(Brought to you by a sinus infection and hot tea.)
It was a normal Saturday morning. I had left a sleepy household behind, slipping out to run out and do some errands while my family enjoy a lazy start to the day. Right about now, my wife would be supervising the controlled chaos that came with two small children, three dogs, and a Saturday morning. Joyful beyond measure, but also something that it was nice to get a little break from now and again.
Tomorrow was my day to ride herd and, when youâre a family man, you have to take the time you can for yourself. Even if that time was, as in my case, time to go out to Loweâs (a very large American hardware store, lumber yard, and garden depot store chain) with a coffee to get some supplies to make my Sunday productive.
As I parked my car, I cast an eye over the lot. Aside from a few trucks parked down by the lumber bay and some more serious-looking working men heading in, it looked like I was one of the first âciviliansâ to arrive.
Good. Probably means they have everything I want this time⌠I thought as locked my car and started my walk over to the nearest entrance.
The scale of these buildings always deceived me, looking so much taller from farther away, but I could never stop myself from looking up to see, just the same, somehow expecting craning my neck this time to produce a new insight into perspective and scale.
That was what stopped me from noticing the fluffy that had crept out from between abutting rows of garden sheds they had set up out in the lot. Part of me did always wonder how much money that cost them in lost parking spaces, but I had not really considered that they created somewhat ideal conditions for fluffies to hide out amongst otherwise hostile industrial estate asphalt.
âHewwo, nice mistah. Pwease hewp fwuffy. Fwuffy am soon mummah anâ neeâ nummies foâ babbehs.â Itâherâthe fluffyâwhatever, was a very pregnant pegasus who looked somehow rotund and a bit skinny at the same time. âPwease, mistah, pwease gib fwuffy nummiesânu haf be nyu daddeh ouâ gib toysies ouâ housies ouâ HIC wub HIC just nummies pwease.â
Taken slightly aback by this intrusion into my musings about the scale and perspective of giant American hardware-and-garden stores, I could only respond with a slightly stupid âWhuhu?â noise as I stopped to look down at where this voice was coming from, taking in the sight of the fluffy before me.
She took a small step forward. Her faux-hooves, designed to be leathery so as not to harm the fluffyâs target demographics of toddlers and small children, were worse for the wear. Something inside of me gave a little twinge that I couldnât put my finger on. I stopped to actually listen.
Evidently, she was fairly fresh to living on hard surfaces, either new to the feral life entirely or new to living directly among the works of humanity.
âAm soon mummah!â She repeated, as though talking to a particularly slow child. âNee nummies. Odda mistahs anâ wadies teww Pewsimmum to go âway anâ nebbah asâ foâ nummies ouâ housie âgain. Buhâ Pewsimmum jusâ neeâ nummies foâ babbehs pwease dey neeâ bestesâ nummies foâ gwow in mummah tummeh!â she finished, in a declaratory tone.
As if to underline her point, her stomach let out an audible rumble and she gave an accompanying little involuntary foalish peep at the unpleasant feeling.
She had a name, which meant she probably had an owner at some point. And that meant she probably was yet another case of âspeshul huggies feverâ as my wife called it, a fluffy, usually a mare, who became so consumed with the idea of having babies that it would actually quit the life of a domestic fluffy and strike out (at least for a time) onto the streets to get what it most desired.
âI see, Persimmon,â I said, slowly. âIt sounds like you have a very empty tummy then! Donât you think your daddy or mommy misses you very much? I bet they have lots of uhâŚâ fuck what do they eat again âpastaâŚfor youâŚ?â
If indeed this thing was destined to return to her owner who would be responsible for cleaning up bio-engineered mini-pony and baby mini-pony shit and dealing with 8-10 years of perpetual low-IQ childhood mixed with an animals sexual urges, I was loathe to intervene.
The way her face briefly crumpled before she managed to get out a flat âNuâ told me all I needed to know there.
Sometimes fluffies were welcomed home with open arms of varying degrees. Quite a few owners I had anecdotally run onto the subject with actually let their returned runaways birth and raise their foals when the time came. They could not think of anything that would be better, in their view, for both the world and their little fluffy than to let them breed and propagate. To do anything else would be meanâthe fluffy might even cry!
