Inspired by a previous post: Transfixed
Light reflected across the specks of dust dancing across the musty air of the old, rotten “adoption center”. Small, timid cheeps and squeaks could be heard across three rickety floors, most living in small unattended piles, waiting for the warmth of a fluffy mother that would never come. The first floor was staffed by an elderly woman, who would sleep soundly in between feeding times, no matter the feeble request of the resident foals and fillies for attention or more food.
However, her detachment from the center would not last for much longer, as the highest floor had become inundated with foal shit and piss. The woman never made it that high often, as she would tire out on the second floor and need her naps. She would wake up covered in pastel furs, smelling of dirty shitrat. Those days would see the offenders punished, often never seen again by their brothers and sisters. Though, through hushed whispers, the older fluffies remember the wails of their kin from the lower levels of the center, and reel away from the woman when she would approach. A certain payback befell the woman on a particularly rainy day, when the third floor completely collapsed onto the second. Luckily, the roof had stayed in tact, saving the lives of some lucky few.
The second floor fluffpiles were utterly annihilated by the collapsing floor. The wood crushed the initial foals on top of the piles, driving their corpses into their families below. Their crushed bones forced downwards into the delicate skin of the other foals, piercing their organs and leaving them to bleed next to their crushed siblings. Their cries could be heard throughout the neighborhood for two weeks after the accident, yet no public official or department stepped in to assist the situation. When the wails for “MAMMMA” and “PWWWEEASSEHEWWBB!!” finally reached a breaking point, the neighbors finally decided to clean the old house up.
To their disgust, they found the rotting corpse of the old woman near the entrance of the center. Her eyes were gray, flesh pallid, and surrounded by tiny, malnourished clumps of fluff searching for any semblance of warmth and comfort. Some small foals had begun to develop smarty syndrome, demanding “gwaddies” and “wotow”, completely undecipherable by the uncaring people.
Whatever it was, they found none from the invading cleaning crew, finding only swift heels to the neck or sharp objects to the forehead. It was a cathartic experience for the neighborhood, even some children joining in on silencing the grating faux baby voices that had kept them awake for weeks. With the cleansing done, some local “agencies” swept in to take in the remaining foster foals. Within hours of their arrival, the local foal abuser market was flooded. Snow whites, pale blues, and even luminescent gold foals started showing up in dingy basements, waiting for their fate.
One such filly, named Mida, awaited her pickup in a rusty bucket with black crusty splotches lining the inside. She shivered, vibrating the bucket alongside her.
Her peeps and squeals were not heard by her handler, who shut the ajar iron lid on her, after what seemed like hours of begging and banging, effectively shutting Mida off from sunlight.
She couldn’t be heard from the outside, but her screams echoed in the metal cell and into her eardrums, deafening her to any outside noise she could hear to begin with.
She could hear nothing and say nothing.
For what seemed like many forevers, the golden foal waited in her cell, midnight-clad in anxiety and fear. She waited, and waited. And waited.
Then she became hungry. So insanely hungry. Hunger that would drive a mummah mad to feed her foals, to do anything in her power to get her nutrition. Anything in her power.
She waited hours, days, maybe even weeks to eat. Her instincts led her to one option.
Mida reluctantly ate.
And when her iron cell was eventually opened, she looked up to horror.
Human expressions of horror. And disgust.
“HOW LONG WAS THAT THING IN THERE FOR!”
“We have no idea!! The last attendant was apprehended this afternoon by the FIA and left this here!”
“WELL GET IT OUT OF HERE! ITS NO USE TO USE WITHOUT A LEG! SELL IT OR SOMETHING!”
Mida listened in horror. She attempted to squeak, but her undeveloped larynx couldn’t muster a sound. The lid closed with a loud clank. It would be many forevers until Mida would see the light again.
The creak of the bucket’s lid opened once more. Mida hobbled around the base of the bucket, now malnourished enough to move around relatively freely. She squeaked and sighed, alternating between bouts of joy and absolute despair, sometimes even spiraling into a sobbing episode, which did nothing but dehydrate the young filly even more than she already was.
When she felt human contact for the first time, all of her prenotions of warmth and comfort were shattered. A grating and supremely tight grip squeezed between her ribcage and pelvis, stretching both almost to their limits. She was marched over to a workstation, and was blinded with a fluorescent light that she never got accustomed to. The circular light shone into her undeveloped eyes through her thin eyelids, causing them to open prematurely.
“Well, you would have been the most beautiful thing," a smooth voice called. "Ice blue eyes and a golden- well, once golden- coat. Would have bred you with the prized stallion. But you, a filly, somehow ate your own leg after forty-five minutes.”
The filly’s newly opened eyes opened further as she realized her new position; not in the path of the light, but high above a brown, curly-haired head. Held by her shoulders, she was swiftly smacked against the hard edge of a wooden table, instantly shattering her pelvis and lower legs.
She roughly landed on the table after being dropped by the hand. Dazed, and with the pain not yet reaching her brain, she reluctantly licked at her ass, as she had felt shit come out. However, she licked into an open void, tasting nothing but blood. Her lower half was held on by sinews and the remains of her spinal cord. Her discolored coat was covered in a vibrant crimson, marked with the occasional jagged bone or fragment. As her eyes locked with her chewed and scarred leg, the pain raced up her spine.
She howled. For her never-met mother.
For her time in the bucket.
For her–
Her pulsing thoughts were broken by the same hand grasping the remains of Mida, right below her ribcage. The grip splurted out the filly’s lower organs, squelching on the ground with a sickening splat. Dazed, Mida glanced down at the rapidly approaching table, and the silver obelisk approaching even faster.
Before she knew it, a silver spike was driven parallel to her spine and out her mouth. Choking on bile and blood, she could only splutter and attempt to cough out the fluids rapidly filling her body cavity.
“You could have been perfect. All you had to do was wait.”
Mida’s right front leg was pinched by the hoof.
“You didn’t care for your legs.”
The hand pulled.
“Why should I?”
The hand tore. The elbow joint was ripped apart, twisting tendons stretching to their limit before blood vessels and muscles broke under the tension.
Mida spluttered in agony. Her first attempted words only came out as bloody hiks and haks, blocked by the railroad spike in her trachea. Her eyes began to flutter. She was fading fast, losing too much blood from the transfiguration.
The man knew, so the final move was at hand.
He stepped behind the fluffy, still immobilized on the railroad spike. Bruised and bloody organs began to drip out of the exposed wound, with open eyes and flailing arm attempting to reach and restore them, to no avail. Placing the base of his palm on the back of the filly’s fragile head, he slowly crept his fingers up and around the top of the skull, past the eyebrows, and viciously dug his fingers into the creature’s eyes.
Mida let out a high pitched screech, completely emptying her lungs. Music to the mans ears, as he ripped his hand back, taking the prize of the top half of Mida’s skull and face with him. Her exposed brain pulsed and vibrated as the cold air touched the meat. The man threw the skull to the ground and dug two bloody fingers into the top of the brain and separated it in half. He pulled it out, and with one final wheeze, the golden fluffy was no more than a rotting carcass in another abandoned cargo container.