Warranty Void if Seal is Broken (Part One)
PeppermintParchment
“Pwease insewt five dowwaws!” The purple foal stirred, wriggling his hips until he rested on his back. He clapped his hooves against his flattened ears. Tears flooded his purple eyes.
“Pwease nu…” He moaned. A cacophony of peeps clawed from the bottom level of the machine as the harsh white lights of the Foal-in-a-Can machine blared to life. The foal cuddled close to the plastic nipple of his cylinder as the desperate chirps for comfort surrounded him.
“Nyu Mummah?”
“GIB SKETTIS NAO DUMMEH!”
“Huu huu!”
“Am onwy wittwe babbeh!”
The foals shouted and pounded at the smooth glass of their cans, each attempting to capture the attention of the young woman on the other side of the vending machine.
“Pwease insewt five dowwaws!” The prerecorded voice chirped above the desperate pleas of the encased foals. The woman struggled with her purse before extracting a handful of crumpled bills. She forced the dollars into the slot.
“Pwease sewect a babbeh!” The high falsetto of a mare commanded. The woman punched in a number on the selection pad and, slowly, as if guided by the patient hand of creeping death, the drill-like selector climbed the rows of foals. The spiraled, red point whirled slowly as it scaled the rusted track. The purple foal hunkered down against the curved wall of his can and waited, his distended stomach aching with each crooked lurch the selector took towards his row.
The selector paused a row below, rotating contemplatively, before staggering off on the horizontal track. The purple foal exhaled loudly. This time it would not be him.
The selector jostled across the row. The foals within the cans paced and chirped in mixed excitement and fear. The drill-like selector shuddered and finally paused before a pale green unicorn with a deep pink mane. She tapped her hooves against the glass enclosure happily as the drill approached her canister. The fluffy foals in the neighboring cans scattered as far from her as their glass prisons would allow. The smell of scardy-poopies filled the machine as the drill jerked to life. A keening whir bounced off the walls of the cans. The green unicorn pounded her hooves against the glass, her smile splitting her face almost as quickly as the drill split the rubber seal of her can. Her pink eyes snapped wide as the rotating tip of the drill pierced the inside of her enclosure.
The foals on either side of the filly splattered the walls of their can with torrents of feces as the chosen babbeh began to scream.
“Nu! Nu! Am gud fwuffy!” She squelched, backing into the flattened end of her can. The drill continued steadily onward, unheeded and unpersuaded by her pleas. The young woman pressed her face close to the glass as the mouth of the can shattered under the whirling barrage of the drill. The green filly danced atop a cracked floor coated with powdery shards of glass. Her hooves trickled blood, but she paid it no mind as she attempted to climb the nipple that bounced at the end of her can.
“Nu! NUU! SCREEEEEEE!” She wailed as one of the furrows of the drill captured her leg and twisted. She was quickly sucked into the metal vortex, the sound of her bones breaking in the relentless drill filling the machine. The mangled remains of her organs slopped against the side of the can as the drill shuddered and was finally still. It pulled away, dragging an almost unrecognizable fluffy corpse to the forefront of the hollowed-out can. A sticky stream of viscera dribbled from the gaping mouth of the can and splattered on the glass prison of the foal below.
“Pwease wemembew tu wecycwe youw gwass can! Hab bestest bwight time, an’ fankyoo fo’ choosing “Foaw-in-a-Can”!” The glass shell pattered against a cushioned slot at the bottom of the machine. Using the safety glove provided, the woman scooped it up and deposited it in the nearby recycling bin, the gory remains of the foal utterly unspectacular alongside the dozens of other victims within.
“Huu huu!”
“Wan’ die! WAN’ DIE!”
“Hatechoo, dummeh dwiww!”
“Why huwt babbehs?”