I, on the other hand, could think of nothing more impermissible than more of these fucking things in the world. Which is why we did not own any and kept them off our property, but this particular fluffy was just another ticking timebomb ready to blow here at a sleepy Loweâs.
How could I look myself in the mirror knowing I allowed this verminous mockery of life to continue and propagate here?
âPersimmon, have you ever been inside this store? The big housie inside place here?â I asked, pointing directly at the Loweâs door nearest to us so her tiny facsimile of an intellect did not have much work to fill in.
Her eyes widened until I could see the blue light from the sign reflected back at me in their dark pupils.
âNuâŚmeanies in metaw housie say Pewsimmum nu am awwow com in widdod daddeh ouââŚSNIFFm-mâmummahâŚhuuuuuuuuuâ
Huh, so mummah told her to fuck off. Well that explains that.
âCome with me, Persimmon, and I will tell them I am your daddy so we can get you some special hardware store sketties!â One thing I did know about fluffies was that if you made it sound like fun and acted more or less trustworthy, you could get them to walk up a ramp and ride a childâs slide into a wood-chipperâtrue story.
Her eyes lit up with elation. âWeawwy??!?!? Am nyu? Am mistah nyu, nyu dadd-nyu?!?â Her little hooves made soft tap noises as she hopped from foot to foot in excitement and her wings made gentle noises as they fluttered spasmodically.
Sheâs so overcome with the prospect of sketties, going inside the building, and getting some human attention sheâs already decided I am her new daddy. It made me fucking sick.
Declining to answer that question or to take up her invitation of outstretched arms, I looked over my shoulder and saw that someone, probably one of the earliest contractor customers today, had left a wheeled flat trolley in the cart return next to us.
After a small struggle and some help from my foot, Persimmon was proudly stationed on the rolling cartâs flat bed, a few inches off the ground as we headed toward the little square of light that was the front door.
âHehhehehe wheeeee daddeh wook! Pewsimmum am fwy!!! Am big fwuffy anâ fwy!â she giggled as she held her face into the âwindâ created by our forward motion, flapping her little wings along as if she was actually helping. It took a lot too keep from ending the charade right there.
All I could see were my real children a few weeks ago, endlessly amused at riding on the flat bed of the same sort of cart. And this thing was up there doing some off-off-off-off-Broadway version of that joy, that human experience and imagination. Fucking sick.
As we came into the store, an employee half-turned and opened her mouth to begin, no doubt, to tell Persimmon to get lost. After telling the employee that she was with me and restraining myself from smashing Persimmonâs head in as she stuck her tongue out at the employee when we rolled by, I started heading over to the item farthest from the entrance on my list.
All the while as we wended out way through the aisles and I collected what I needed, Persimmon only pestered me a few times for her sketties and was, happily for her, mollified each time when I reminded her that sketties came after the work was done and she should enjoy riding on the fun cart.
And for the most part she didâand quietly at that, only breaking in occasionally to narrate for her babies what was going on and practice her good mother behavior. Warnings like âNo wook at bwite bwites am huwt babbeh see-pwaces!â would come from Persimmonâs mouth without warning as we trundled down the lightbulb aisle past the demonstration displays putting out six million lumen for the price of yesterdayâs sixty lumen or whatever the promise was now.
We even learned that âwawaâ was âbad foâ fwuffiesâ in the plumbing and fixtures department while I found a new shower head. People really paid money to put up with this. I thought idly as I muted out her babble and found a nice diverter to match my new nozzle set.
Then again, people paid thousands of dollars for a night of having cheese graters run over their genitalsâŚ
I chuckled to myself as we rounded the corner to the last aisle I needed to visit.
Persmimmon checked over her shoulder and gave me an odd look as we slowed down. Rows of boxes and cans stretched all around us, non of which looked like food, let alone anything close to the generic form of pasta that fluffies were hardwired to enjoy most of all.
âDaddeh? Wewe am sketties?â A wing flapped in a small display of annoyance, one I assume she tried to smother because it became more of a twitch as she got it under control, sensing she was somehow that much closer to her goal.
