Warning, this is another story featuring copious amounts of abuse, including the use of slurs. If anyone has any objections, speak now or whatever the fuck.
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“Fuckin’ bull fuckin’ shit!” Vince yelled, slamming his fist into his heavily-battered desk. “All I did was call that hugboxing little bitch a faggot! And they go and fuckin’ ban me! Fuckin’…”
He turned in his chair, eyes wide, darting around the room as he looked for where it was hiding.
“Get out here! Get out here now!!!” He shouted. From underneath his bed a small vomit-green blob of fluff poked it’s head out, trembling as it looked up at him.
“Huhu… pwease nu huwties daddeh…”
“Shut the fuck up! You know what I’ve said about hiding from me!” Vince yelled at, making it flinch with every sharp sound that left his lips. “Now get out here! Worthless moderator asswipes, couldn’t moderate their way out of a fuckin’ egg-carton…”
He was interrupted from his hateful rambling by a quiet knock at his door.
“V-Vince, honey…” His mother called. “Can you please… keep it down? You know how the neighbours are, and-”
“Shut up mom!” Vince screamed at the closed door, punching his desk again. “Those fuckin’ moderators are ones you should be blaming!”
“I’m not blaming anyone, sweetie…” She called nervously. “It’d just be nice if you could be a little… a little quieter… and we… we had that talk, remember? About not bringing home any more fluffy po-”
“Whatever!” He shouted back, turning his chair away from the door to look at his latest victim again… only to see it was nowhere in sight once more.
Behind the door, Vince’s mother stepped back and decided to quit while she was ahead.
Vince had always been something of a handful, even as a kid. He’d always gotten in trouble in school, and none of the neighbours let their children play with him. Vince’s mother had just shrugged it off at first… then a local cat had gone missing, around the same time the eight-year-old Vince came home late. He insisted he’d just been out playing by himself, but Vince’s mother had never been positive about that.
Vince was 19 now, as tall as he was thin. He had finished high school and never even looked at going to college, or getting a job. Instead he continued to live with his mother, and passed his time either on his computer… or with the only hobby he had: torturing fluffy ponies.
Of course, in theory, there was no harm in that, as fluffy ponies weren’t considered animals by the law, they were more akin to toys than living creatures. But that didn’t change the fact that every week, Vince’s room was filled with the sounds of child-like screaming, sobbing, begging and wailing, accompanied by the sounds of a saw grinding back and forth, or a hammer slamming against something. Once or twice she’d even heard the crackle of flames, and even the whirr of a drill.
But Vince’s mother had long since given up on actually trying to get through to him. Vince never listened to her. She sometimes wondered if he ever had. From the moment he’d been born, he’d been nothing but trouble, and now… now she was starting to worry if she’d accidentally raised a serial killer.
“Oh you little shithead…” Vince hissed, trembling with rage as he stood up from his chair, eyes flicking around his bedroom. There were only so many places a fluffy pony could hide in there… and there wasn’t a fluffy pony yet that could hide from him.
Sure enough, after only a minute of searching he found the vomit-green retard squeezed between his wardrobe and his bed, falling back on the age-old fluffy belief of ‘if I can’t see you, you can’t see me!’
Something which Vince proved wrong as he brought his fist slamming down on the fluffy’s head.
THUMP!
“Owies! Headsy hab owies!”
“That’s right, now c’mere bitch!” Vince snarled, grasping the fluffy’s black tail and yanking on it hard, dragging out from it’s hiding place and pulling it to the middle of his bedroom, all the way across the stain-covered and filth-encrusted carpet.
“Owies! Owies! Taiw huwties! Pwease nu huwt pwetty tai-”
“Shut up!” Vince screamed at it. “Your tail isn’t pretty, none of you is pretty! You’re a fuck ugly waste of space!”
The vomit-green fluffy began crying.
“Huhu… am too pwetty… mummah said so… mummah said am bes-”
“Shut the fuck up!” Vince screamed, reaching for his desk drawer and pulling it out so hard that it came clean out of the desk, landing with a slam next to the fluffy. The drawer contained all of Vince’s ‘toys’. The kinds of toys that fluffies had nightmares about.
