The sound of an alarm clock screeched through your room, but it certainly would not be the most annoying sound you’d hear today. You were 18 and worked at a shop called “FluffMart.” You’d been working there for a week. It was one of 22 in the UK and the one you worked at was 1 of 2 in Manchester. You worked at the smaller of the two, the biggest one being right in the center of town, but that was probably a good thing. You grouchily got ready for work and headed to the shop.
The reason you worked in FluffMart was because of two main reasons
A) it was close
B) it payed fairly well
But working there as you’d find out was not at ALL easy. The fluffies, which there was about 7 of (adult ones, remind you) CONSTANTLY were wanting things. Every 5 seconds a fluffy would come up to you and say:
“NICE MISTAH!!! Can numbah fwive hab mow kibbwe pweez?”
or
“Dummeh mistah! Gib smawty skettis WITE NOW!”
It was the most stressful thing ever. If the fluffies didnt get what they wanted they’d wail horribly for hours on end going on about having no “wub” or “heart hurties.” Oh, and dont get started on the foals.
“peep! MIWKIES!!! peep! Gib babbeh nao!!! cheep!”
“HUU-HUUUUUUUUU-HUUUUUUU-HUUUUUUUUUU! BESHTESH BABBEH TO EBAH EXIST IN DAH WHO WIDE WOWD WAN TOYSIES NOW!”
You came in and your co-worker, Samuel, greeted you. He explained that Number Seven, the newest arrival, who had been made pregnant by Number Four, the “smarty” of the fluffies in the store. When a mare was in labour she would be removed from the others and taken into what the fluffies called a “Soon Mummah Woom.”
You stood behind Samuel as he opened the door, and there Number Seven was lying on a pile of blankets in a room with soft walls, a bowl of sketties, and soft bed which would be good for the birth.
“Huuu-huuuu…mummah wan see tummeh babbehs…wan dem cum ou now…numbah seben hab tummy huwties…” Groaned the mare, who was a pink unicorn with a red mane.
“I know, I know, but your gonna see your tummy babies in about two hours. Just stay strong and be a good mummah, okay?” replied Samuel in a gentle tone.
Number Seven seemed to have been clamed down a bit but still huu-huued most of the day. You tended to the other fluffies for a while, re-filling the bowls with kibble and the bottles with water and playing games with the fluffies to make sure they were lively. You also threw out some old toys and replaced them with your two other co-workers, Grace and Alex. A few hours went by and you heard a bloodcurdling SCREEEE along with a shout of
“BIGGES POOPIES! BIGGES POOPIES! N-NYU MUMMAH HAB BIGGES POOPIES! SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEHUUUUUUUU-HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!”
You let her give birth naturally and waited about 30 minutes after she was done to go check. You walk into the labour room.
Oh no.
Three brown foals, one of whom is an alicorn, are crying in the corner, suckling eachothers hooves to try get milk, while the mother is hugging one single sky blue foal and giving it milk from her crotch-tits. She doesnt seem to want to to nurse the other ones, judging by the fact they are now rolling around pathetically in the litterbox.
“peep! chirp chirp chirp! peep chirp!” goes the little alicorn.
“nu make chiwpies, poopie babbeh! mummah nu wan y- SCREEEEEEEEEEEE! MUNSTAH! MUNSTAH!”
The mare stomps on the tiny little brown alicorns head about 10 times, maybe more. Its skull is totally crushed, its wings are snapped and twisted, its eyeballs have popped out, and its horn is a smudge on the floor. You and Samuel watched in horror.
“What the actual FUCK number seven?? That wasn’t a monster, that was your foal!” says Samuel, in disbelief.
“Nyu mummah nu cawe. Had tu sabe good babbeh fwom meanie munstah babbeh.” replied Number Seven, nonchalantly.
“Get the other two brown ones, dude!” said Samuel, frantically.
You quickly scooped up the two foals, who cooed and rubbed their tiny faces against your warm hand, and took them to a mini hamster cage which had been made into a sort of foals-only saferoom for cases like this, and plopped the two delicate foals in.
