“With Good Intentions”
Lizzy carefully, quietly wriggled the gate, months of experimenting giving her the knowledge she needed. Eventually, the gate fell with a soft thump, making her freeze in fear for a moment, but the noise drew no attention. That was good. If she was found, she’d lose the one chance she had to do what she so desperately needed to.
Sniffing the air as soundlessly as she could, she crept along. Soon she reached stairs, which required all of her strength to climb, but she persevered. The scent of the outdoors, of her chance to do what she was born to do, tempted her, and she followed. Slowly, quietly, she crept.
Finally, she saw it: an open window. Quivering with excitement, she moved more quickly, her focus on silence less important to her now than haste. She had to get to the window, had to find a way up, had to fulfill the purpose that burned so radiantly in her heart. Struggling in the bright ray of sunlight from the window, she scaled the sofa, then the back of the sofa, then the window sill. She was here!
Looking down, she saw the soft grass far below, but that was of little concern compared to the glorious breeze. Savoring the anticipation, she stood there for a moment, images flickering through her mind. With a soaring heart, Lizzy leapt, her wings flapping wildly, and for a moment she flew, before gravity took its inevitable course.
“Wizzy am fwyin’! Wizzy am URK.”
…
Lizzy sobbed in her nestie, her new nestie that she hated so much. While once she would have loved the soft material, now it brushed uncomfortably across her stumps, filling her with a sort of sick uneasiness. She stared at the ball, so close to her and yet so far, and thrashed her stumps, trying and failing to move. She wanted out of this nest! She wanted to be away from the litterbox, which reeked so horribly since she was unable to bury her waste! She wanted to play with the ball again!
She couldn’t understand why she was in this state. Her escapade with the window had left her mostly unharmed, thanks to a fortunate pile of leaves, but the doctors had still taken away her leggies! Her mummah had explained to her, as best she could over Lizzy’s screams and sobs, that it was to keep her safe. That as a pegasus, she was a danger to herself and her mummah couldn’t bear the thought of her going forever-sleepies.
Lizzy’s struggle only resulted in more brushing against her stumps, so she gave up. Unable to reach the ball, she turned to the only comfort she had. A sensory sheet, with lots of different smells and textures, meant to give pillowfluffs like her something to focus on besides what they’d lost. Nuzzling it, she felt softness and smelled grass.
The smell brought back pleasant memories of when she’d go to the park and play with other fluffies, which seemed so long ago now. The memory, at the time so ordinary, was now the most precious thing she clung to. Yet in spite of that, it also hurt her so deeply, reminding her that it was something she’d never experience again. Desperately she nuzzled the sheet, trying to lose herself in the memories.
Sobbing, she sat there, unable to do anything else. She waited for her mummah to return to work, for the tiny bit of comfort that would bring. She waited, and with each moment she slipped deeper into despair.
…
“Lizzy, do you want to watch FluffTV?”
Lizzy was suddenly filled with joy. It’d been so long since she’d been allowed to watch FluffTV, after she’d bitten her mummah during a tantrum when she’d been left alone longer than normal. She understood that she’d been bad, but her mummah couldn’t understand how much it hurt being alone in her state. But now things would be better; her memories of FluffTV were always memories of happiness.
She sat, not that she had a choice, on the sofa beside her mummah, not even looking up at the window anymore. It was time for FluffTV, and she was so excited to see it. She’d doubtless missed many episodes, but that didn’t matter. Even if she didn’t understand, she was sure she’d love whatever she saw. FluffTV always bolstered her spirits.
The theme for the show played, and she noticed that it was her favorite segment: Babies! She loved watching the babbehs so much, but her mummah didn’t let her watch the segment much, since she’d always pester her mummah for babbehs afterwards. This time, however, her mummah didn’t switch off the show. Maybe she knew how much Lizzy needed something to brighten her day.
Lizzy enjoyed watching the babbehs sleep, listening to the little babbehs chirp and cheep, and watching the babbehs nurse for milkies. Babbehs were the most precious thing in the world to Lizzy, and the only thing that tarnished her joy in seeing them was having none of her own.
