Forgive the shitty formatting and shitty art, been trying to fuck with it for a while so whatever, Story’s short but hopefully at least somewhat enjoyable
Sometimes you’re just born unlucky. Sometimes your lack of luck comes later in life. Today we start from the beginning with a scream many of us are familiar with:
“BIGGES POOPIES!!!” Howls out a fuchsia balloon of a mare, stubby hooves flailing and slamming into the pile of discarded old rags she had used to make her nest, begging her babbehs to stop hurting her, as her special friend paces anxiously in the alleyway nearby, a first time couple, with what should be a joyous event, a cause for celebration. Yet after several hours pass the first time mummah lays weeping, her special friend behind her rapidly working to clean their five fresh foals, all silent yet all breathing, the strain of labor leaving even the foals unable to put effort into their new, cold lives.
Daddeh let’s out a soft ‘huu’ as he places two clean foals on their mother’s teats while she continues her pathetic whining, which slowly stops as she realizes her tiny little babbehs are intact alive, if barely. “Wub Babbehs… Babbehs suuuu pwe-“ her cooing stops as she lays eyes on the smallest of the bunch, a simple earthy, dull purple with bright pink tufts on its tail… “Spechul fwend?? Babbeh nu spechul… nu wingies ow hownies!!” She curls her equine muzzle, her eyes squinting as she brought the little thing closer to her face, before screaming and dropping it, knocking one of the other foals off her teats, finally jumpstarting the bird like cheeping of the brood “BABBEH AM NU SPECHUL AN MUNSTAH!!! PWEASE SPECHUL FWEND GIB MONSTAH FOWEBA SWEEPIES!!!” She wailed as the stallion just stared in confusion, nothing looked wrong with the foal from where he was, it just had it’s mouth open, making cheepies for miwkies, and so he shook his head “Oda babbehs née cweanies… Daddeh gib cweanies…” and with that he picked up the fourth of the five foals, working diligently as Mummah stood, snatching the deemed munstah Babbeh by the scruff and taking it far from her nestie, dropping it on the concrete and glaring “Babbeh nu am spechul AND munstah. Nee go foweba sweepies. NAO” she snarled, her hoof quickly closing the distance…
And so with a quiet “SQUEEEEEEeeeeep” the munstah Babbeh was dealt with, nothing more than a bloody mush of dull purple, pink and red crushed into the concrete, unlucky to be born with a cleft lip, and with the full to be born without wings or horn, this poor foal was never long for this cruel world. Sometimes. Most of the time as a fluffy, you are simply born unlucky