A collective wail dominated the Foal-in-a-Can machine as the babbehs mourned their fallen companion. The purple foal unwound himself from behind the meager hiding place of the nipple and sobbed openly. The green filly had been the third foal taken by the meanie-drill that day. The purple foal had trouble remembering the last time a babbeh had been chosen by the nicie-drill. He plopped on his rump and watched his neighbors. One was a cool golden filly, and the purple foal was inexcusably smitten with her, despite the fact that they had never spoken. The other was a warm orange pegasus, who the foal believed was a colt, but he couldn’t be sure. They were his best friends, or as close to friends as possible in such an isolated environment, and he often imagined spending long days with them, eating skettis, giving huggies, and playing, finally free of the cans and the awful machine that imprisoned them. These two fluffies were the only reminder to the purple foal that he wasn’t utterly alone in his suffering and that, perhaps, one day, he could give them huggies somewhere outside of his imagination.
The lights dimmed in the machine after it failed to attract a customer for ten minutes. The foals curled up in small balls, made last-minute bathroom breaks, and suckled at the formula-filled nipples as sleep slowly crept in. The purple foal padded into the wall of his canister closest to the golden filly and smiled. He noticed that a white mane was sprouting atop her head, and wondered when his own mane would begin growing in. As his purple eyes drifted closed, he wondered if he would even live long enough to see.
“Pwease insewt five dowwaws!”
The purple foal’s eyes shot open. He staggered to his hooves, accidentally stepping in an errant pile of feces. He paid it no mind as he scrambled towards the false safety of the plastic nipple. He shivered in his hiding spot as a small human pressed her hands against the glass.
“That one Mommy! E8!” The little girl pointed at the machine and, to his horror, the beautiful golden filly one can over. The filly sank into a tight ball and sobbed.
“Okay sweetie. But remember, fluffies are more than just toys. You have to feed them, walk them, clean their litterboxes-”
“I know! Please, please, please!”
“Alright. Make sure you click the “Adopt” button. The green one.”
“Yes Mommy!”
An ill-used green drill trundled up the back wall of the machine. The foals watched its ascent happily, each secretly hoping the drill would claim them. They knew that the green drill meant safety, a new home, and freedom from the fetid cans they had spent their entire lives in. The green drill locked into place behind the golden filly and pushed gently forward. The can toddled on the edge before making a short fall into a trough, which lowered the can and the filly inside safely to the cushioned floor of the feed-out slot. The other foals watched jealously as the little girl grasped the can and pried it open, shaking the small foal into her hand.
“Nyu Mummah?” the white-maned filly squeaked hopefully.
“I’m going to name you Honey, because you’re so cute and sweet!” The little girl laughed, dropping the glass can into the recycling bin and depositing the foal in her small purse. The filly waggled her tail erratically and, without even the smallest of backwards glances, was whisked away.
The purple foal curled beneath the jutting nipple and cried. He was happy that his friend had found a new, safe home, and was finally free. But something dark and jealous writhed within him. The golden filly was new, she had come in with the last stock only two days ago. He had lived through three stockings of the machine, and he had never been selected for adoption. He had watched as the fluffies around him were slaughtered by the drill or carried away by new Mummahs and Daddehs, and each incident filled him with a putrid drop of jealousy. He had been trapped for ten days. He was tired of waiting.
Even the whine of the red drill ripping him into pieces would have been better than this boredom, this nothingness, this trauma as humans decided he wasn’t even good enough for death. He closed his eyes in acceptance. He would spend the rest of his short life in the smooth, cool glass of his can.
“Two babbehs fo’ da pwice of one! Speshaw on mystewy foaws!” Jaunty music blared from the machine. The foals slapped their hooves over their ears and cried out in pain. The music triggered a panicked response from the veterans of the machine, causing them to slam their heads against the glass of their cans, or to attempt to hide in their poopies or behind the rubber nipple. The purple foal stood wearily and shook out his fluff. A ragged lock of light blue mane fell in front of his eyes, but he was unable to muster a smile. He had lived long enough to grow in his mane.
He trundled behind his usual hiding place, but it was more out of habit than anything else. His will to live had run as dry as the milkies that no longer poured from the nipple. He plopped on his rump and didn’t bother to hide the rainbow tail that spread out behind him.
