You’re a feral stallion. You don’t have a name, but that’s ok; you know who you are. You trot down the sidewalk, miserable.
You’ve led a crappy life. Your bruddas and sissies all got eaten by a kitty-munsta as babies, while you watched, and your mummah was tortured to death by a hoomin munsta while you hid nearby. Her special friend took care of you, but then a metal munsta got him while he was coming back with nummies for you.
You became a big fluffy all on your own.
You joined a herd, but the smarty was a meanie; you started a few fights because you weren’t going to let him push you around just to be mean, but his toughies always ganged up on you. You eventually left.
Then you found a special friend of your own. She didn’t have a name either. But that was ok; you loved each other. You gave her special huggies, dug a den for her, helped her make a nestie, and brought her nummies every day. When she had her babies, you were there to help her. You hid the nu-move baby from her, knowing it would break her heart, and took it away where she wouldn’t find it while she cleaned your other babies. You had bad heart-hurties; it was your baby too, and it never even got a chance.
But you were a happy family. For a while.
Some hoomin munstas found your den while you were out gathering nummies. You came back just in time to hear your special friend scream for her babies and see a hoomin munsta stomp her head. It went splat. Her see-places popped out and landed in the dirt in front of her and she stopped moving. They laughed at her. They LAUGHED. They ENJOYED inflicting pain and suffering! Your special friend had never hurt a hoomin munsta in her life! She’d never even met one! Why would they do this to your family? You ran up to give her huggies, but you knew it was too late. Your babies… your precious babies. Broken and dead, scattered all around you. You scraped them together into a sodden pile, fluff soaked with booboo juice, and cried. The hoomin munstas came back and laughed at you. You begged them for death, unable to imagine living without your special friend and your babies. They just laughed some more and told you to suffer. Then they walked away. They never touched you.
You wished they’d killed you.
You joined another herd. You warned the smarty that confronting hoomin munstas was a bad idea, that he’d bring disaster onto the herd, but his toughies just beat you up. As soon as you saw that he’d enraged the hoomin munstas he was shouting at and one gave you the option of leaving or dying, you ran. You ran as fast as you could. You didn’t fear death anymore, not exactly, but you had no desire to suffer first, nor did you want to see the others die.
You came back later and the entire herd was dead, except for the smarty and two foals. They would soon be dead too. But you didn’t let them suffer. You put them all out of their misery, saving the smarty for last. You said ‘I told you so’, but you didn’t let him suffer even though it was all his fault; he didn’t deserve what they did to him. It was out of all proportion to his crime.
You joined another herd. The smarty was another bully who wanted to push you around. You got in another fight and the toughies beat you up. Then the smarty gave you sorry poopies and kicked you out of the herd.
You found a good place with lots of nummies and built a den there, but a hoomin munsta found you and told you it was his. You tried to run away; he could keep it if he wanted it. He stopped you from fleeing. You said you were sorry and would never come back. Then he hurt you. Bad. You still walk with a limp, and you’re not sure it’ll ever go away. He finished hurting you and thought you were dead (you did too) and threw you in a box. It took a long time to get out of the box, and you had no nummies or wawa while you were in it. But you eventually escaped and your wounds healed, mostly.
Now you’re starving. You’re desperate. You’ve been alone for so long, you’re craving the company of any fluffy you come across, even an obnoxious smarty. You wouldn’t be walking out in the open like this, where hoomin munstas can find you, but you’re desperate for food and you know hoomin munstas are constantly throwing food away to rot. You never understand that; do they have so much food that they can’t eat it all before it goes bad? So why do they get angry when you eat the food they threw away? They obviously didn’t want it anymore, why can’t you have it?
You’ve given up trying to understand hoomin munstas. They’re incomprehensible and their motivations alien. They seem to desire only to inflict death and suffering on your kind for any reason, or no reason at all.
You nervously look all around, watching for hoomin munstas, ready to run at the first sight of one. Trembling with nerves, you cautiously approach a big box hoomin munstas put their trash and rotting food into and freeze.
You recognize that. It’s a thing the hoomin munstas sometimes put on the trash boxes to keep hungry fluffies out of them. If you knock the box over, it’ll make a loud, scary noise. It’s meant to scare fluffies away, but it will also alert any hoomin munstas in the area that you’re here. You give the trash box a wide berth and try the next one.
This one isn’t boobytrapped. It doesn’t have a lid on it either. You can smell the nummies inside and your tummy gurgles. You’re SO hungry! It takes several attempts, but you finally succeed in jumping against the side of it and tipping it over. You crawl inside the open box after cautiously looking around to make sure no hoomin munstas have seen you, retrieve some nummies, and quickly flee under a bush.
Bleagh. No wonder the hoomin munstas threw these nummies away! You gobble them down anyway. All the grassies are dead and withered, and you can’t eat them. You have to eat this.
Now you’re thirsty. You run from bush to bush, trying to find wawa, and you smell it in the air. You follow the scent and find wawa spraying from little black things in the dead grassies. You don’t like getting wet, wawa is bad for fluffies, but you approach anyway and slurp up precious wawa as it sprays into your mouth. Thirst quenched, you need a place to make poopies. You have to do it where hoomin munstas won’t find the poopies, or they’ll know you’re here and try to find you so they can hurt you.
