Squidge's big day out (Poopiest_of_bebbehs)

Squidge was a young colt, the first born in a litter of three: that being himself, his brother, Gloop, and their sensitive sister, Shlick.

You may be asking: “why are their names so fucking vulgar? Did an abuser name them?”. If only it were that simple, but no. They are the products of a blind mare’s naming conventions. You see, Cloud, their mother, was a mare without sight since birth, and therefore, lacked the faculty to name her kids after the pretty things in her forested home. There were foals in the herd with names like Berry, Pebble, Leaf, and Thorn; all of which required eyes with which to conceive.

When Cloud gave birth, she fluttered her wings, cried up a storm, ‘huuhuuuu’-d and whimpered, yet she always hushed up at the last minute to pay very close attention to the sounds her young made as their soggy and amniotic fluid stained bodies fell to the dirt.

SQUIDGE
Out popped a unicorn colt.

GLOOP
Out dolloped an earthy colt.

SHLICK
Out slithered a pegasus filly.

Their upbringings were rather normal. All three of them were milk white, just like their mother. Squidge had a short and fuzzy purple mane, Gloop had a cherry red hair style that appeared extra spikey, and their dribbling and peeping sister had a curly tuft of a light pink mane atop her head.

Cloud raised them to the best of her ability, a difficult prospect when she herself so desperately needed to be guided everywhere by her partner, Cur.

A month had passed since birth and the trio were now walkie-talkie babies… well, two out of three were.

Gloop had taken to carrying around his sister everywhere he went, and the reasoning for this was twofold:

  1. He held a deep connection with his sensitive sister and felt a protective desire to take her with him everywhere he went.

  2. He dreamed of one day climbing through the ranks of the herd until becoming the bestest toughy, a position of prestige and security, second only to the smarty himself.

His brother, Squidge, had ambitions of his own. The coveted the elite position of smarty. He enjoyed being helpful and had taken to being the guide for his blind mother, ever since his father died by Fox attack a week prior.

The three wandered but never strayed from the herd, with Squidge himself having a taste for exploration.

"com un! Dis way! Skwidge see pwetty fwowew nummies wite obew hewe!’ the would be little leader said with a smile.

“dis am dangewy pwace, wed yippie munstahs wike dis pawt ob woodsies. Gwoop wan tayk Shwick backsie tu mummah an wawm nestie” his brother complained.

“nu! Nee fin bestest pwetty fwowew nummies fow mummah!” Squidge squeaked back.

“mummah nu gun cawe! Mummah see pwaces am bwoken! Jus gib mummah ugwy fwowew an say dat am pwetty!” the mini toughy whined as he stopped following along.

“AN DAT AM WY YEW AM NU BESTEST BEBBEH WIKE SKWIDGE AM!” the little smarty in training replied.

And with that, Gloop had enough of his older, favoured brother and his bullshit. It was true that Squidge was the bestest bebbeh, a position earned by his fierce loyalty to his handicapped mother, but regardless of the good intentions and the purity of his heart, Gloop had a disabled sister to lug around and he wouldn’t be able to hide from or out maneuver a hungry Fox if she was slowing him down; the welfare of his hoof suckling sister far outweighed a silly little flower that his blind mother would not even be able to visually appreciate. So the toughy turned around and headed back to the herd.

With a petulant huff and a flick of his tail, Squidge marched on, he wandered for hours until he found it, a beautiful purple flower nummie, the prettiest of nummies. He hoped that even if his mother couldn’t see the beauty of the flower, she would at least be able to taste it.

A small bundle of flowers were carefully picked from its stem and thrown on to the colt’s back. The long march home began, yet the forest did not feel as easily navigateable as it had prior. The sun was getting low and there was more shadow than light, strange and monstrous noises like “hooo-hoooooo” and “grrrr” came from every tree and every bush. Squidge persevered regardless of his mounting anxiety, he needed to get back to his mother and show her how much he cared. He followed the vague scent of his brother and dummeh sister, and with any luck the trail would lead him home.

