You set yourself up as well as can be expected of any fluffy. A discarded milk crate acted as a box for your nest, which you covered in tinfoil obtained from some humans not quite spoiled leftovers. There are holes that let a little bit of the sky water in when it rains, but it’s better than getting entirely soaked. You found a discarded purse and the soft lining would be perfect for babies, you decided, and you even added some time of your own cream colored fluff to the bedding, in addition to your own burlap blankie. You had all of the easy things out of the way.
The hard parts were the nummies and the babies. Though you already knew where to get the babies. Nummies had been harder to find, since you were no longer located next to a faulty vending machine. You were always a little hungry these days, but you got to fall asleep next to the big boxie nest full of foals, sometimes you would sing to them, sometimes you’d give the big see through wall your biggest, bestest hug. None of the foals ever acknowledge you, but that’s okay. None of them have opened their see places yet, except the poor yellow earthy colt that has been forever sleepies in his see through nest. He’s been like that since you found the foal-in-a-can machine three days ago, and you can’t really recognize him anymore.
You hope he stops being forever sleepies before the foals around him open their eyes. It would be awful to have the emaciated corpse of their brother be the first thing the babies saw. You don’t know what kind of fluffy could have given birth to all these foals, but she must have been a real dummy not to keep and love every single one of them.
You awaken one night to a loud rumbling, the idling of delivery truck. The soft creak of the machine’s hinges startled you so bad you nearly pooped in your nest! You wanted to check on the babies, but knew that where the sound was coming from. You also heard the sounds and smelled the smells of a human.
Humans were scary, but also your only real sense of hope. You want babies, and you want to raise them in a warm house, with a mummah or daddeh that will buy them a ball and some blockies to play with. You want the best for your children.
You find yourself walking out into the alley. Before you’re able to speak up to the human, he drops lots of cans, and then say A LOT of bad wordsies! A few of the cans break when they hit the ground, but most of them roll away in every direction. One rolls it’s way to you.
Before you realized it you’ve nudged the can into your nest. The baby inside has muddy brown color fluffy, with bright seafoam colored strands of hair on top of it’s head. It has little wingies that haven’t got their feathery fluff yet. You think it’s the prettiest foal you’ve ever seen.
All the spinning gave the baby a bad tummy, and she made sickie wawa in her clear can nestie. When you try to give her huggies to make her feel better, she bounces off the see through walls with the sudden motion of the can. The can is cold on your leathery hooves, not warm like the big box nestie this baby was going to live in.
You can’t open the can. Not with your hooves, not with your teeth. You’re very worried that the baby is cold. She’s drinking milk though, so you curl your tail around yourself and the can. You pull a blankie that’s really just a burlap sack over yourself with your mouth. It smells bad, and tastes worse, and is rough and scratchy. But it keeps you a little warmer than without it.
You decide to sleep, since it is dark time right now, and you are already curled up under your blanket. You hope you can keep the foal warm enough. You slip into unconsciousness, and dream of wonderful things. A big bowl of pasta, your new foal, the color pink, and a number more than 5. Five and one, you think, but can’t be too sure. Your sleepy-time pictures never stay with you very long. Even the really really good ones.
You awaken with a yawn, and rub the sleep from your eyes with your hoof. You find your new foal in it’s can, kneading the rubber teat that dispenses it’s food, cooing as it drinks it’s fill. You love the little filly foal. You leave her beneath the burlap blanket, to keep her as warm as possible while you search for food.
After thirty or forty minutes of searching, you have gathered three pizza crusts, a mushy half orange, and a helping of rainwater from a dish you had set up in the alley. None of the nummies taste very good, but you have to think of your new baby. It’s nice that her can/nest has been giving her milkies, since you can’t.
Your tummy hurties have gone away for now, and your thirst has been slaked. You return to the nest to hear a faint, weak chirping and peeping. Your baby must be cold! You remove the burlap blanket and see her shivering and crying. The sight breaks your heart.
You need to get her out of her little nest as soon as possible! She needs her mummah’s hugs and love!
Your teeth and hooves are proven ineffective again. Hugging the can doesn’t work either. You’re panicking. Crying and breathing heavily, you raise the can above your head in both hooves…
And bring it crashing to the ground as fast as your little fluffy limbs can propel it.
I had planned for this to be a three parter, but I’ll need at least one more chapter to finish it up.
Please let me know what you guys think about the sorry so far. I’m always accepting constructive crit, and would love to hear how you guys want the story to end.
Thanks for reading!
maybe she can find other canisters with dead foals in them andget her foal to drink from their milkie places and maybe eat the foals (if she can’t find any food)