âWell, here we are. This is the sketties aisle.â I picked up a can, knowing full well fluffies could no more read than I could see in the infrared spectrum, and showed it to her. âSee? This is a can of special spray sketties! It comes right out of here, this straw. We keep it in here so we can get it to eat while we work on big human projects. Normally I wouldnât have told a fluffy about itâŚbut you seemed like you needed it for those babbehs, Persimmon!â
âSpwawâŚspwaw sketties? SPWAW SKETTIES!!! Daddeh am SNIFF BESTESâ!!! FANK 'OU!!!â She squealed and started to waddle toward me on the cart, already tapping her front feet in gleeful anticipation of hugs from her new daddy.
I quickly turned and grabbed a box of the cans, setting it down on the trolley between her and myself. Thanks to her pregnancy, hungry or no, she was even slower than a normal waddling, plodding fluffy. Fuck âhuggiesâ and fuck you I grumbled in my mind.
âNot now, we have to go to the checkout and pay before we eat.â I pushed the trolley forward and started our trip to the front of the store.
âOtay daddeh, Pewsimmun nebbah âchekh ouwâ befow!â she giggled and settled back in, whispering to her nascent brood of shit-machine rat ponies about all the wonderful things they would see in the world that humans had createdâthat we had created and brought these freak âlivingâ toys into.
And then doubtlessly they would go on to multiply into hordes of their own to start it all again.
Perhaps as a curiosity they would have been acceptable, but as an invasive species, they were a threat.
As a matter of principle, they were abominations.
I shook my head. Persimmonâs babble had changed tone. She was saying something interesting and/or useful as compared to her usual output, surely. I tuned in.
âDaddeh! It am ouw tuwn!â she was stomping her hooves in turn giving her little tap noises a metallic flavor on the trolleyâs surface.
Sure enough, she was right, it was our turn.
With a minimum of interaction after a subtle human-to-human eye signal not to talk to or acknowledge the fluffy, we were able to complete the transaction in relatively good time and in mostly peaceful surroundings.
Somewhere around the third bag of things passing from the checkout clerkâs hands to mine, Persimmon started to resume her narration for her babies.
âSee babbehs? Daddeh am gib mummah wots anâ wots sketties nao! And den wen babbehs come out soon mummah tummeh, gonâ gwow big and stwong wid bestesâ miwkies fom yummies spway sketties!â She let out a little coo and rubbed a foreleg over her bulging abdomen. âBabbehsâŚâ she sighed with motherly contentment as the trolley lurched toward the exit.
I slowly maneuvered over to the sheds where we had first spoken.
âMan, I am so hungry I donât think I can make it back to the car! Letâs have some sketties here! What do you say?â Even the dullest fluffy would spot this opportunity coming their way on a silver platter.
âDaddeh! Pewsimmum wanâ sketties! Sketties! SKETTIES!â Most of these things with wings were deluded to think they would do much more than embarass themslves, but Persimmon was so excited at the idea of real secret human canned spray spaghetti that she was flapping her wings hard enough to make the bags on the trolley rustle.
âOkay. But we donât have any bowls or plates so we have to eat it human-style, okay?â I pulled one of the cans out and popped the attached straw off the side and placing it on the end of the nozzle. Another quick yank and the safety tab was off. The anticipation made every molecule in my body buzz.
âHooman-stywew?â She asked, her eyes wide and locked on mine. âWasâ is hooman-stywew, daddeh? How time tiww sketties human stywew?!â
âWell, we use this straw here and just spray the sketties in our mouth and,â What did they say again? I thought, regretting slightly that I never did much research on how exactly these things were programmed to speak, âuhâŚnummies them that way?â I finished a little uncertainly, sure, but at this point her mind was so fixated on the imminent spaghetti she would have missed a building exploding behind us. Simple things.
The can felt heavy in my hand as I shook it. A greatâŚthing stirred in me. It felt like the tingle you get in your spine at a sports match or a big event when the crowd lights up or when you know you can do somethingâlike a guiding hand on yours, an autopilot or co-pilot at least.
So, I let Jesus take the wheel.
âAlways good to shake the can up when itâs been on the shelf. Fluffies canât really do this part so itâs good you have a nice human here to help, huh?â the something inside me asked, using my voice.
The buzzing all over feeling hadnât stopped but it was feeling stronger in my head and thoughts, words, courses of action which were not consciously mine floated by. I kept my hand on the stick loosely, realizing this was the little twinge that made me stop and talk with Persimmon in the first place.
