One more day of abuse over.
One more night of abuse is about to begin.
I work in the fetid pits of hell getting shit on all day for bullshit money. It needs to be done and I’m willing to do it and it wouldn’t be so bad if I wasn’t treated like shit at every turn. They always think the worst of me regardless of the truth.
I made the mistake of mastering an obsolete trade and now was stuck taking any job within walking distance. Even if that job was eating shit.
Oh well, that’s over for another twelve hours. I’m not going to waste my time dwelling on it.
As I walked home I stopped by the mini mart for my usual dinner: MD20/20, bath salts, and Swisher Sweets. I don’t sleep. I don’t eat. The clerk says words I don’t understand so I just smile and say, have a nice day. I leave and continue walking home. My body is in pain but I try not to dwell on it, it only makes the walk feel longer.
I rent an efficiency in a mostly empty five floor apartment building in the crackhead part of town. My apartment is on the top floor and the only occupied apartment on the floor so it’s quieter then the rest of the building. Overall the building is a dump but the rent is cheap and the land lord doesn’t bother me, I even have a private bathroom.
After I finally unlocked the last lock on my door and stumbled in, ignoring the cacophony of squeaking voices from the pin in the middle of the single large room, I tossed my book bag into the old recliner and undressed. The only things in the single room was a minifridge, an old recliner, a tv tray, a radio that was always tuned to NPR, a coffee machine, and three trash bags. One for clean clothes, one for dirty clothes, and one for trash. Nothing was on the walls the single window had an air conditioner in it but was otherwise covered with an old comforter. Most of the room was taken up by a fenced off play area which housed three fluffy mamas, their babys, a few weaned foals and one stallion.
The play area was about twelve feet square and consisted of several playmats duct taped together and enclosed by small animal fencing, also held together by duct tape. Water bottles were tapped to the fence and spaced out all the way around. Small cardboard boxes and blankets were situated in a semicircle around a shallow planter that was used as a feeding trough. A larger plastic tote cut roughly three inches from the bottom, half filled with wood chips served as the litter box.
I sat down, naked, in the recliner facing the fluffies as they verbally assaulted me with demands for food and water and toys. I grumbled and dug through my bag for their dinner, a moist paper bag of day old veggies bread and toppings. I tossed the whole bag at the planter, some of the food spilled out onto the mat and the adult fluffies attacked it ravenously with the weaned ponies carefully picking pieces from the floor and darted off.
With the fluffies dinner taken care of I could dig into mine. First I lit a Swisher then I chugged several large gulps of MD, that set my empty stomach to roiling. Then I fished around the side pocket of the recliner for one of several glass tubes with a chunk of Chore Boy stuffed into the end. I loaded several large crystalline granules of the bath salt into the burnt end of the pipe and took a large hit. Relief spread across my body as the pain in my stomach and bones began to numb.
I drank and smoked and watched the fluffies gorge themselves on wilted vegetables, fighting for choice bits until it was all eaten including parts of the bag.
A red pegasus colt with a nicely filling in yellow mane came over to the fence and asked for more food. It squawked about tummy owwies and mamas needing nummies for miwk. They’re so cute when they beg, or cry. I lunged out of the chair and scooped up the colt who yelped about bad upsies before I carried him to the litter box and gave him a good squeeze to clear out his bowels. (I learned that lesson the hard way) The colt squirmed and squealed and duel jets of piss and shit shot out if the pony like an over ripe pimple popped. He cried about his poopie pwace and sobbed as I carried him back to the chair. We sat down and I inspected the colt’s body, I swished his tail and moved his legs and pet him roughly and pulled his lips and ears as he tried to turn his face away. I took a big puff off the cigar held the smoke in my mouth and put the pony’s face in my mouth. I held him there long enough to know that he breathed in the smoke but let him out before he started gagging. nu smeww pritty, it coughed and I giggled. I poked and pawed and manipulated it’s small body flicking it’s ears and nose and balls just enough to cry out but not hard enough to do any real damage. It struggled futility against my grip so I just squeezed harder. It squeaked, nu moar hurties and I started getting pissed. You don’t know what pain is you little cunt, I think I said and slowly moved the burning end of my cigar to his asshole. He thrashed and tried to scream but I clamped it’s mouth causing the pony to bite part of it’s tongue off.
I realized things were about to get messy so I carried the thrashing pony to the bathroom sink. Watching him paw at the side I realized that he might actually be able to get out of the shallow basin. After a moment of consideration I took my needlenose pliers out if the medicine cabinet over the sink and used them to crush the, I guess, knees of it’s front legs. The pony passed out. At first I was disappointed but I decided to take advantage of the situation and grabbed my nightly provisions to relocate to the bathroom.