“I need revenge. Go get me the sorry stick. THE BIG ONE.” you ask Samuel.
“Sure, I’m getting one for myself. Don’t take it out on her other chirpy though, we need to sell it. Also it did nothing wrong really, just has a psycho mum.” Samuel ran to the supply closet and brought back two big sorry sticks.
“WAI MISTAHS HAB SOWWY STICKS??? NU HUWTIES MUMMAH OR BESHTESH BABBEH TO EBAH BE IN WHOLE WIDE UNIVEWSE EBAH! WUB WIDDLE CYOOT BABBEH!” says Number Seven at the sight of you looming over her with a sorry stick.
You pull the blue foal away from her weak hooves and plop it into the foal-room, then you and Samuel just kinda went ballistic. You slapped her as hard as you could with the sorry stick, all over the face, then Samuel might have kicked her, but you’re not sure, it was all a blur really. Both of you slapped her on the back, rear and legs for atleast 6 minutes and by the end of it she was standing on her hind legs in a corner, sprayng feces all over the wall.
“NU MOWE HUWTIES! GOOD MUMMAH SOWWY! GOOD MUMMAH SOWWY! SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! WAN BABBEH!!!” cried the mare throughout the beating.
“GOOD MUMMA? YOU ARE NOT A GOOD FUCKING MUMMA! YOU STOMPED YOUR BABY TO DEATH AND LEFT THE TWO OTHERS TO ROLL IN SHIT AND DIE!”
“HUUUUUUUUUU-HUUUUUUUUUU! SOWWY! SOWWY! JUS PWEEZ NU MOWE HUWTIES! WILL WUB BABBEHS! OTAY??? SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
After slapping her up a bit more you stopped and made her promise to take care of her babies. She shakily agreed, teeth missing, bloodied and bruised. After that, you cleaned up the mummah room, disposed of the poor little alicorns rotting, smashed corpse, and gave her the two other foals back under the promise that she would take care of them the same as her purple one. After that, you walked home and dived into bed even though it was only 8:30. You lay awake for a while, wondering if you maybe went to far on Number Seven, but whenever the vision of the mutilated brown alicorn came into your vision you felt like you hadn’t done enough. Eventually you drifted to sleep.
You woke up sharp next morning and rushed to work, eager to know if Number Seven kept her promise. When you got there, Samuel and Alex hadn’t arrived so it was just you and grace. You played with your favourite little lime green fluffy with the gray mane, Number Three, and her six foals who were about halfway to being fully grown and were on sale. Her six foals darted around the room playing tag, then tired themselves out and started playing with blocks instead, two also went to go use the litterbox.
“Hewwo nice mistah! Whewe numbah seben gon? Had babbehs? Can Numbah Fwee see?” inquired Number Three.
“Mummah an babbehs wan see nyoo chirpie babbehs!” Said her oldest foal, a white Pegasus with a navy blue mane who was now about just a quarter smaller than a fully grown fluffy. You’d be sad when he got sold, he was nice and never complained like the other foals.
“I’d love to show you, but Number Seven needs some time to uh…settle down.” you replied.
“Otay. Mummah and babbehs undadand.” said Number Five.
Samuel came in right afterwards, and Alex a few minutes later. You, Samuel, Grace and Alex nervously tiptoed up the stairs to the mummah room. You and Alex put your ears to the door and what you heard made your heart sink.
“PWEEZ MUMMAH! CHIRP! BABBEH DANCIE! CHEEP CHEEP! PWEEZ!” a small voice squeaked.
“NU! DUMMEH! MIWKIES ONWY FOW PWETTY BABBEH, NU MIWKIES FO YOU! MUMMAH NU WUB DUM UGWY POOPIE BABBEH. WAN POOPIE BABBEH GO FOWEBAH SWEEPIES AND WEEV MUMMAH AND GOOD BABBEH AWONE!” growled back another voice. You also heard a quiet raspberry being blown and a foal squeak “Dummeh!”