There. That bush is a good place. You hurry under the bush, squat, and make poopies. Then you kick some dirt over it to help hide it and cover up the scent.
Suddenly, a knocking sound scares you! You fall over in surprise, then jump to your feet and look everywhere, trying to find the best direction to run!
“Fwuffy! Hewwo, fwuffy!”
Wait- another fluffy?
“Hewwooooo, fwuffy! Hewe! Wosy hewe!”
You turn around and the… fence. You think that’s what it is. A fence. The fence behind the bush is knocking again. There’s a fluffy on the other side.
“Who yoo?”
“Fwuffy am Wosy! Who yoo?”
“Fwuffy am… fwuffy.”
You can tell by her voice and especially her scent that Rosy is a mare, and she’s in heat. You almost start drooling. It’s been so long. Not since your babies and special friend…
“Hewp Wosy! Nu can get owt!”
She’s trapped in there? Oh no! She must have gone in there to find nummies and gotten trapped! A hoomin munsta could find her any second! You have to help!
“Fwuffy hewp! Nu wowwy, fwen!”
You start digging frantically. You have to get her out before a meanie hoomin munsta finds her and hurts her! Maybe she’s trapped there because one already found her and put her there? You have to save her! You can’t let this happen again. Not again!
You can hear her digging on the other side of the fence too and you renew your efforts, digging as hard and as fast as you can. Panting with effort, hoofsies sore, you finally get all the way under the fence. She helps you widen the hole and then squirms through.
Oh my. She’s pretty. A bright blue earthie with a long, white mane and tail. She smells wonderful too.
You nudge her with a hoofsie to get her to hurry.
“Tum on! Wet’s gu!”
“Gu? Gu whewe?”
“We nee wun!”
“Siwwy fwuffy,” she giggles. “Wosy nu wun nuwhewe!”
Is she daft?!
“Wosy wan babbehs,” she whispers to you huskily.
“Whu…”
Every instinct you have is screaming that you need to run, but you feel your no-no’s tingling and your peepee place is… wow.
“Wosy… Wosy wan fwuffy’s babbehs? Speshuw huggies?” She moves fast!
She answers by turning her back to you and raising her rump.
Eeeeeeeeeugh… screw it. This is happening.
You mount her and begin thrusting. Oh, it feels so good! You haven’t felt like this in such a long time!
You feel good in your chestie too. You’re… you’re gonna be a daddeh again! You have a special friend again! This is wonderful! You’re going to dig SUCH a good den for her and you’re going to have wonderful babies, and this time no meanie hoomin munsta is going to kill them! This time you’re going to be happy!
You feel the good feels and climb off of her, panting. Wow. That was… That was amazing. It’s been too long. You catch your breath and tug on Rosy’s fluff, trying to get her to get moving. You’ve wasted too much time!
“Huwwy, we nee wun!”
“Wun? Why? Whewe wun?”
“Wun! Befowe hoomin munstas fine us!”
“Siwwy fwuffy, Wosy nu go wif yoo!”
Huh?"
“Whu yoo mean?”
“Dis Wosy home. Wosy nu wan wive wif dummy, diwty fewaw wike yoo!”
Buh?
“Bu… Fwuffy am gud fwuffy. Be gud spechuw fwen, gud daddeh.”
“Pfft! Wosy nu wan yoo, dummeh! Wosy juss wan babbehs! Gu way, Wosy nu wike yoo!”
Your heart shatters. Why… How could she do this to you? You just rescued her! Has she no gratitude? You just gave her special huggies! That means you’re special friends and are going to have babies together… right? You don’t understand.
Your only warning is a slight whistling sound. You don’t even have time to turn before the golf club smacks into your back.
“EEEEEEEEEEE!”
“You little shit!”
You try to scramble away, but the hoomin munsta that snuck up on you is hitting you over and over with the big sorry stick. You cry, scream, and beg for mercy. You promise to leave and never come back. The hoomin munsta just beats you even harder and you realize he intends to kill you. You can’t get away. This is the worst pain in your entire life, even worse than the last time a hoomin munsta attacked you.
He finally quits beating you. You’re staring straight ahead, unable to move, though your hind leggie is twitching spasmodically. You can’t stop it. You’re in so much pain.
To add insult to injury, Rosy actually blows a raspberry at you, calls you a dummy, and gives you sorry poopies.
“Oh, don’t even get me started on you, you little bitch! I said NO BABIES! And what do you do? You go and fuck some shitty feral!”
He hits her on the rear with the big sorry stick.
“Huuuhuuuu! Fwuffy sowwy!”
“Don’t you ‘huuhuu’ me, you damn liar! Get in the house! You’re not coming out of that sorry box for a week!”
“Meanie!”
“The FUCK did you just call me?! I was planning to sell your stupid shit spawn to a decent home, but you give me any more attitude and they’re going straight down the fucking toilet! Get inside!”
The hoomin munsta’s angry shouting and Rosy’s pained screaming and crying fade away as the door to the hoomin’s house shuts. You lay there, leg twitching uncontrollably, and focus on breathing.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Just breathing HURTS. You need to move. You need to find someplace to hide before he comes back and realizes you aren’t dead. But right now, all you can do is breathe.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
It hurts so much. And it’s not just your body that hurts.
Tears start staining the fluff on your face. You feel wet elsewhere and suspect it’s booboo juice.
What the hell did you ever do to deserve this?