His stomach growled almost as fiercely as the creatures in the distance, he needed food, his legs were aching and his strength began to wane. He looked around but there were no flowers to feast upon, nor berries to pick. He stopped and laid down upon the mossy forest floor to sob. He was a lost bebbeh, he may never see his mother and siblings again; and he was too weak, too hungry, Squidge had been so wrapped up in his desire to explore that he hadn’t eaten since morning and his still growing body had long since burnt through his calorie preserves.

He “huuhuuu”'d to himself for a while, and then he saw it, a long and thick slug, crawling across his foreleg. “h… hewwo mista skettie buggie”, he said with a sniffle. And then a horrible idea crossed his exceptionally desperate mind.

He cried and sobbed as he gagged down the slimy and pseudo-gelatinous meat. The chunks oozed down his throat and triggered every natural Instinct to vomit, but he did not, as Squidge desperately required the calories and the energy, he needed to carry on, he had a delivery to make and a blind mother to help walk around, she NEEDED her bestest helper bebbeh.

He let the meal settle and mustered up just enough drive to slowly get up and troddle homeward.

As time passed by, Squidge’s head felt… off. Breathing became laboured, his legs felt stiff and unstable, and his vision deteriorated. He wheezed and sobbed to himself, fear struck his tiny heart like never before, it was like drowning upon dry land.

After an hour, he could hear a familiar tune, it was the mummah nest, and Cloud’s lovely singing. “Mummah wub bebbehs, bebbehs wub mummah!” she sang.

“…Mum…muh…” Squidge mouthed as he felt his body fail him.

Meanwhile, Cloud began giving licky cleanies to her sensitive filly, as Gloop stood by, puffing his cheeks bravely at a bumblebee. Only he noticed the rustling in the distance, and the faintest smell of his sibling. He followed the scent to the edge of his herd’s territory and found the young wannabe smarty, paralysed upon his side, breathing weak and eyes darting in panic as the parasite in his body burrowed deeper into his brain and began shutting down vital functions, one after another.

Squidge looked up at his younger brother, silently pleading for help, to be spared from the confusion and agony his mind and body was going through. “…hew…p…” he mouthed.

The young junior toughy looked down on his brother and snickered, oh how the mighty had fallen. Gloop didn’t know what the hell was wrong with his elder sibling, but he knew an opportunity when he saw one. His brother was right about one thing: he was Cloud’s favourite, and that was an issue easily remedied. Gloop reached down, took the flowers from his brother’s back, huffed in his face and then walked back to their mother without a word.

The last thing Squidge saw, before the vignetting circling his vision fell over him like a death shroud, was the fuzzy silhouette of his treacherous brother, walking towards the smiling image of his mother and sister in the distance.

p’tooie! hey mummah, bestest Gwoop find bestest fwowew nummies, dey am pwesen fow yew! Wub yew mummah!” he said, as he began hugging her leg. He then turned over to his seizing brother, as blood began leaking from his ears, he smiled, his future was now better secured. Maybe the position of toughy was too low for one such as him, that’s what he thought: maybe Gloop should set his sights higher.

Unfortunately, unbeknownst to any of the fluffies present, the flower that Cloud had just ingested was Aconitum napellus, otherwise known as Devil’s Helmet; and sufficed to say, her fate was sealed. Both the mare, and her two remaining foals died that night, with the toxin passing through her milk killing them by proxy.

The herd had a good cry about it the next morning, then promptly moved on, and before the week was out, their names had already been forgotten.

-The End-

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The moral of this story is that there are actually two reasons not to eat a live slug.

9 Likes

Don’t eat slugs: You’ll get parasites AND your brother will pull a Scar and betray your ass.

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Lmao perfect ending

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Right, three, three reasons. Reason #1 is that it’s yucky.

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