(You ever read Roald Dahl’s ‘Man From The South’? This has virtually nothing to do with this story, but I was re-reading it earlier and it helped give me the idea, in a roundabout kind of way.)
“Pwease mistuh, gib nummies?”
The man had been just about to enter his home after a long shift, when he had heard a small, chirping voice from behind him.
He turned, looking, and spotted a pale blue… thing sitting on his garden path. A fluffy pony, of course, just what he needed.
“What?” He asked.
“Pwease, fwuffeh hungwy… pwease gib nummies?” It babbled, looking up at him with hopeful eyes. It was small, probably some kind of baby, with a horn protruding from it’s fuzzy scalp.
The man looked past the wide-eyed foal and saw several fluffy pony heads peeking around from behind a hedge, evidently thinking they were being stealthy.
“Just for you?” He asked, an eyebrow raised. The foal paused, trying to think.
“Uh… uh… uh… maybeh…?” It asked, confused.
“Come on out.” The man yelled at the herd, who jumped, seemingly surprised that they’d actually been spotted from their brilliant hiding place.
One by one they trotted out from behind the bush, revealing themselves to be at least 10 strong as far as adults went, with a few babies scattered among the group.
“Which of you is the leader?” The man asked.
A single earth pony trotted up to him, his fur a dark caramel yellow colour.
“Am weadah.” He said quietly. The man was surprised. He’d heard legends of ‘Smarty’ ponies and their insufferable know-it-all attitudes. This one just seemed like any normal fluffy pony, presumably leading by default instead of by choice.
“So, you want food.” The man said, looking over the herd. Some began visibly drooling at the very thought of food. They must not have eaten in several days.
“Yus. Nice mistah gib hewd nummies?” The leader asked. It was surprisingly polite, but the man was still in no mood for it either way. What the hell gave them the right to take food from him, for free, when he’d had to pay for it?
And then, that thought gave him an idea.
“Well, let’s see. Do you know what a ‘trade’ is?” He asked.
“Twuh… twade?” The leader asked, tilting it’s head to one side.
“Yes, a trade. It means if I give you something, you have to give me something in return, understand?”
“Oooh, otay!” The leader said, nodding. The rest of the herd seemed to understand as well.
Good.
“So, you want food, correct?”
“Yus! Wan nummies fow hewd!” The leader said.
“Okay. I have food I can give you. But what will you give me for it?”
“Uh… uhm…” The leader babbled, looking worried. This was a LOT of thinky-work! “Uhm, uh, uhm… gib huggy?”
“No. I don’t want a hug.”
“Oh, otay, uh… uhm… uh… uhm…”
The man watched the leader mumbling and babbling to himself, his eyes screwed up tight as he desperately tried to force his tiny mind to think as hard as he could.
“Uh… wha YOO wan?” The leader finally asked. The man thought it over.
“Well, considering how badly you want food… I want something precious for it. I want… one of the herd’s foals.”
“WHA?!” A mare shrieked from within the cluster of the herd. “NU! NU TAKE BABBEH!”
“Then no food.” The man said, folding his arms. “That’s the trade. If you want food, I want a foal. Either you give me a foal, or you get nothing.”
The herd began quietly babbling among themselves.
Yes, they wanted food, obviously… but was food worth giving up one of their babies? But then again, there were already a lot of babies in the herd, would one less really be so bad…?
“Otay.” The leader said at last, eliciting a gasp from the herd, and a ‘NU!’ from the same mare.
“Good. Pick a foal and hand it over, you won’t get any food until you do.” The man said.
The herd lapsed back into quiet babbling and mumbling, evidently trying to make a decision, until finally the loud mare stood up, making her way out of the herd.
She waddled forwards reluctantly, one of her babies held in her mouth by the scruff of it’s neck. The foal was still too young to speak, or to even open it’s eyes. It simply chirped and squeaked like a tiny red hamster.
The man wrapped his fingers around the foal, but the mare held onto it, unwilling to let it go.
“No foal, no food.” The man repeated. The mare, with tears in her eyes, let go at last, and the man immediately stood up, holding the peeping foal in his hand.