“Pwease insewt five dowaws!” The false Mummah voice chirped. The babbehs screeched in fear as a teenage boy, his face sparkling from a number of silver piercings lining his eyebrows and lips, inserted a ten-dollar bill. He brushed his black hair away from his eyes and slammed his palm against the “Euthanize” button. The red drill jerked to life, the rusted whir echoing off the cans of the panicked foals. Somber music creaked from the stereo, sending the babbehs into a frenzy.
The boy examined the rows of foals. His hazel eyes roamed over the bottommost layer of the machine. He smiled crookedly at a yellow unicorn with a putrid green mane.
“You’re an ugly bastard, A9. Let me fix that for you.” The babbeh occupying can A9 shuddered and a torrent of urine spattered to the bottom of the can. His neighbors shrieked as the boy punched in A9’s code. The red drill began its slow scaling of the row, leaving a plethora of horrified foals in its wake. The drill paused before A9’s can and jutted forward. The tip pierced the rubber cap and whirled violently. A9 attempted to flatten himself against the wall of his can, but a jagged edge of the spinning metal quickly eviscerated him. The babbeh wailed a final, futile wail, and was ripped asunder. The boy breathed heavily, his hands already typing in another number.
The drill trundled upwards and stopped before foal D12. The cotton candy blue earthie within punched and bucked at the glass as the drill slid forward.
“Dummeh meanie-dwiww! Babbeh gib biggest huwti-SCREEEEE!” The foal had attempted to buck the intruding point of the drill, and his backside was quickly mangled. He flailed as he was impaled on the rotating tool, his small head being pounded against the glass with each turn of the drill. His muzzle busted open, a smattering of small teeth exploding forward on a tide of blood. He vomited as he clawed at the smooth glass of his can with weak forehooves. The drill shuddered, then was still. It pulled backwards, dragging the impaled foal with it.
“Wan’ die…” He croaked through his mangled mouth. Thick, white liquid poured from an empty eye socket and across a tongue massacred by shattered teeth. The drill continued on, the fluffy that ceased to exist below his stomach impaled on the tip.
“Sweet!” The boy exclaimed, his eyes scanning the trapped foals. He jutted a finger towards a gorgeous pink unicorn with a bouncing blue mane.
“What a cutie. Would you like me to be your new Daddeh?” He punched in the filly’s number as her predicable reply came.
“Yus! Wub, wub nyu Daddeh!” She beamed, sitting close to the mouth of the can, her arms upraised in the “gib upsies” position. The boy laughed as the red drill creaked down the track and stopped before her tube. The blue fluffy cried openly as he was twisted on the point of the drill. The pink unicorn quickly scurried to the back of her can as the drill pressed forward.
“Nu! NU! NUUU! Daddeh, HEWP!” She bellowed as the mouth of her can shattered beneath the pressure. The blue earthie vomited again as glass rained across his face and he was pushed through the opening. He gaped at the filly when he saw her, the slaughterhouse of his face contorting to form a gory semblance of a smile.
“Nyu fwiend gib huggies, make huwties gu way!?” He groaned, reaching weakly for the filly. She backed away as far as possible, but was quickly captured in the arms of the earthie. The drill whirled, dashing her rump against the wall of her can. Her hips shattered with a sharp snap as she was pounded against the tube. The earthie refused to let go as the drill pushed incessantly forward, crushing her to death against the rubber end of her can. The earthie gurgled as the drill powered through his guts and finally pierced his ribcage. His corpse clung to that of the pink filly as the drill reversed, two babbehs hanging from its tip. A vivid stream of hot blood leaked from the drill as the shredded remains of organs and flesh plopped to the cushioned slot below. The boy grinned evilly as he examined the machine for his final victim.
“Holy fuck, I don’t know how I’ll top that. Let’s see.” A machine filled with horrified fluffies was bathed in silence as the babbehs attempted to hide or avoid the attentions of the boy. The only unaffected fluffy was the purple foal, which flopped his rainbow tail slowly in time to the music.
