The conclusion
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
“Dun wan pway stoopi’ gamesies! Hae’ yew!” Sugar had been getting into a really sour mood lately. All her owner, Amy, wanted to do was play dolls with her or maybe even tea party but the mare was freaking out. Knocking stuff over, being verbally nasty, even making bad poopies on the floor. Amy had cleaned it up and hadn’t told her father, but the constant abuse from her biotoy was getting out of hand.
“Dad…can I get a new fluffy?” She asked Bill one night as they sat down to a chili dinner. Hey, he was the only parent around now and that’s all guys knew how to make except for anything on the grill.
Bill scratched his cheek. “Why, honey?” Of course, he already figured why. Sugar was one of the most disobedient little fucks which had walked the Earth.
“Sugar is being really mean. I don’t know why. Maybe I’m not a good mom…” She looked down to her chili, tears brimming at her eyes. Bill scooted back from the table and looped her up in a hug, patting her on the back.
“Sure. When you get back from grandma’s this weekend, we’ll go pick out a new fluff. And don’t worry, I know a nice farm Sugar can go live on.”
Amy immediately brightened up. “Really? I bet she’d love playing with ducks! And maybe there are other fluffies.” Bill gave a nod to that.
“Yep. Why, it’s the same farm her babies went to. They’ll be reunited and happier than ever.” He told her with a wry smile on his lips, causing the girl to giggle cheerfully.
So that was that. When Friday rolled around, he’d drop the girl off at her grandmother’s for their weekly visit. He usually worked long hours on the weekends so it was convenient. This time around, though, he’d be taking PTO. After waving goodbye to Amy, he’d drive to the hardware store and pick out a few slats of pine. He had some work to get done.
Once home, he’d unload the wood panels into the garage and walk into the house with a bounce in his step. Sugar was in Amy’s room, sitting on her bed with a sour expression. Bill walked, flipped the light on.
“Hey Sugar.” A big smile.
“Munstah daddeh.” She responded, looking away. “Hae’chu. Wan babbehs. Wan speciaw fwend.”
He’d kind of expected this. Ever since the first incident, Sugar had kind of taken care to avoid him. Out of fear? Most likely. Over time that fear had seemed to erode to loathing over the man who had taken the important things from her.
Getting over to the bed, Bill picked her up by the tail. Dangled her out like a diseased carcass. The mare screeched and tried twisting around.
“BAD UPPIES! MUNSTAH! BAD MUNSTAH!” She protested, and then added: “Hab sowwy-poopies!” He’d expected this to a degree too. Which is why he held her out so far. She shit but instead of it’s intended target it just plopped right down onto her own face.
“POOPIES! NU FEEW PWETTY!” Sugar continued to tantrum, though to be fair she was the one who had shit. Bill continued on out to the garage. “Yeah? How about we have a makeover then?”
Once they were out in the garage he’d cinch an extension cord around her tail, looping it around his workbench and dragging her up. She dangled upside down and looked to him tearfully.
“Sugah sowwy. Su sowwy. Wiww be gud fwuffy.” She told him as he went to a collection of tools. He’d select a long lawnmower blade. It was on the list of things ‘to-do’ before spring arrived. It needed sharpened. Right now it was the perfect tool for the job though.
“I warned you, cunt. I gave you more leeway than you deserved.” He held up the lawnmower blade and grabbed a fistful of her fur. The blade wasn’t sharp. Even if it was, it was a hopelessly poor tool for slicing into anything when not on a piece of machinery. That was the point though. He sawed back and fourth, tugged on her fur, tore until it came out in a bloody chunk.
“SCREEEE! HUWTIES! SUGAH HUWTIES!” The mare screamed. Through all the abuse Bill had inflicted, none of it had been on her. Not physically, at least. Emotionally she’d been on quite the rollercoaster.
“Hi, ‘Sugah Huwties’. I’m Bill.” He said, guiding the blunt blade down so he could tear more chunks of fur and flesh off of her body. The fur on her body was torn out as effectively as he could manage, though it didn’t have to be a perfect job. The tail and face were left alone.
“My father always told me, Sugar, a clean shop is a clean heart. It’s a reflection on you as a person.” The fluffy was sobbing as the munstah man plucked up fur clots and chucked ‘em into the garbage can. He’d dab the bloody spots on his workbench with oil cloths, give a sigh.
Next was woodworking. Carpentry. Safety googles? Check. Work gloves? Check. “I like that saying. Mine is ‘Safety first’.” Anyways, he’d begin to slice the pine he got earlier into simple slabs. This wouldn’t have to be perfect. One semi-long piece, four smaller pieces that he’d carefully position and nail into place. One final piece was cut out but didn’t get fitted into place yet.
“Daddeh…nuuu….nuuu sowwy-boxie…” Sugar cried as she saw it.
“Huh? Naw, Sugar. Relax. This is a Sorry-CASKET.” He demonstrated this by getting a can of red spray paint out and hastily writing ‘Sorry-Casket’ on the side. “See? It’s different.”
