this is a neutralbox/hugbox story the foals don’t die sorry. I doubt there will be any death.
I came across a mare in an alleyway eating leftover Chinese takeout, ignoring her newborn foals who were sitting on the pavement. If they weren’t in the shade they would have been cooked alive by the heat. The mother had clearly just given birth and the foals were still wet; she didn’t even bother cleaning them. The foals held onto each other peeping loudly while I stared at the mother blankly. She didn’t even pay any attention to me. I grabbed the two foals and let them suckle on my thumb.
“It’s ok little ones,” I say politely as the unnamed mare continues to stuff her face with noodles. She looks back at me for a second then rolls her eyes.
“Are you mute?” I say in a scolding tone. I was raised by entitled people. I have no patience for entitlement.
“Nu wan dummeh babbehs!!”
I’m tempted to kick her but instead, I settle for pinning her down so her foals can feed off of her. I’m wearing expensive shoes. I’m not risking my 100$ shoes for this entitled bitch. She screams then I feel bad, I settled for spitting in her face then walking away with the young foals. I pat them. They’re really good colours. The larger one is a shade of mauve with a red mane and her sister was a lilac alicorn that’s probably why they were abandoned. I can still hear that pig squealing like I stabbed her or some shit.
I turn to go home then I realize my parents would murder these foals painfully and slowly… they hated fluffies more than anything. I sigh then I think of my nanna who’s newly widowed and is stuck all day home alone with her sobbing pillowed former milk bag. I’m tempted to turn them in to the shelter then I watch them both fall asleep with milk-covered faces. They made me think of a child who had chugged milk then gotten a milk stash. They’re no longer in distress and they’re somehow comfortable in my sweaty hands. I realized I wanted to
[5:17 PM]
watch them grow up even if it was from afar.
I went down the crowded streets to my grandmother’s house. It was a small townhouse that my grandparents bought in the 80s after my mother moved out. I see my grandma sitting on her rocking chair smoking.
“The doctors said no smoking”
She smiles at me and she gave me a big toothless grin “They also said I should smoke when I was pregnant with your mother. Guess what I’m choosing to listen to. ” She takes an inhale of smoke and blows it into the wind hardly missing my face. “I’ve been smoking for a long time, dear. I won’t get smoke on you,” she promised, still not noticing the brightly coloured foals in my hands.
“I know, but you almost hit the foals”
She looks down at the little things that were fast asleep in my hands she smiles brightly. It looked like a real smile for once she wasn’t smug or faking it.
“Where did you find them?” Her crooked finger slowly stroked the foals in my hands who woke up to being touched and peeped happily. I tell her everything I saw, and she takes the foals from me.
“Allow me, I won’t let them get stomped to death or something. “ She pushed the door open and put the foals next to the former milk bag who had to be milked regularly. She gasps
“Hewo mummah! Hewo fewn!” She waves her stump at me before noticing the foals. She looks happy but does not dare speak a word. She spent seven years of her life being told she was worthless so she didn’t dare ask for anything. I’m sure she would let herself starve rather than speak out of turn.
[5:17 PM]
“Consider it a gift,” my grandmother says putting both foals to her teats they suckle happily. “You’ve been a good girl Cherry. Mummah loves you. Now you can be a mummah too”
Cherry cried happy tears she had seen so many of her own foals stolen from her before the foal in a can factory was shut down. I still can’t believe they left all those pillowed mares to die on the streets. The crying was audible from miles away. The mares and foals were sent off to shelters I think most were adopted out. She started singing the mummah song.
“Mummah gib gud babbehs huggies an-“ she started sobbing loudly. “Am wowstest mummah! Nu can gib huggies tu gud babbehs!”
At this point, I leave. My grandma was not the sort of person you would expect to be a shit rat hugger, but she wouldn’t even hurt a smarty. I walked past that alleyway again, seeing the mare cry over her pesul fewn who was snuggling with another mare who was a very pregnant alicorn. I chuckled and picked her up.
“I’ll take this away from you,” I said.
The stallion smiles. I’ll remember to tell my grandma about the stallion who abandoned his own foals. I dump the crying mare by a vet who fixes strays
“It’s more than you deserve.”
I flick her nose then leave while she tries to bite me.