance you see a row of small wooden shacks like chicken coops, where you can barely make out a few large fluffies, probably dams, squatting in the mud. As the house grows bigger and bigger, you pass a tall woman with rolled-up sleeves and a bandana around her head savagely kicking a screaming pegasus mare. As you pass, you notice the remains of a crushed foal in her basket. Probably tried to escape. Phoebe waves to the woman, who returns the gesture with a happy smile. You look back through the side mirror just in time to see the woman return to pounding the wailing fluffy, finally reaching down and shattering the mare’s teeth with a punch to the mouth.
You snort as the rapidly shrinking mare desperately attempts to scoop her broken teeth back into her bloody mouth. Fuckin’ fluffies.
Phoebe finally slows down as the car pulls up to the house.
“Ready?” she asks with a sly smile.
You hastily smooth out your shirt and fix your messy hair. You wanted to make a good impression of course, but now you’ve got even more reason to do so.
“Never been more ready in my life.”
You step out of the car and smile as you breathe deeply. The sweet scent of moist earth and fresh air fills your nostrils, surprisingly devoid of the smell of fluffy shit. You yawn and stretch, right from the long drive, and suddenly feel a small pressure on your sock. You look down in surprise at a fat yellow earth fluffy uncomfortably crammed into a fluffy-sized tuxedo complete with an ugly red bow tie tugging sadly on your pant leg. The clothes are pressed tightly against its yellow fluff, causing its fat rolls to bulge out of the outfit. You stare in wonder at the miserable looking fluffy, suppressing your urge to plant your foot in its chubby face.
“H-hewwo nice Mistah an wewcome,” the fluffy squeaks nervously. “F-fwuffy am happeh tu mayk yu a…akw…akway…”
“The word is ‘acquaintance’, Jumbo.”
The fluffy gasps in fear as you both turn towards the source of the noise. Standing on the front porch is a well-dressed man a cream-colored suit, cane, and hat. His hair and goatee are unusually white, as are the teeth in his wide smile. The fluffy begins to tremble as the smiling gentleman strolls leisurely towards you. You glance over at Phoebe.
“That your dad?” you whisper. She nods.
“Watch this,” she whispers back.
The gentleman walks up calmly to the cowering fluffy, ignoring you. The fluffy’s eyes dart side to side in terror, freezing in place as the man’s shadow encases its quivering form. The man looms over the fluffy. His face is supremely calm as he stares down with a smile. But in his eyes you see the same unquenchable hatred that you love to see in Phoebe’s.
“I told you…you greet our guests properly, Jumbo,” he whispers. “None of this baby talk now. It reflects poorly on our estate.”
The terrified fluffy gulps in terror and a trickle of shit drips from his ass.
“F-fwuffy sowwy! W-wuv yu d-daddeh!” the fluffy begs, its eyes desperately filling with tears.
You curl your lip in disgust. Every bone in your body is screaming at you to tie the fat, dressed-up fucker to your bumper and go for a nice long drive, but you swallow the urge.
The gentleman chuckles and shakes his head. Then in one swift motion he slams the tip of his cane into the fluffy’s stubby little knee. The fluffy screams in agony, its leg bent at a sickening angle as it falls to its side.
“WAAAAAH HUWWWTIESSSS! HUU HUU DADDEH HEWP FWUFFYYYYYYY! P-PWEASE!”
The gentleman casually strolls toward the fluffy, still with his warm smile and hateful eyes. The tearful pony looks up hopefully as the man approaches.
“Huu huu…d-daddeh gon’ g-g-giv huggies…?” the fluffy asks desperately.
Without hesitation, the man swiftly slams the cane down on the fluffy’s skull. The fluffy twitches horribly as the cane instantly shatters his skull. His eyes roll frantically and he gurgles as the base drives through his head, and is finally still.
The man sighs and shakes his head, wiping the bits of bone and brain onto the dead fluffy’s bloody tuxedo. Then he turns, finally acknowledging your presence. He flashes you a toothy grin and bows.
“Welcome to Fluff Acres.”
