Another day. You wake up, do the normal morning routine, and check on the foals in the floor. The white one was able to show everyone where to use the bathroom, but they had trouble rolling the pillow over in time.
“Huu huu huu… Fwuffy am bad fwuffy… Make bad poopies…”
“Alright, Listen up. You guys are gonna get names.” You point to the pillow. “Runner.” The pillow looks sad hearing this. “B-buh, fwuffy nu can wun…”
You point to the white one. “Skeleton.” He looks confused. “Wha am skeweton?”
You point to the blue one. “Pincushion.” He looks scared hearing this.
You having fun?
“Alright Pincushion, you’re going to take a punishment for Runner.”
“SCREEE! WOWSTEST HOOFSIE HUWTIES!!”
What happened? You were just holding pincushion, about to enact your punishment, and he’s already got the thumb tack in his foot! You must not have gotten any sleep last night.
“D-don’t worry, you little shit. It’s only gonna get worse.” You go to your drawer, and get one of those needles with the little ball at the end. “Which eye do you like more, Pincushion?”
“W-wha? Wha daddeh mean? Pincushion wub aww see pwaces, nu wan-”
“SCREEEEEE! DADDEH, HEWP PINCUSHION! SEE PWACE HAB WOWSTEST HUWTIES!”
What the fuck is happening? Why is this happening? You’re so bored that you’re spacing out in the middle of it! And there’s a thumb tack in his other front hoof? When did that happen?
“A-alright, go walk around some, Pincushion.” You go to put him down.
You need to go for a walk. You get up and open the front door.
It’s nighttime. It was just the morning. Doesn’t matter. You wanna mess with some ferals in the city.
You hop on the bus, and before you know it, you’re in the main city itself. Time to find an alleyway where some of these things might congregate. You walk for a while, and the city seems like a blur. No one has any recognizable facial features. Just background characters in your life. They have their own stories, you know.
You turn a corner, and everyone changes. They all look like that inventor, or the pothead from the TV, or the fluff emporium worker, or the shelter volunteer. They’re all talking.
“Look at that sicko. I bet he’s here to look for more things to torture.”
“I’ve heard its good for stress relief. I ain’t got nothin against it, but that guy takes it to a level bordering on obsession.”
“Bordering? He hasn’t been to work in months! All he does is torture those things and talk about how he’s better than everyone! He looks like he hasn’t changed his clothes in years!”
“He looks like he could snap at any moment!”
“STOP! STOP TALKING ABOUT ME! WHAT BUSINESS IS IT OF YOURS?!”
You hold your head and look around. Everyone’s staring at you, but they just look like random people, except one person in the crowd. Wearing black rimmed glasses, blonde hair, short shorts, a t-shirt of some obscure prog rock band, and thighhighs. That goddamn inventor.
“You think you’re better than me? Don’t you? DON’T YOU?!”
He backs away, holding a fluffy close to him. “W-what the hell are you talking about, man?”
“You and your disGUSTING CREATURES. Good for NOTHING. THEY PROVIDE NOTHING TO THIS WORLD. If I could, I would torture all of your goddamn fluffies, you crackhead femboy CUNT. And you’re JUST AS BAD. All YOU DO is invent useless BULLSHIT THAT NO ONE COULD EVER NEED.”
"Do I know you? A-and are you okay?
He doesn’t even know you. You spend so much of your time hating this guy, and he doesn’t even know you!
“STOP IT! STOP LOOKING AT ME! I’M ABOVE YOU! I’M ABOVE ALL OF YOU!”
You shove through the crowd, running as fast as you can. You don’t stop until you get to an empty street.
You drop to your knees. You pound the pavement with your bare fists for what seems like hours. Your hands are covered in blood, but you feel nothing. You close your eyes.
“Don’t worry little guys, he’s probably just having a bad day.”
“Tank yu mistew Fuzzy Beawd! Fwuffies wub yu!”
Your eyes shoot open. Finally. You stand up, striding over to the alley way. A homeless man, wearing a heavy winter coat, varying facial scars, with a bushy beard and mane of hair is sitting amongst what looks like 15 grown fluffies and an uncountable number of foals, all of varying colors. “Oh yes.”
“Out of the way, parasite. You’re sleeping in a pile of toys and I’m looking to play.”
“What?”
“I want those fluffies you’re hanging out with. Are you drunk?”
“B-but they aren’t for sale. Sorry, you’ll have to go buy one from a store.”