He noticed the mare’s teeth had bitten hard enough into the foal’s skin that it had begun to bleed. She’d wanted to keep it so bad she’d started to hurt it.
“Okay then. Stay here, I’ll go and make some food.”
He went indoors and placed the foal in a large plastic bowl where it wouldn’t injure itself, and dug out a few cans of spaghetti. He remembered hearing somewhere that these dumb things loved the stuff, so he dumped each can onto a plate and microwaved them all, eventually carrying three lukewarm plates of it outdoors.
“SKETTIES!” The herd immediately shrieked, ploughing into the food, smearing their faces with sauce and stray noodles as they devoured every morsel of it.
He’d been right. It was like crack for them.
After a few minutes the carnage was over, the plates were licked clean (although the same couldn’t be said for the sauce-encrusted faces of each fluffy). Curiously, the man had noticed the mare he’d taken a foal from, which had eaten sullenly before waddling away to be by herself.
She actually missed her baby. Interesting.
“There, you’ve had your food.” The man said. “Is there anything else you want?”
The herd looked around nervously. They wanted a LOT of things, but they knew that asking for them would incur a heavy price. Maybe another foal… or maybe one of them.
“Uh… fwuffehs… wan safe pwace, fow sweepies…” The leader said. Some of the herd had begun to yawn after gorging themselves, it seems they all wanted to go to sleep.
“Okay. I have an old shed you can all stay in.” He said. The herd began cheering and babbling, until he spoke again.
“But it’ll cost you.”
The herd froze.
“Uh, fwuffeh gib… gib huggy?” The leader suggested again, wincing at the knowledge that it still wouldn’t be accepted.
“No.” The man said, sighing.
“Uhm… fwuffeh gib… anoddah babbeh…?” The leader quietly asked.
“NU! NU NU NU! NU MOWE BABBEHS!” The mare cried, burying her face in her hooves. “MUMMAH NEE’ BABBEHS! BABBEHS NEE’ MUMMAH! NU TAKE BABBEHS!!!”
“No.” The man said anyway. “I don’t want another of your babies.”
“Uh… fwuffeh gib… a huggy and a babbeh?” The leader asked weakly. The man shook his head, then leaned down, close to the leader’s face, and looked him dead in the eye.
“No. I want one of your special lumps.”
The entire herd froze again.
“Wuh… wumps…?” The leader whispered.
“Yeah. That’s right. If you want to stay here for the night, I’m going to take one of your special lumps. Then you can stay here ALL night.”
“Buh… buh nee’ wumps…” The leader mumbled, stunned at the offer. A whole night of safety for the entire herd… but was it worth one of his special lumps?!
“C’mon.” The man asked, getting bored. “Your herd is tired. It’s getting dark and it’s getting cold. You can stay in the shed, or you can sleep out here, in the dark, with the monsters.”
“Munstahs?!”
“Nu! Nu munstahs!”
“Nu wan!”
“HEWP!”
The herd began babbling in fear, all except for the leader, who was thinking so hard he was starting to sweat.
“Wha if… wha if gib some fwuff?” The leader bargained. “Hab nice fwuff, su soft, and-”
“No. I want one of your special lumps. That’s the deal. Take it, or get the fuck off my lawn.”
The leader went quiet again. Several seconds passed. Then he made a decision.
“Otay. Hewd weabe.” He said with a sigh.
Then there was a shriek.
The morose and sullen mare from before came barrelling out of the herd, waddling towards the leader as fast as she could.
“NU! WE NU WEABIN’! YOO GIB WUMP! YOO GIB WUMP NAO! YOO MAKE MUMMAH GIB BABBEH, MUMMAH MAKE YOO GIB WUMP!”
And with that, the mare sank her soft, blunt, couldn’t-possibly-harm-a-child teeth into the leader’s testicles.
The leader let out a shriek of his own, and the herd began wailing and crying in fear. The mare, credit to her, held on tight and gnawed at the leader’s ballsack.
The man watched it all, struggling to stand up from how hard he was laughing.
He had no idea what he’d expected from the herd, but it hadn’t been this!
