Part Seven
Rob left Blockhead to stew in fear in a sorry-box for a few days. Not out of mercy, but just so she’d be old enough to eat solid food, since that was generally around the time foals stopped dying so easily. After all, it’d ruin his plan if she died before he was done. Although, he occasionally thought to himself with a smile, dying would probably save her a lot of suffering.
Once enough time had passed, he roughly dragged her out of the sorry-box, causing her to burst into tears and begin begging again. She knew something bad was going to happen, something worse than she could imagine. He’d made sure of that. But he hadn’t given her details, and now it was time for her to learn.
Her babbling and crying peaked as he roughly strapped her to the workbench, it’s surface stained dark reddish-brown from its previous owner’s own use of it. He’d given this part a lot of thought, and had ultimately decided on a bonesaw rather than the usual shears, just because sawing through the bone would be that much more painful. Of course, this would result in Blockhead bleeding out, so he made sure to apply tourniquets to each leg.
“Pwease, daddeh! Nu mowe huwty-squeezy! Bwockhead’s weggies hab biggest owwies!”
She thought that hurt? She was about to learn what pain really was. Rob didn’t respond to her pleas, just to make her terror worse. He could have mocked her, but his intention wasn’t to make her hate him. To further this goal, he’d used eyedrops to face tears, to give her the impression he hated to do this.
As the saw bit into her front right leg, she howled in pain. Millimeter by bloody millimeter the saw ripped through her leg, until he pulled roughly and the few strands of skin and muscle connecting it to her snapped. He tossed the leg aside and set the saw against another, pausing for a moment to let the implication sink in.
“NUUUUUUU! DADDEH GIB WEGGIE BAEK! NU TAEK MOWE WEGGIES! BWOCKHEAD NEE’ WEGGIES FOW WUN AN’ PWAY!”
“I’m sorry,” Rob said, pretending to sniffle. “I don’t want to have to do this, but you tried to give your sister forever-sleepies. Bad fluffies who do that can’t have leggies, so I have to pillow you.”
Blockhead knew what a pillow was. She’d seen them occasionally abandoned on the street. Rob didn’t know this, but he’d made sure the pair saw “Pillowfluffs!” on FluffTV. For a moment, she froze, but soon began to shriek once more as the saw began cutting once more.
“SCREEEE! NU TAEK WEGGIES! PWEASE! BWOCKHEAD WIWW BE GUD FWUFFY!”
“I have to.”
The begging turned into chirps and cheeps as Blockhead lost the capacity to speak. Rob finished removing the leg, leaving only her left two legs. He sped up a bit with the remaining back leg, since she’d lost a lot of blood even with the tourniquets and immediate cauterization. Soon it joined the others in the trash.
“PWEASE! NU WAN BE PIWWOW! NU TAEK WASTEST WEGGIE!”
Rob was about to begin cutting, when an idea occurred to him. Mercy here could be used to inflict much more pain on Blockhead. With a dramatic sigh, he set the saw aside.
“If you promise to be a very good fluffy, I’ll let you keep your last leg.”
Blockhead didn’t respond, the final bit of strength she’d used to beg for her last leg fading. Chirping and cheeping, she stared blankly. Rob hoped he hadn’t been too harsh. If she went into the wan-die loop now, it’d ruin so much work. Hopefully she would stay strong. Hopefully that bestest-babbeh confidence was enough to keep her going.
He carried her back to the saferoom after giving her a mild sedative. Syrup looked at her stumps, horrified, and burst into tears. The display of selfless love and compassion irked at Rob, and for a moment he could barely resist the urge to kick Syrup. But the urge passed, and he smiled internally. Syrup would be perfect when he was done with her.
“Wut happen tu Bwockhead’s weggies? Fwuffies nee’ weggies fow wun an’ pway an’ huggies!”
“She tried to give you forever-sleepies. Fluffies like that can’t have leggies. She would have tried to hurt you again.”