The pony was still unconscious as I loaded the pipe and took another hit. As the rush faded I picked up the unconscious pony and jostled it’s body around making it’s front legs flop around at the crushed joints. The pony woke up screaming and I slapped it across the nose. I let it fall back into the sink before I grabbed it’s front hooves and pulled it up on his hind legs and dragged it around the sink and pulled it’s front legs back and forth and all around as I giggled about it being daddy’s dancy baby.
I think I must have done that for a good hour or so.
It’s head started flopping back and forth as the pony slipped in and out of consciousness and my buzz was wearing off so I let the limp pony slide into the sink and turned on just a trickle of hot water. I sat on the toilet and took another hit and a few swigs of MD and watched the pony. It lay on it’s side sobbing quietly, it’s ribs shuttering as it breathed. I decided it needed something to wake it back up so I lit it’s tail and mane on fire. The fluff burned quickly taking a second for the pony to react. It tried to stand but couldn’t hold itself up on it’s front legs, the crushed bones in it’s joints grinding painfully. The result of it’s struggle only managed to lift it’s flaming rump off the sink so I quickly took the needlenose pliers and crushed the knees of it’s back legs then turned on the water full blast which put out the fire. It snarffed water and began choking in the small amount of hot water that collected in the sink before I turned it off.
The pony’s broken legs flopped as it struggled to get get away asking why munster daddy gib wostes owwies it am gud fwuffy nee huggies an wuv and so on and so on. I sat back on the toilet and laughed. Fluffies are so cute when they’re in pain and begging. Once the water had drained I swapped out the needlenose pliers for wire cutters and rolled the pony onto it’s belly and snapped off it’s tiny wings and dropped them in front of the pony, making sure it could see them. More struggling, more crying, more begging as I smoked and drank more.
I sat watching until it tried it’s self out again before I searched through the medicine cabinet and found an old insulin syringe. I filled the syringe with air and flipped the pony on it’s back spreading it’s hind legs to inject air into it’s scrotum. It took several full syringes but I completely inflated the pony’s scrotum like a basketball. The pony rolled and shook but most of it’s energy was spent and moving just caused it more pain. I asked, do you know you’re going to die but it just squawked nu wan foeber sweepies. Right, I said, but you are going to die. It just repeated nu wan foeber sweepies nu wan nu wan…
I don’t know what I expected. These stupid shitrats aren’t real animals just facsimiles. They only said what they were programmed to say, acted how they were programmed to act. They probably don’t even feel pain they’re just programmed to recognize damage and draw attention to it. I started getting pissed again.
I put back the syringe and grabbed a small pair of scissors then lifted it’s head by the muzzle and stared into the biotoy’s slightly over sized eyes. I quickly cut off both of it’s ears while staring into it’s doll-like eyes, the pupils dilated but even that seemed mechanical. I stepped back and finished the MD before loading the pipe and hitting it again. The biotoy just cried in a monotone as it lay in the sink. On whim I started to rub it’s penis sheath until the bright red organ began poking out. I continued playing with it, against the fluffy’s demands, until the colt became fully erect then I used the scissors to quickly snip the penis off at the sheath. Blood squirted out of the stump in decreasing spurts as it’s heart beat but it didn’t scream. It just changed it’s monotone cry to wan die… wan die… wan die… wan die… I was disappointed. I had hoped for one more good reaction before the loop hit. I poked it in the eye sharply just to be sure but the pony didn’t even shudder.
Oh well, time for a shower.
By the time I finished my shower the pony had bled out and was very much dead. Somehow it shit more in the sink after it died. I picked up the dead fluffy and rinsed out the sink before I gathered up what was left of dinner. I took another hit and lit another cigar before I took the dead pony and sat down in the fluffy’s play area. I used the foal’s corpse to torment the other fluffies by making it ride around on the adults and hump the chirpies. I chased the other foals around with it as they ran away screaming.
That occupied me for a few hours but my night was drawing to a close. I left the dead fluffy in the trough, spot cleaned the pin, dumped the litter box and filled up the water bottles. I put on a pot of coffee and finished the last of my bath salt. When the coffee was done I poured the whole pot into my thermos and got dressed. I double checked the time and got the garbage ready to run out. I turned to look at the dead pony in the trough as the adult fluffies began to nibble at it and thought, trade you?
Before I walked out the door and headed to work.