Finally he caught his breath and stepped in, prying open the mare’s jaws and dumping her away from the leader. The leader was a sobbing heap, muttering about his ‘wumps’ having ‘owies’.
The man picked him up and looked him over. It turns out the mare had done most of the work for him already. She had actually managed to penetrate the skin and had bitten straight into one of his testicles, puncturing the tiny orb.
“Alright.” The man said. “All of you, wait right here. I’ll be back with this one when I’ve taken his lump.”
He carried the bleeding, sobbing fluffy into his home and through to the kitchen. One particularly sharp pair of scissors later and the leader was minus one testicle. The man dug out a first aid kit and dealt with the bleeding.
Less than 30 minutes later, he emerged back onto his lawn with the miserable leader tucked under one arm, quietly 'huhuhu’ing to himself at the pain in his balls.
“Alright. Follow me, all of you.” The man said, leading them around the side of the house to where the shed was located.
The shed had been built with a stable door, allowing the top and bottom halves of the door to open and close separately. The man opened the top half, and lifted each fluffy in, placing each one carefully inside the shed before grabbing the next one to do the same.
After a few minutes, the herd was all inside the shed. It wasn’t a palace, nor was it exceptionally safe, but they would be dry for the night, and there was at least enough room for them.
“Okay. You’ve got somewhere to sleep. Do you want anything else?” He asked.
The herd were silent. They briefly glanced at each other, but nobody said anything. Any time one of them opened their mouths, they looked at their beloved leader, who was lying on his back gently massaging his agony-stricken genitalia, tears silently pouring down his scrunched up face… and then they closed their mouths again.
“Okay. Bye.” The man said, before turning and leaving.
He made it back to his home, and was prepared to ignore the herd entirely unti lthe morning, until he saw the foal sitting in the clear plastic bowl. He’d forgotten all about it.
What the fuck was he going to do with it?
He’d only asked for it to see if any of them were willing to do it in exchange for food, and now that they had… he was actually at a loss on what to do with the damn thing.
He briefly considered taking a trip to the golf course with it to see how far he could launch it, but figured that would only be fun once, and it was a hell of a drive to get there.
Then, he got a much better idea.
He’d give it back to it’s mother.
Or, rather, he’d trade it back.
He picked up the plastic bowl and carried it out to the shed. Before he even reached it, he heard the mare speaking again.
“MUMMAH HEAW BABBEH! BABBEH?! BABBEH! WHEWE AWE YOO?!”
The man reached the door and held out the clear plastic bowl for the mare to spot, seeing her tiny red foal inside it, warbling and chirping quietly.
“Do you want your baby back?” The man asked. The mare immediately nodded frantically.
“Yus! Yus pwease nice mistah! Pwease gib babbeh back to mummah! Babbeh onwy widdwe, nee-”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You know the rules by now.” The man said. “If you want your baby back, I want something else in return.”
“Whuh… whuh wan’?” She asked timidly.
“You’re a loud bitch.” He said. “I want your voice.”
(In reality, he intended to cut out her tongue, but he had put it into basic terms a fluffy would understand.)
“Yoo take… mama SPEAKY?!” She squeaked in broken English.
“That’s right. If you want your baby back, I’m going to take your voice away, so you can never sing to it again, or to any of your babies. What do you think? Do you still want your baby?”
The mama looked at the foal, plainly visible in the clear plastic bowl. She looked at it, worry in her eyes, and ultimately hung her head.
“Nu. Nu wan babbeh back.”
“Are you sure? This is your last chance, y’know. You could have your baby back, right now, if you say ‘yes’.”
“Nu. Wan babbeh, buh nu wan wose speaky.” She whispered, heartbroken and miserable.
The man was troubled.
He didn’t want the foal. It’s constant chirping was pissing him off, and it had already pissed in the bowl. He knew it wouldn’t be long before it took a shit too, and the piss itself smelled bad enough already.
But the mare said no.
Unless…
“Okay then. I’ll be nice.” He said. “I’ll change the deal slightly. You can have your foal back, if any of the herd is willing to give up their voice.”
