“DUMMEH DADDEH! HONEY WAN’ SKETTIES! AN’ TOYSIES! NAO!”
Robert pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned in the back of his throat. He’d had Honey for less than a day, and her bratty behaviour had been constant.
Although, she wasn’t even his fluffy. She was his daughter’s. A golden-yellow earthie (her coat being responsible for her name). Robert’s ex-wife, his daughter’s mother, had bought her that wretched bio-toy thing following their divorce, and both the wife and daughter had proceeded to spoil the thing completely rotten.
Any time Robert had to visit them for whatever reason (usually just collecting his daughter for her weekend visit), all he heard was Honey shrieking and crying and demanding. Of course, Robert’s ex gave Honey whatever she wanted, but that only meant she’d start demanding something else immediately after getting it, because Honey understood that ‘screaming and shouting’ equals ‘getting what I want’… so why in god’s name would she stop doing it?
It had been bad enough having to put up with it while collecting the kid, but then Robert’s ex had announced she was taking their daughter on a week’s vacation to Puerto Princesa (on his alimony money, of course), and that meant someone was going to have to look after Honey for seven days.
The obvious answer had been a pet-sitter or a daycare, surely there must be at least one that offered some kind of round-the-clock care, but of course, Robert’s ex had refused.
Because those things cost money.
So that morning Robert had opened his door to find a pet-carrier and a variety of supplies sitting on his doorstep, with his ex shouting some vague instructions about meals three times a day as she sprinted back to her car before shrieking off down the road towards the airport.
It was only by the grace of god that Robert knew even a single thing about fluffy pony welfare… but it wasn’t exactly easy to avoid, with constant adverts and PSAs all over TV about the damn things. So by pure fate, he was already acquainted with their obsession with spaghetti, their general lack of hygiene, and the requirement of a safe-room.
Robert had opted to move a few boxes out of the hallway closet to work as a makeshift safe-room, putting the thoughtfully-provided pee-pad down on the floor before putting Honey inside with it.
But of course, she had shrieked non-stop from as soon as he’d opened the door.
“DUMMEH DADDEH, WHA’ YOO DOIN’?! WHEWE MUMMAH AN’ MUMMAH-MUMMAH?! HONEY NU WAN DUMMEH DADDEH! WAN’ MUMMAH! AN’ WAN’ TWEATIES! AN’ WAN’ TOYSIES! AN’ WAN’ SKETTIES! AN’ WAN’…”
Robert had ended up tipping her out of the pet-carrier and into the closet before slamming the door on her, but a wet farting sound told him he couldn’t leave her alone for long without doing serious damage to his house’s resale value.
He sat in his armchair, minutes after having cleared away a wet, drippy pile of turds from the closet, and thought hard.
What the fuck was he going to do?
He could’t kill the thing, as much as he wanted to, because his ex would take any and every opportunity to milk more alimony out of him by crying to the police and the judge about anything she could think of. If she came back from her vacation and found Honey dead, she’d ensure he hanged for it.
Couldn’t even get rid of the body, Honey running away would be just as bad. Hell, even if she ran away for real, he’d still get the blame for not watching her close enough.
But the only alternative was spending seven full days with Honey shrieking and crying and shitting everywhere.
Robert put his head in his hands and groaned quietly.
For the 8th time that day, he loudly cursed his ex and his daughter for not teaching the wretched little shit-head any manners…
Then, the answer came to him.
It was so simple.
He would teach Honey some manners instead.
Just in his own special way.
It wouldn’t be violent, perish the thought… but it would be painful.
Not wasting a moment, Robert leapt out of his armchair and ran to the closet, briefly making sure that everything all of Honey’s supplies (multiple tins of cheap spaghetti, a bucket full of toys, etc…) were still sitting by the closet door, as he’d left them.
When he was satisfied they were all there, he grabbed the handle and wrenched the door open, bracing himself for what migth be awaiting him.
He was fortunate. Honey didn’t seem to have enough shit left in her body to drop another turd on the pee-pad, although he somehow knew she must have tried.
“DUMMEH DADDEH!” She snarled at him, spittle flying from her lips. “HONEY SAY HONEY WAN’ TOYSIES, AN’ SKETTIES, AN’-”
“Quiet, bitch.” Robert replied. The hard-coded ‘children’s toy’ programming kicked in briefly as he saw Honey’s lips form the words ‘bad wowds’ before she snapped back to scowling, but it had been enough to create a pause in her tirade.
“Here’s the deal.” He told her while she was still quiet. “You’re a spoiled brat, all you do is demand, so for the next seven days, while you’re staying with me, I’m only going to agree to one demand a day. Got it? Whatever you ask for first, that’s what you’ll get, but it’s all you’ll get. You can shout and scream as much as you want, but you won’t get anything from it.”
“SHADDUP DUMMEH DADDEH! HONEY SAY HONEY WAN’-”
Robert smiled. It was time.
“Go on then. What do you want today?”
“HONEY WAN’ TOYSIES!” She barked at him. Robert wasted no time in picking up the bucket of toys and carelessly dumping it into the closet. Honey smirked proudly, once more certain that her method of screaming was going to get her everything she wanted.
“AN’ HONEY WAN’-” She began again, only to be cut off when the door slammed shut again.
“HEY, DUMMEH DADDEH! HONEY SAYIN’ HONEY WAN’ SKETTIES! NAO GIB SKETTIES! GIB NAO! NAO DUMMEH DADDEH, NAO!”
The door did not open again. On the other side, Robert had already put his ear-buds in and was blasting some Kenny G to drown out Honey’s shrieking.
Inside the closet, however, Honey had momentarily given up… not because she was defeated, just that all the screaming was starting to hurt her delicate little throat, so she decided to busy herself with her toys for a while.
And oh, what fun it was!
Mummah and mummah’s mummah had been smart enough to pack all of her favourite toys, including her wooden blocks, her bouncy rubber balls, even her foal-sized plushies that she loved to stomp on, pretending they were her babies who had been very, very bad!
But, play as she might, she slowly became more and more aware of an angry growling sensation in her belly.
It was unfamiliar to Honey, since she was so used to being given food as soon as it was asked for. It took her quite some time to realise the sensation was, in fact, hunger.
“DUMMEH DADDEH, HONEY HAB TUMMY OWIES! GIB NUMMIES! NAO!” She shrieked at the door, but Robert wasn’t listening. He didn’t even know if she was shouting or not, he was busy listening to music as he chopped up carrots for his own dinner.
Honey continued to scream and shout, but fatigue was setting in faster than before. She was slowly becoming more and more aware of the fact that the more she played, the more hungry she seemed to get, as if she was expending her energy and needed to eat to refill it… but that was some kind of madness, surely.
But regardless, it left Honey not even wanting to play anymore, despite it being the only thing she could do to stop thinking about how hungry she was.
So eventually Honey simply flopped down on the pee-pad and gazed morosely at her toys. With no other option, she wrapped her lips around one of the wooden blocks, and bit down hard. The pain was instant and solitary, it did nothing to sate her constant, gnawing hunger.
The hours dragged on.
Honey still had no food.
She screamed and shouted and cried, but still had nothing but her toys. She was exhausted and miserable, but her flabby, spoiled-rotten form was fat enough to ensure she wasn’t going to starve any time soon… but she certainly wasn’t happy about her sudden, unexpected diet.
Eventually the lights went out as Robert went to bed, leaving Honey alone in the dark closet, surrounded by toys, without a scrap of food to be seen.
And so, for the first time in years, Honey sincerely cried.
(Next)