“I never said I was buying them. Now get out of the way.”
You grab the homeless man by the neck and pick him up.
“H-hey, there’s no need for this.”
“You don’t know what I need. Now back off, before I lump you in with these vermin.”
“P-please, no… Th-they’re all I have…”
You shove him aside and stand over the fluffies. They all look so irritating. It’s going to be a lot of fun messing with them.
“M-mummah, babbeh scawed!”
“N-nu wowwy babbeh, mummah an Fuzzy Beawd wiww pwotect babbehs.”
You shove the mother aside and pick up the foal. “Should have kept your mouth shut kid. I’m gonna be the last thing you ever see.”
“N-nu! Babbeh am fo huggies an wub! Nu wan fowebah sweepies!”
You laugh. “You aren’t getting forever sleepies. And don’t worry, I’m gonna hug your eyeballs between my thumb and finger.”
“N-nu! Hewp! Nu wan huwties!!”
“S-stop! They didn’t do anything to you!”
You stop, your fingers millimeters from the foals eyes. “Who are you, to tell me what to do?”
You turn around, facing the homeless man, cowering in fear. “You care so much about it? Alright, catch.” You wind up, and throw the foal at the homeless man as hard as you can. It hits him in the face, landing in his hands. It’s very clearly dead.
“N-no…” The old homeless man whimpers, and begins to cry. You turn back around.
“Now, which one of you wants to be next?” You reach down to pick one up when you hear a rage filled scream from behind you. Before you can turn around, you feel a sharp pain in the base of your neck.
“What?”
You manage to turn around, seeing the homeless man standing above you, a bloody knife in one hand. He’s trembling. “M-my god, what have I done?”
He drops the knife and runs.
You land on the hard pavement, face turned to the stars. You can’t move.
The fluffies crowd around you. “Mistew am otay?”
“G-goddammit. W-when I’m feeling better, I’m gonna t-t-torture you all to death.”
“N-nice mistew? Mistew nu wook pwetty. Mistew hab owwies?”
“M-mistew hab boo boo juice!”
You turn your head, seeing a fluffy with orange fur and yellow mane. “Hewd nee go tu pawk tu see Fuzzy Beawd, Fuzzy Beawd suwe tu be dewe.” This guy seems like the leader other than the homeless man, a smarty, but he doesn’t seem like how people describe smarties. Proud, sure, but he seems like a noble leader, who cares about his flock. At the very end of your life, you’re still wrong about everything you’ve ever known.
“B-buh wha bout mistew? He hab owwies!”
“Mistew wook wike he’s going fowebah sweepies…”
No. No you can’t die here. Not like this. Not surrounded by these vermin.
“Why you dummehs cawe bout dat munstah? He huwt babbeh! AN Fuzzy Beawd!”
“B-buh he no nee be awone when go fowebah sweepies…”
The smarty sighs. “Otay. Fowm a fwuff piwe. Keep munstah wawm.”
One of the fluffies gets behind you, licking your neck. “Nu wowwy mistew fwuffy make boo boo go way wif kissies.”
They all start hugging you, and snuggling into you. No. No this can’t be how it ends. You don’t deserve this. What did you ever do?
That’s a very good question? What DID you do? All you ever did your entire life was use others for your own amusement at their expense. Whether it be your fellow humans, or these creatures. You provided nothing to the world, and yet you acted like you were the peak of humanity. And now look at you. Your grave, a dingy alleyway, surrounded by filthy fluffies who are happier than you could have ever thought of being. A fitting end for someone such as you.
No. No no no no no, this can’t be happening! You can’t die! You have so many things to do! Like what? Break more childrens toys?
“Let me have peace in my last moments at least! Leave me alone!” You try to say, but you can’t find the strength to speak.
“Nu cwy mistew, yu go tu skettiland, an see aww da pwetty fwuffies, an be happy fowebah.”
No! Goddammit no! Leave! If I’m gonna die, I at least want to die in peace! Help! Help me!
Your vision is fading. No, keep it together! Come on!
“It otay mistew, yu can go sweepies.”
You’re surrounded by fluffies. You can hear each one of them trying to comfort you. The only thing you can do is sit there. The smell is unbearable. Your breathing is getting shallower, and everything seems like its fading away…
“Goonight mistew…”
This is it? That’s all there is to your story?
You close your eyes one last time. You can still hear those creatures.