âYeth, daddeh,â she said with that sickening deliberate lisp, âsketties neeâd sâakies foâ come ouâ dey housie! TEE HEE Nummies am shy!â her giggles continued.
âYes, shy nummies!â I started to move the straw closer to my mouth and stopped my hand, silent.
âDaddeh?â she asked, ever the concerned little thing with no interest in the promise of canned spaghetti.
âI was just thinking, sorry. Maybe since I have had these before so many times youâd like to try them first,â the not-me hesitated, âafter all, you are the one with the babies who need it!â I extended the straw toward her and gently waggled the can in what not-me and I felt was an enticing manner.
She stepped forward eagerly and flapped her wings happily.
âYeth, pwease! Pwease, daddeh! Wanâ nummies spwaw sketties!â She squealed gleefully, stopping and opening her mouth.
I took a moment to offer a silent prayer and still my hand and then I placed the straw in her mouth.
âReady for nummies?!â I asked with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. She nodded as vigorously as she could without disturbing the straw that would soon deliver sketties into her mouth as a true connisseur of Philly cheese steak would consume the cheese whiz from the can, given the chance.
Before anything more could be said or done, I slid the straw just one more inch into her mouth and pulled the trigger on the can.
Persimmonâs eyes, closed in rapturous anticipation of sketties, widened in shock first as the straw went too far into her mouth and then again as I sprayed â3-inches or moreâ gap-sealing spray foam down her throat.
She tried to jerk away but my other hand clasped on her mane like an eagleâs claw. Her pathetic living toy constitution was so weak that I could have ripped her mane out more easily than pulling a blade of grass up and, at the same time, it ensured her own body lacked the strength to break free of my grip by doing the same.
Her next move was to reflexively inhale in panic as the foam began to expand, pulling it down her windpipe and into her lungs. Already foam was starting to creep out of her mouth. A muffled noise emerged from her throatâa word? A cry for help?
âWhatâs the matter? I thought you wanted to be full? Trust me, youâll be full now.â With that, and a pat on the head that was more of a knuckle wrap, I started to think out loud, feeling the buzzing sensation settle into a cool sort of calm. I was the pilot again, the not-me was riding shotgun.
âHmm donât want to leave too much of a mess but I also canât risk this leading to labor or postmortem delivery. God forbid she lives long enough to shit these things out or they crawl out after sheâs deadâŚâ I murmured as I used the hand that was holding her mane to grab Persimmon by the tail and spin her around.
Roughly yanking her tail up and feeling the vibrations of the shrill âBAD UPSIES!â more than hearing anything from her mouth, I stuck the straw into her vagina, trying my best to reach the appropriate depth before depressing the trigger for a much, much longer time than the first time.
Her legs kicked mightily, for a fluffy, and her attempted spray of âsowwy poopiesâ was easily directed into a planter pot. I held her up in front of my eyes and gave her a little smirk to let her know that even this little act of last defiance was defeated without any real effort on my part.
Knowing I had precious time left, there was only one thing left to say.
âYou are a bad fluffy and nobody loves you. Thatâs why your mummah didnât let you come home.â I felt her body try to sob. Check.
With that job done, I set Persimmon down, wondering if her spasms and disjointed kicks were in time with the PEEP noises she would doubtlessly be making if she could speak. Or breathe. The foam was now coming out of her mouth, noes, ears, and was even starting to push her eyes out slightly.
Not wanting to waste any time, I hustled through getting to and loading my car, knowing Persimmon was still conscious enough to appreciate the sight.
When I pulled out of my space and drove by the sheds, I made eye contact with her one last timeâwell, that is with the left eye that was not pushed out of her head by the rapidly-hardening foam.
No more âtummeh huwties for youâ now, eh? I sniggered to myself.
I turned my radio on as I pulled out of the Loweâs lot, starting my journey home. The opening bars of âI Saved the World Todayâ started to float out of my speakers and I smiled.
Everyone was happy nowâmyself, the Loweâs staff, Persimmonâs old owner spared the mess and trouble of self-replicating screaming flesh golems, andâŚwell, really, anyone who would have been accosted by the sheds, I supposed, too.
Because fluffies were abominations.
The highway opened up before me and I smiled, feeling like this was going to be a great day.
The End.