All four of you burst in at once. One of the brown foals, which had developed its first couple pink strands of its mane, was waving its front hooves about erratically while the other brown foal, who still had no mane, was lying belly up in a pile of feces in the litterbox, with bruises all over its chest and side in hoof shapes, indicating it had been kicked around. You had to physically restrain yourself from stomping Number Sevens life out. Samuel couldn’t restrain himself though. He lunged at Number Seven and yanked her in the air, the sky blue foals which had fully developed its own yellow mane from being nurtured properly hung onto her teat with its mouth and eventually flopped off and began pissing itself and trying to run away, but it was somehow entangled in a string from the blanket, so it tried to push itself up but only choked itself and began screeching like a banshee. Samuel slapped Number Seven HARD on the face three times but Alex and Grace pulled him away and restrained his hands behind his back. When dropped, Number Seven cried and ran over to her little thrashing foal, trying to see what was causing its face to turn purple
“WAI BABBEH NU WUNNIN? BABBEH STUCK TO FWOW? WHA HAPPENIN? NICE MISTAHS, HEWP!!!” pleaded number seven.
All of you ignored her pleas and went to check on the two brown foals, you scooped up the lighter brown one which was exhausted from being made to dance for hours on end by its mother, and was not sobbing in a puddle of urine on the hard wooden floor, it didn’t seem to have been allowed on the blanket so it was shivering from the cold. You held the tiny, shivering, chirpy foal in the palm of your hand and stroked its belly as it cooed softly, probably the first love it had ever felt. The other darker brown foal was being tended to by the three others while the sky blue foal with the yellow mane was left to clutch its neck and gag on the blanket while you took the “poopy foals” to the nice, warm foal saferoom.
You watched as the two brown foals suckled milk from the bottles in the cage and gently pushed around a ball. Their eyes were barely open and they were starved and freezing. You went back up to check on Number Seven and her bratty little shitrat. When you got in the room, she immediately began tapping rapidly on your leg.
“PWEEZ HEWP! BABBEH STUCK TO FWOW! NU MOVIN! MUMMAH PUWWED SU HAWD BUH BABBEH FACE TUWN PUWPWE AND BABBEH NU MOVIN!!! HUUUUUU-HUUUUUU!”
You shook her off and went to examine the sky blue foal. It had a horrified look on its face and its fur was covered in vomit and scaredy poopies. Its mother had tried to pull it free but had pretty much accidentally strangled it to death faster. You carefully untangled the string from the foals neck and noticed that there was a huge gash across its throat. DAMN! That’s a sale lost. You tossed the foal into the litterbox, just like the brown one had been and Number Seven ran over.
“MEANIES!!! MUNSTAHS!!! NUMBAH SEBEN HATECHU!!! WAI MEANIE MUNSTAH HOOMINS NU WIKE GOOD BABBEH! MUMMAH BESHTESH EBAH WIDDLE SPWOWIN HAPPEN BABBEH FOWEBAH SWEEPIES! GIB SOWWY POOPIES TO MEANIES!!!” Number Seven tried to smear feces at You and your coworkers but missed. You went out last and slammed the door to the mummah room shut and made your way up the hallway to the foal-saferoom cage. The two foals had opened their eyes and were playing with blocks.
Nobody really said much about what had happened and the day was over before you knew it. You played some video games and thought about the brown alicorn who was savagely snuffed out. Knowing it was in a better place, you drifted to sleep.
2 WEEKS LATER
All of Number Threes foals had been sold. She was a little upset but seemed to understand they were going to good homes…well maybe not the youngest but that was a different story. Eugh, that guy gave you such pervert vibes, what else could he want baby fluffy pony for? Number Seven had been transferred to bigger FluffMart uptown, by the way, and the two brown foals were now big foals. The one with the few pink hairs now has a full fledged pink mane and the other has a purple mane. They’ve both been sold too, so they proved their mother wrong that they were just useless poopy babies. You wonder what they’ll get up to…
THE END. (Might make part 2)