(This story continues where my story Jelly’s Sorrow left off. If you haven’t already read it, you might want to start there first. In turn, that story follows on from the story Jelly and Snowflake. Link to Index of Hornlarry Stories
Phil had been fired from his job.
It had been perfect, a hugbox shelter, which officially gave the fluffies just 30 days until euthanasia, but in reality seemed to keep them forever, even if no one wanted to adopt them. Even better, without labelling the fluffies, no one in the shelter had an exact head-count, which meant no one would notice if a few disappeared here or there, or so Phil had thought.
At first, he’d been able to take a few fluffies a day, to feed his snake, Maximillian. Max was hungry, and could easily eat a fully grown fluffy once or twice a week. Baby fluffies were much smaller though, and Max could easily eat 4-5 of them a day. Max was a fat snake. Phil had found it hilarious to make the fluffies watch videos of Max eating unsuspecting baby fluffies. He had learned that promising them sketties if they watched, and that they would be nummies for the Snake if they didn’t watch, or told, was a sure fire way to ensure a terrified audience and total silence after the fact. In the shelter, terror ensured silence.
Then, after he had been there for just a couple of days, he went too far. A rebellious smarty named Jelly had gotten into the Pillowfluff pen, stomped a pregnant mare to death, and ran amok, pooping all over the others. Phil and his boss had nearly missed the perpetrator, until Phil noticed the fat little red fluffy, sat on her own legs, pretending to be a pillowfluff. He persuaded his boss to let him punish the fluffy personally.
Far from following a normal pillowing procedure, with sterile surgical implements and painkilling drugs, Phil had horribly tortured the fluffy, and dumped her in the poop tank at the centre of the pillowfluff pen. There, she had lingered for several days, eating shit and drinking piss, until she eventually died. When Phil’s boss found the decaying corpse, he fired Phil on the spot, realising that Phil had lied when he said the fluffy had died of a heart attack during the pillowing, and that the corpse had been disposed of already.
On the plus side, Fluffy’s had no rights, unlike other animals. If someone had done that to a mouse or a rabbit, they might be in some amount of trouble, but no one cared about fluffies. Well, almost no-one. Phil’s boss Frank and his boss Margaret were not in that category though.
Phil decided that he needed a new job.
Of course, Phil already had a job, delivering pizzas. Whilst it was not exactly the most stimulating job, it paid the bills, and Phil sometimes found time for amusement when he was having a particularly slow day.
On this occasion, Phil saw a herd of feral fluffies, hiding in some bushes at the side of the road. The herd were too scared to talk to him, as they must have had bad experiences with other humans. That meant he wasn’t able to lure or capture any of them, as they hid in the thick undergrowth.
Then Phil had an idea. Getting the cook to make him an extra large meatball pizza, he ate half of it, and then used the other half, combined with a can of Alphabetty Spaghetti, as fluffy bait. Placing the sketty topped pizza in the middle of the road, Phil cracked open a beer and sat down to watch.
In no time at all, the fluffies started to venture out towards the delicious sketties. They were scared, and rightly so, with all the metal vroom munstahs that prowled and roared along the road. Eventually though, their hunger got the better of them, and they ran the few yards into the central reservation that divided the road into the lanes heading into and out of town. There, the whole heard of gorged themselves on sketties. About 5 adults, including a pregnant mare and 8 or 9 babies.
Phil was initially a little disappointed that none of them had been horribly crushed by an oncoming vehicle, but he wasn’t disappointed for long. With full bellies, the fluffies were both slower and less cautious. The herd “smarty” looked out for oncoming traffic, then declared that it was safe to cross.
“Nu vwoom munstahs, it am safe naow. Cwoss woad back to hedgies…” the Smarty said, leading his little herd back to safety. Unfortunately for him, a maniac in a Ford Mustang chose that very moment to burn his way into town, crunching the smarty underneath his wheels, and leaving a long trail of blood, guts, poop and fluff all over the road behind him. The driver didn’t even pause for a moment.