“Wuh… weawwy?” The mare asked, surprised.
“Absolutely.” The man replied. “But that’s the rule. One of the herd, any of them, has to give up their voice, forever. If they do that, you can have your baby back right now.”
The baby was chirping again. The mama was practically fidgeting with apprehension. She wanted it back so dearly, to hold it in her arms and snuggle it against her tummy, to feed it her milkies and sing to it…
But the herd was silent.
“Really?” The man asked. “None of you? Not a single one of you is going to help her?” He asked, gesturing at the mare. The mare herself turned and looked at the herd, realising herself that none of them were volunteering to help her, or her foal.
“Hewd…? Hewd, hewp mummah! Hewp babbeh!” She squeaked at them, but the herd still did not volunteer. The mare got angry, puffed out her cheeks and stomped her hooves on the shed’s wooden floor.
“HEWD! HEWP BABBEH! MUMMAH NEE’ BABBEH BACK NAO! HEWP BABBEH NAO!”
Again, the herd did not volunteer. They simply glanced around at each other, all waiting on someone else to be the one to make the sacrifice.
“Well, shit.” The man said, shaking his head slowly. “I guess nobody cares about this foal enough to save it after all.”
He reached into the bowl, grabbed the foal, and lifted it out with a tight grip around it’s torso, causing it to let out some pained chirps and squeaks.
“Nu! Nu huwt babbeh!” It’s mother wailed, standing up on her hind legs and desperately wiggling her limbs to reach it, but to no avail.
“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want with it.” The man said. “You had your chance to get it back, and you didn’t want it bad enough, remember?”
The mare was silent. She remembered her choice.
“So that means this foal is mine. I can do whatever I want with it.” The man said again, giving the foal’s belly another sharp squeeze. It let out a chirpy yelp of pain, and the mama again began to flail for it, instinct overriding whatever passed for logic in the half-baked brain of a bio-toy.
The foal squealed and a dribble of fearful shit poured out of it’s asshole, spattering the mare’s face, but she didn’t let it distract her. All she knew was that her baby was in trouble, and it needed her!
“Pwease… pwease gib babbeh back…”
“No.”
“Pwease nice mistuh… wiww gib speaky… mama wiww gib speaky fow babbeh…”
“Nope, it’s too late now.”
“Wuh…?”
“You had your chance, you said ‘no’. You didn’t love your baby enough to save it.”
“DAT NU TWUE!”
“And then,” The man continued. “The entire rest of the herd didn’t care enough about it either.”
He gave the foal another squeeze.
“You really are the worst mother ever…”
“NU!”
“And this is the worst HERD ever!”
And with that, he squeezed tighter.
And tighter.
And tighter.
Slowly, second by second, he increased his grip on the foal, going from squeezing it’s guts to crushing them. He could feel the tiny paper-like bones breaking under his fingers, he could feel it’s fluttering heart rapidly beating against his thumb, he could feel it’s organs shifting as the space in it’s body contracted further and further.
The foal had stopped it’s chirping and was now simply letting out a singular high-pitched wailing whine, it must have been trying to scream but either it’s lungs hadn’t developed enough yet or it simply couldn’t get enough air into it’s slowly-being-crushed body to do so.
There was a crack as another rib broke. Then a snap. And then another crack. The baby was crying openly, the entire herd was watching, transfixed, as it’s life was slowly squeezed out of it.
The foal began to shit again, but this time there was no actual shit coming out of it’s anus… only a steady stream of dark red liquid.
Blood.
The heartbeat was going faster, faster, faster, it was almost humming at this point… and then, with one final ‘CRUNCH’ of breaking bone, the rapid heartbeat stopped completely.
The foal was dead.
“Babbeh…?” The mare whispered.
The man let go, releasing his grip at last, and watched the limp foal tumble through the air, landing with a ‘whap’ against it’s mother’s face. It fell from there to the hard wood floor, landing with a ‘plop’ in a pool of it’s own blood.
“Sleep well.” The man said, before closing the shed door and leaving.
This was going to be a lot more fun than he’d first thought.
(Next)