Sugar shook from side to side, trying to wriggle her tail free. “Wha caket? Wha?” Bill took up the lawnmower blade again, smiled.
“Well you see.” Slamming the heavy metal bar out at the base of her tail, he would hack into her as hard as he could. She screamed, but he’d continue on both with the hacking and explanation. “We as humans bury our dead. It’s respectful. Even if they weren’t very good people, it’s what a good person does. ” Hack, grunt, hack. Finally she was freed from the extension cord, sans her tail. The fluffy plopped facefirst onto the workbench.
“Sugah nu am fowebba sweepies! Sugah awibe!” He took what remained of her mane and dragged her over to the Sorry-Casket. The lawnmower blade had been left behind in exchange for a pneumatic nailgun.
“Sure are.” Bill agreed, popping a nail into the flesh right above one one of her fore hooves. He got one into the other side before she’d even had much time to freak out and start flailing around. Her back legs were next, the man having to hold them into place. Thnk-thnk-thnk! A whole line of nails through her legs to make sure she couldn’t budge ‘em even a bit.
“HUWTIES! SU MUCH HUWTIES! HUUUUUUU!” She cried out, unable to try and even reason with him at the moment. After she was securely in place, Bill tipped the box so she was sitting upright. Her body sagged painfully, not securely leveled with her legs.
“I’ll give you some time to think. I need a beer. Oh, don’t wantcha to get cold.” He’d lug over his heater. A big 80,000 BTU kerosene one. It made the place too toasty even when you weren’t right in front of it. He’d place it right in front of her, watch it glow orange-hot, smile. For the moment he was out of the garage.
“Huuuu……su wawm…huuu…nee’ wawa…” She lamented, the heater blasting right into her face. It came out with such force that the fur on her face moved around at a brisk pace. Almost immediately the fluffy could feel her mouth dry out, her eyes feel like two brittle little rocks. Tears which bled out the corners dried away immediately. It was the hottest you could likely be without burning alive.
Eventually Bill came back, cradling a nice cold beer in one hand. He took a long slug from the can, gave an exaggerated sigh. “Sakes alive, Sugar. It’s a little warm in here. An ice cold beer never went down better.”
Sugar looked up to him, stuck her tongue out. It was dry. Her mouth had cracked and was bleeding. “Wawa…pwease Sugah wawa…”
“Oh, don’t you worry.” Bill set his beer down and went over to the casket. He’d tape something on the inside of it: An old walkie-talkie which had just been fitted with a fresh pair of batteries. He set the lid into place, nailed it shut. Sugar was cast into darkness, making scaredy peepees. “Heard it’s going to be a rager of a storm tonight.”
“Daddeh! Sugah am scawed of dawk-times!” She’d always had a fear of the dark like many other fluffies. Bill didn’t have time for that though. He had a hole to dig. Hefting the casket outside, he’d set it down and begin to work some of the dirt up in his backyard with a shovel and a pick.
It was deep enough and long enough. He didn’t want to waste anymore time on this than he had to. Once a proper amount of dirt had been displaced, he’d kicked the casket down and began filling up the hole once more.
“Huuhuu….hewp…mummah hewp! Scaredies! Nu wike dawk-time…huwties…nee’ wawa…” Sugar wept in her casket. The shoveling had stopped long ago, and Bill had stopped engaging her even before that. Now she sat in the darkness, unable to even lift her hooves up to batter against the nailed-shut lid.
It was so cold down here. Where was she? It hadn’t even occurred to her that she was in a hole. It was just dark. Frigid. Suffering. “Mummah. ‘Nee mummah. Daddeh? You fo’get Sugah. Sugah am hewe. ‘Need huggies an’ wubs tu feew gud. Huuu…”
Bill listened to this all night. The walkie-talkie in the casket transmitted her squawking to it’s partner in the living. Honestly, excellent range. They sure didn’t make ‘em like they used to. His favorite part was when the storm started up. Thunder, lightning, the works. The loose soil meant that the water that sank down went directly into the casket, and didn’t you know? His shoddy craftsmanship meant it leaked right through. She seemed pleased at first to have the water. But she learned it kept coming. It never stopped for a good long while. Whether she’d drowned or the walkie-talkie had gone dead wasn’t of his concern. All he needed to do was put the picnic table over the spot so his daughter didn’t see the patch of exposed lawn.
Sugar lay under the ground. She’d been here for several days, submerged partially in water. Poopies floated all around and worms had gotten in. She could hear something from up there. Mummah! It was mummah!
“HEWP MUMMAH! MUMMAH IT AM SUGAH! HEWWWWPPPP!” She called out, but Amy didn’t hear.
“Caramel, wanna play ball!?” She asked her new brown fluffy.
“Cawamel wub baww!” The fluffy agreed. “Mummah wan see danceh?” Caramel asked, and Amy nodded.
The fluffy danced on her predecessor’s grave.