“Smarty!!!” the other fluffies cried out, seeing their leader crushed and disembowelled in front of their eyes. Most of the fluffies started to cry, and the babies were to afraid to move. Phil nearly pissed himself with laughter.
Phil waited for a long time. The fluffies had cried and cried, and now seemed frozen with fear. Just a foot or two either side of them were two streams of traffic, moving in opposite directions. The roads were getting busier as people drove home from work, and Phil realised the fluffies could be there for a while. Phil decided to set up his video camera, hidden so that a passer-by wouldn’t see it, and set off to deliver more pizzas.
Later that night, Phil returned to the scene, with more beer, some bricks to throw at the fluffies, and a net to catch any stragglers. The drama that unfolded in front of him was delicious. Firstly, it was apparent from the corpses, that more fluffies had made a bid for freedom. A young stallion and the pregnant mare were crushed and spread all over the road, along with 3 or 4 babies. Another mare had had her ass and rear legs crushed beyond recognition, but was still alive in the central reservation, crying with the last mare and about 4 babies. Even better, a lone baby had managed to make it to the other side, but was now all alone and crying for its mummah. Phil couldn’t wait to check his camera for the highlights.
Putting his bag of bricks down to one side, Phil sat on the bridge that overlooked the scene and checked his camera. it was still there, and from the angle he’d set it up, it should have caught most of the action. Phil then reached into the brick bag, and started hurling missiles and insults at the remaining fluffies, taunting them into risking the traffic once again.
“Nu! Huwties!” screamed the fluffies, but mostly managed to hide underneath the central barrier. The half crushed fluffy was less fortunate though, and Phil managed to hit her hard with a few of the bricks. Realising that throwing bricks near oncoming traffic might attract the cops, Phil decided to find the lone baby fluffly instead.
Sitting at the side of the road, the sweetest little pink baby foal was crying her eyes out, begging for mummah and bwuddah and sissies to come join her.
“Pweeeease mummah! It cowd! Babbeh am scawed!” it cried.
“Hey little Fluffarino, are you ok?” Phil asked, in his best hugbox voice.
“Nu! Munstah-hoomin, hewp mummah! HEWP!” the baby screamed, and nearly ran into the road. It didn’t though, and Phil quickly scooped it up in his fluffy hunting net.
“NUUUU!” the baby yelled, but it was too late. Grabbing it, Phil quickly brought it up to eye level, and squeezed.
“Huwty! pwease nu huwty!” it begged
“Its ok little dude, I won’t hurt you, if you call for mummah,” Phil said, grinning like a demon.
The baby did as Phil told it to, screaming and begging for its mummah to come and save it. The mummah and the last few babies were scared, wanting to go to the little pink foal, but scared of the metal munstahs, and the man that was holding her. Phil held the baby up to his mouth.
“IF YOU FUCKS DON’T COME HERE, RIGHT NOW, I’LL EAT THE BABY. I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL.”
That seemed to work. As soon as there was a lull in the traffic, the mother ran into the road, shaking with fear, her terrified babies following in her wake. She got nearly half way across before she was pancaked by an oncoming 18 wheeler truck.
BLAM!
“Hhaahahahahhahahaha!” laughed Phil, ecstatically, “Did you see that baby? You just killed your mom! That was all YOUR FAULT!”
“NUUUUU! MUMMAH!!!” the baby cried and cried.
Amazingly, one of the other babies was still alive, crying, in the middle of the road, surrounded by the pancaked corpses and trails of blood, shit and intestines that were once its family.
“Mummah!” the baby was crying, actually attempting to nuzzle the corpse of its mother. The half crushed other mare in the central reservation just screamed, seeing her whole herd killed over the last few hours.
Phil wondered if the baby would make it or not. Several cars passed over the patch of road were it was standing, but it was so small that they passed safely over head without crushing it. Eventually, it decided to run for it, and managed to get to the other side, where Phil was stood, holding its sister in his hands.