There was the Banhammer, a large stainless steel meat-tenderizer, which Vince used to smash the legs of fluffy ponies. Then there was the De-Virginer, an egg-whisk with razor blades attached to the inside. Of course he had his old classic, the Sorry-Stick, a steel rod with a hook on the end that he used to dig into the tender skin of his victims, oh and of course, the Slicer, a pizza-cutter where Vince had replaced the blade with one from a circular saw…
Vince looked at the contents of the drawer, fists clenched by his side, as his victim glanced back and forth between him and the drawer.
“Pick one.” He snarled.
“Whuh… wha?” The fluffy whimpered, looking at the horrible items contained within the drawer. It had become familiar with some of them already, while the others were foreign to it… but it knew, deep down, that they would all hurt in a new, terrible way, completley unlike the others had.
“Pick one! Pick one, you fuckin’ retard!” He hissed, breathing heavily, eager to begin. "Pick something for me to hurt you with!!!"
The fluffy looked into the drawer again, trying to work out which of the items was the least scary-looking… but it was no use. They were all scary! Some were big and heavy, some were small and sharp, some ran on batteries, some had plugs to go into the wall… there was even one that looked like a big shiny black no-no stick!!!
“Uh… uhm… uh…” The fluffy whimpered, staring into the box in absolute terror. Finally, it simply gave up, covering it’s eyes and shivering in fear. “Nu can pick… nu wan pick… nu wan owies… pwease nu mowe owies…”
“Fuckin’ worthless thing!” Vince yelled, digging his hand into the drawer and coming out with the first thing he could grab… the Banhammer. He smirked to himself, it was perfectly appropriate.
And so he swung the Banhammer down onto the fluffy’s back, relishing the delightful crunch of it’s bones underneath the heavy, sharp metal.
“HURK! OWIES!” It squeaked. scrabbling on the floor as it tried to get away. Before it could move an inch, Vince brought the Banhammer down again, slamming it onto one of the fluffy’s front legs. The leg was almost completely crushed under the weight of the metal, the bones crumbling and the skin tearing, leaving new bloodstains to soak into the carpet.
“OW-W-WIES!!!” The fluffy shrieked as it felt all feeling in it’s leg disappear, replaced only with ceaseless agony.
“Ha! Eat that you fuckin’ faggot moderator!” Vince yelled as he swung again, this time smashing the Banhammer down on the fluffy’s other front leg. “Ban me?! Ban me?! I’ll fuckin’ ban you, you workshy pissant faggots!”
WHAM! THUMP! WHACK!
Finally, an hour later, Vince was done with it. The fluffy had been beaten to within an inch of it’s life, and was soaked in it’s own blood. All four of it’s limbs had been completely destroyed by his assault, and it had lost a lot of blood. It was barely even awake anymore, it’s eyes half-closed as it wheezed and gasped, whimpering painfully with every exhale.
Vince tossed the Banhammer back into the drawer, letting it land with a loud clatter among the other assorted tools. He looked at the snivelling, blood-soaked wretch that was wheezing it’s last on his carpet… and gave it a final kick before deciding he was done for the night.
He switched off his computer and hurled himself into bed, leaving the wheezing, near-dead fluffy on the ground where it was. He could clean it in the morning…
Vince opened his eyes some time later. His curtains were permanently closed, but he figured it was probably morning. He blinked a few times, and opened his mouth to yawn.
But something felt weird.
His limbs felt weird, kinda stiff, like he’d been sleeping on top of all of them. He tried to remember what he’d been doing before he fell asleep… but his brain felt cloudy, like he’d been drinking or something.
He rolled over in his bed and spotted the bloodsoaked mass on the carpet, which had been last night’s entertainment.
He smiled as he remembered the sound of it’s bones breaking, and let out a yawn.
But then he stopped halfway through. His voice sounded weird all of a sudden. All high pitched and… and annoying!