“Ah, you look miserable. Bet you’re ready to die.” The purple foal said nothing, merely trotting to the mouth of his can and sitting neatly. The boy whistled.
“Wow, I’ve never seen that one before. Okay fluffy, I’ll graciously allow you to die, but you have to scream for me. Make my money worth it.” The boy punched in E9 and watched with baited breath as the drill crept forward. The tool whirred and pressed against the rubber lid of the purple foal’s can.
The two corpses of the babbehs smeared against the rubber as the drill ratcheted forward. A red “error” light flashed above the can. The drill ceased its pushing as the motor within forced it to spin faster. The broken bodies danced haphazardly but refused to relent their death holds on the metal vortex. The machine darted forward again, smashing the shattered cadavers against the rubber but making no headway into the can. The error light blinked again. A thin cloud of gray smoke erupted from the base of the machine. The drill retracted in frantic, jerky motions. A red light blazed from the base of the drill. The drill screeched before retreating to the bottom of the machine, where it continued to smoke.
“Sowwy! Dat option am tempowawiwy unavaiwabwe! A maintenance owdew hab been sent tu “Foaw-in-a-Can” headquawtews! Hab bestest bwight time, an’ fankyoo fo’ choosing “Foaw-in-a-Can”!” The machine blared as the somber music within was replaced with the default, relaxing music. The boy tugged at his lip ring angrily and glared at the purple foal.
“Lucky break, babbeh. I’ll be back tomorrow.” He vowed, snatching his change from the Foal-in-a-Can machine. The purple foal only blinked slowly, his light purple eyes filling with tears as he realized that he had to continue living for one more day.
“Two babbehs fo’ da pwice of one! Speshaw on mystewy foaws!” The machine chimed in thirty-minute intervals. A few customers approached the machine, but when they discovered the “Euthanize” option was unavailable, they quickly lost interest. The purple foal watched them come and go, a detached expression clouding his dainty muzzle. A strand of green fell in front of his eyes and he pushed it away. He shook his quadricolored tail in annoyance.
A man approached the machine, his eyes locked on the purple foal. The purple foal swiveled his ears curiously but didn’t react as the man smiled widely and pressed a fat finger against the glass.
“E9, E9, E9…” He mumbled, counting out a number of coins in his hand. The purple foal examined the man. He had thinning brown hair that surrounded a bald ring on his scalp. His forehead and bald spot shimmered in the blue light of the machine beneath a sheen of sweat as he counted the same coins repeatedly. His brown eyes flickered to and from the foal obsessively, checking and rechecking the code beneath his tube.
“E9, E9,E9…” He repeated his mantra as he stuffed the coins into the slot. He pressed the glowing, green “Adopt” button, and the purple foal’s heart stuttered. The man checked the purple foal’s code one final time before he punched it in.
The green drill climbed the back wall of the machine slowly, locking into place behind the purple foal’s can. The purple foal’s heart beat wildly as the drill gently pressed the can forward. He gripped the nipple that had protected him for almost two weeks as his tube plummeted towards the trough. The can wiggled a bit as the trough lowered it to the cushion and gently retracted, leaving the purple foal and his tube intact and unharmed.
“E9, finally!” the man gasped as he gripped the tube with a sweaty hand and pulled it from the slot. The purple foal wagged his tail in elation. Finally, finally, he had been chosen!
“Pwease sewect a babbeh!”The man inhaled nervously, then punched in the number of one of the “blackout” foals on the top rack. The mystery foal received the same gentle treatment by the machine and the man scooped up the black tube. The purple foal examined the tube happily. Not only did he have a new Daddeh, but he’d have a new friend as well!
“Hewwo? Nyu Daddeh?” The mystery foal chirped. The man ignored it and deposited both tubes into the fanny pack that clung to his hip. Darkness enveloped the pair as the fanny pack was zipped close, but the purple foal didn’t mind. His former melancholy had been forgotten. He finally had a home, a Daddeh, and a friend! He couldn’t wait!