“You made it little dude!” Phil exclaimed in amazement, before stamping on its back legs and crunching its lower half into the tarmac.
“SCREEEEEEE!!!” the baby screamed, as it bone snapped and its guts spilled out of its belly.
“Nu! Pwease nu mowe huwties!” the pink baby cried.
“No more?” Phil asked, “OK, I guess I’ll just leave these last two fluffies to a slow and painful death then…”
Phil walked off, leaving the half crushed baby and half crushed mare on opposite sides of the road, crying to each other, but beyond the help of anyone. Phil wondered how long they would last.
“Whewe taking babbeh?” the little pink foal asked.
“I’m taking you to meet a friend of mine,” Phil said.
Phil told the baby fluffy he was taking it to a place called the REPTILE WORLD.
“Weptiew Wowwd? Wat am weptiew wowwd?” the baby fluffy asked.
“Its a place where there are lots of nice nummies,” Phil lied.
The foal just whimpered, surrendering its fate to him, occasionally begging for “Miwkies.”
When they got to the shop, Phil took delight in showing the baby all the different munstahs in their heated glass enclosures. The foal cried and screamed, especially when Phil told her that the “nummies” in Reptile World were actually baby fluffies, and that the reptiles were the ones that nummed them!
Then, he showed the baby fluffy to his friend Jake, who owned the store, and told him the story of how he came to find her. Jake and Phil laughed their asses off as the baby cried, and Phil insisted that it was all the baby fluffy’s fault, and that if she hadn’t cried for milkies the whole time, her mummah and bwuddah and sissies and herd would still be alive. The pink foal was so traumatised that she believed every word of it.
Then Phil had another idea.
“Hey little fluffy, do you want to see your family again?”
“Wah? Nu wan, famwy aww squishded by metaw munstahs… huuu huu huu…”
“Yeah,” Phil said, trying to sound sympathetic, “they have been crushed by the metal monsters, but I don’t mean their bodies, I mean their souls.”
“Souws?” asked the baby foal, “Wat am souws?”
“Souls,” Phil explained, are the where the inside feels happen, like the heart huwties, and the bestest happies, and the happy tummeh feels. Souls can’t go forever sleepies. Souls go to Sketty land."
“Sketty-wand? Whewe am sketty-wand? Babbeh wuv sketties!”
“Sketty land is on the other side of the rainbow,” Phil lied, trying desperately not to piss himself with laughter. Jake was grinning and on the verge of hysterics too. “You can go there, but only once your body goes forever sleepies.”
The foal looked confused, “Nu wan fowevew sweepies… but wan sketties an sketty-wand… is dewe anofa way dewe?”
“Sorry buddy, only way is to go forever sleepies,” Phil said, “Do you still want to go?” he asked, to a gasp of near hysteria from Jake.
“Um… um… Yes. Babbeh wan sketty-wand!” the baby pink fluffy declared.
“OK!” said Phil. I have just the person to take you to sketty-land, say hello to Boris. Boris is a Komodo Dragon!"
“Komodo… Dwagon?” the baby asked, before screaming and shitting itself when Phil showed her the massive glass tank that held the Reptile Store’s star attraction.
“In you go!” Phil laughed, throwing the baby into the enclosure.
“EEEEEEKKKK!” the baby fluffy screamed.
Phil and Jake watched and joked as the baby ran around the enclosure, desperate to escape. Meanwhile, Boris slowly stalked her, liking its lips with its sinuous black tongue. Eventually it pounced, biting her clean in half, but the baby fluffy refused to die, dragging the top half of her body around the enclosure some more, begging for mummah or the nice-mistahs to save her. They didn’t of course, and eventually Boris caught and ate the other half of her body as well.
“Phil,” Jake said, “I think we have a job for you here at Reptile World.”
Phil was very happy indeed.