“Den wu wet Bwockhead see Sywup! Nu taek weggies! Wai am daddeh su mean?”
Rob let out a fake sob, and Syrup immediately looked remorseful. She walked up and gave his leg a hug, and he barely concealed his laughter as sobs. “Sywup am sowwy! Nu mean gib heawt-huwties!”
“It’s okay. I’m sorry, but I had to take her leggies. Rules are rules.”
“Sywup am sowwy. Nyo daddeh nu wan taek Bwockhead’s weggies. Nyo it gib daddeh heawt-huwties.”
Rob gently set the sleeping Blockhead down in her nest. She would wake up soon, in agony and distress. Time to make it just a little bit worse.
“Syrup?”
“Wut daddeh nee’?”
“When Blockhead wakes up, please don’t help her move. I know it hurts, but she needs to learn how to move on her own again.”
“Bu’ wut if Bwockhead nu can git tu nummies ow wittewbox?”
“Even then. If you help her you’ll get in trouble. I’m sorry, but this is important. Do you understand?”
Syrup looked doubtful, but she clearly trusted him. After all, he was the only good thing to ever happen to her. “Sywup undastan’.”
“Good.”
…
A few days later, Rob watched through the camera as Blockhead dragged herself, slowly and with unspeakable pain, towards the litterbox with her one remaining leg. Syrup watched, crying almost as much as her sister, but didn’t help. The past few days, he’d been moving Blockhead to the litterbox or the food dish and back into her bed, but by now she’d healed enough to move on her own, and to deal with the consequences for what was about to happen.
Sure enough, her slow movement wasn’t enough, and she left a trail of waste as she desperately struggled to get to the litterbox. Rob didn’t do anything immediately, rather watching her break down and sob as Syrup tried to comfort her.
After a while, he rolled the wheeled pillowfluff-bed he’d bought some time ago into the saferoom. He pretended not to have noticed the mess, instead focusing on the bed. Soon enough curiosity did its sinister work.
“Wut am dat?”
“It’s a nestie for pillowfluffs. It has a litterbox and food and water bowls since they can’t move, so they can have nummies and not make bad-poopies.”
The last two words drew a visible flinch from Blockhead, who’d dragged herself halfway behind the litterbox and was cowering there. Rob sniffed, then looked around the saferoom, pretending to notice the mess. He scowled.
“Blockhead! Why did you make this mess?”
“Bwockhead am sowwy! Twied to maek gud-poopies, bu’ nu coud git tu wittewbox! Pwease nu huwt Bwockhead!”
“Rules are rules. You get the sorry-stick for making a mess.”
Blockhead cried, but didn’t protest. She stayed in a sort of sad resignation until the first strike of the sorry-stick, gentle but by no means weak, landed across the stumps of her two back legs. The resulting shriek was enough to make even Rob wince, but he continued until he reached three strikes.
“Bwockhead nu am bad fwuffy!” she sobbed once she’d calmed a little. “Nu mean maek bad-poopies! Pwease, Bwockhead nu can mobe, nu can git to wittewbox!”
“I see. I’m sorry, but the rules are the rules. Fluffies have to make good-poopies.”
“Can Bwockhead hab piwwowfwuff nestie? Nu maek bad-poopies den.”
“Only pillowfluffs can use those, I’m afraid. Blockhead didn’t want to be a pillow, so she has to use a normal nestie and follow the rules.”
“Pwease, daddeh!”
“There’s nothing I can do.”
“Pwease, daddeh! Taek wastest weggie! Bwockhead wan be piwwow-fwuffy nao! Nu wan dwaggie-movies! Nu wan sowwy-stick!”
Rob looked at her, then spoke. His tone was soft and caring, but the words were cruel. “No, I can’t do that.”
Part Nine
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Is Rob Blockhead in this one?
2 Likes
I’m pretty sure, honestly I thought he was gonna be the yellow baby.