“Urgh… whuh da fuck happen to fwuffeh?” He asked.
Then he froze as he took note of what he’d said.
No, no, that wasn’t right. That’s not what he said! He’d thought ‘What the fuck happened to me?’, but then it came out all… wrong!
“Wha’ goin’ on?!” He squeaked in a tiny voice. “Wha’ happen!?”
No, this was all wrong! He was thinking in plain English, but it was coming out like… like…
Like a fluffy pony.
He leapt up with a jolt and scampered to the end of his bed, craning himself around to look at the mirror attached to the door of his wardrobe… and froze at the sight.
Staring out of the mirror was a chocolate (or rather, shit) brown earthie fluffy pony, with a dark brown mane and tail (the exact same color as Vince’s hair had been) and a look of terror on it’s face.
“Wha’ goin’ on?! Wha’ happen to fwuffeh?!” Vince squeaked as he backed away from the mirror, his hooves getting caught in his bedsheets and sending him tumbling backwards onto the floor, landing on his soft fluffy back, which fortunately broke his fall without crippling him.
But the truth was, despite his fear and his questions, he knew exactly what had happened to him. Against all odds, against all logic, against all sanity… he had been transformed into a fluffy pony.
“Hewp! Hewp!” He cried as he frantically righted himself. “Am nu a fwuffeh! Am stuckies! Pwease hewp!”
There was another quiet knock at his door.
“V-Vince, honey…? Mommy’s got a headache, please keep it down…”
Of course! Mom! At last she was good for something!
“Mummah! Mummah, hewp!” Vince cried, his shrill voice carrying through the closed door and into the hall.
“Vince? Are you there?” She asked. Vince hardly ever went out, and it was rare that he did without her realising. After all, it was 10am, he normally didn’t even wake up until about 11:30.
With a trembling hand, Vince’s mom opened the door and peered into his room. She gasped at the sight of the beaten, mutilated fluffy corpse on the floor… and jumped back in shock when she saw another one racing towards her.
“Hewp! Hewp fwuffeh, mummah!” It cried at her. “Am stuckies! Nu wan! Pwease hewp fwuffeh!”
“Oh, god…” Vince’s mom muttered, still looking grimly at the cold, stiff corpse of an animal that was lying in her son’s bedroom.
“Hey! Mummah! Hewp!” The brown one shrieked. She looked down at it, and crouched down to talk to it directly.
“Hey little guy. Did my son bring you here?”
“Wha?! Nu, dummeh!” Vince snarled back at her. “Am twapped! Am stuckies! Hewp fwuffeh!”
“Trapped? Yeah, yeah I’ll bet you are…” His mom said, gazing around her son’s filthy, stinking room, a den of torture and suffering for any poor animal that he happened to find.
She looked back at the still-living fluffy pony that was bouncing up and down in front of her, clearly desperate for help… and made a decision.
Her son be damned, she wasn’t letting this little brown fluffy die like the green one had.
She scooped him up under her arm and carried him out of their home, placing him on the ground.
“There. You’re safe now, fluffy.” She said, stepping back as the fluffy looked around the outside world… then turned back to her, still looking scared.
“Nu! Nu am sabe! Am stiww stuckies! Mummah, am fwuffeh! Why nu hewp fwuffeh?! Pwease mummah, pwease hewp!” He begged her, but his mom just looked confused.
“You’re not stuck anymore, hon. You’re free to go. Just stay away from here, in case my son finds you again.”
Vince looked up at her, unable to believe what was happening. Try as he might, no matter what words he attempted to use, he just couldn’t produce them from his mouth. It was like they changed on the way from his brain to his lips, taking ‘Mom, it’s me, Vince!’ and turning it into ‘Mummah, am fwuffeh!’
And so Vince had to watch as his mother turned and walked away, heading back towards their home, and closing the door behind her, leaving Vince all alone on the streets, trapped in the body of a fluffy pony.
“Dis poopies…” He muttered to himself, before stomping a hoof onto the ground. He couldn’t even swear anymore!
(Next)