“Nougat is singing babbeh songs to her babbehs. Good mummahs sing babbeh songs to their babbehs so they’ll be good, happy babbehs. Now she’s giving them the bestest huggies. Good mummahs always give their babbehs huggies so they feel safe and loved.”
Lizzy’s joy turned into the most bitter of loathing in an instant. Loathing not for the TV, but for herself. If she ever was a mummah, she wanted to be the bestest mummah ever! But how could she, when she couldn’t give her babbehs huggies? She couldn’t even be a good mummah, not ever again, since her leggies were gone.
Looking up at her mummah, she pleaded. “Mummah, Wizzy nu wan see FwuffTeeBee nu mowe. Gib heawt-huwties. Onwy wan mummah gib huggies.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Lizzy. I didn’t think about how you’d feel about that segment. Here, I’ll turn it off and you can sit on my lap for a while, how about that?”
Lizzy tried to seem enthusiastic about that, but she just couldn’t. She wanted nothing more than to eat and cry herself to sleep, but this was her precious time with mummah. Stifling her sobs, she tried to lose herself in the small comfort of her mummah’s warmth.
…
Years Later
…
Lizzy could feel the wan-die loop. It was so close. She understood what it was; all fluffies did once they got low enough. A final small mercy from the quiet evil of their creation, a fluffy could escape into fantasy once the real world became unbearable. Whatever tiny portion of their mind remained would plead for death, for an ending, but the greater part of the fluffy’s mind would be lost in heavenly illusions.
Lizzy couldn’t understand time’s passage anymore, but she knew she’d been on the brink of the wan-die loop for what seemed like eternity. It’d been so long, but the days were a strange thing now. Each day seemed like forever, but the weeks, measured by her infrequent sketti-days, passed like minutes.
She lay there, and barely thought about anything. Her mummah came home, eventually, and came to pick her up, to give her some attention and interaction, as with every evening. Lizzy barely looked at the TV screen, showing some human show since she’d long ago given up asking for FluffTV, and simply drifted lazily from thought to thought.
Suddenly, something horrible occured to her, and she began flailing. “What’s wrong?” her mummah asked, concern in her voice.
“MUMMAH!” Lizzy wailed. “WIZZY NU CAN 'MEMBEW WUT GWASSIES FEEW WIKE! NU CAN ‘MEMBEW WUT PWAYIN’ AM WIKE! NU CAN 'MEMBEW FWIEND’S NAMESIES! PWEASE HEWP WIZZY!”
She felt the wan-die loop becoming closer, and she could almost see the visions. Flying, running, and playing with friends who never grew tired, with babbehs who never went hungry, eating as many sketties as she wanted. Everything precious in the world, real or imagined.
“It’s okay, Lizzy. I’m here. Everything you need is here.”
And with a kind touch, a tiny comfort, the illusions fled, and Lizzy’s last mercy was torn away from her yet again.
…
“From Ill Intent”
…
Another time, another place, another Lizzy.
Spencer returned home from work one day to find his now-ex, as well as most of his belongings small enough to carry, gone from his apartment. He seethed as he read the mocking note, carrying the vindictiveness of a narcissist who believed herself slighted in some way or another, something too small for the normal mind to even remember. Again, with this bullshit. He’d have to find her and appease her before she sold his stuff, but he was too tired of this to do it.
He knew he wouldn’t be able to get it back normally. His unusual speech patterns, gifted to him at the age of 14 courtesy of a drunk driver and a 2-week coma, meant people unfamiliar with him thought he was lying even when he was being entirely sincere, and Val could lie with the conviction of a martyr. There was no way he’d be able to use legal methods to get his belongings back, and trying would probably just get him a restraining order at best.
Eh, fuck it. A small price to pay to be rid of her, he thought, and he meant it. For the past two years, his life had been a never-ending rollercoaster ride of dealing with her self-centered and malignant mind, and he was done.
An unexpected noise from the room that had once been his home office, before Val had converted it into a saferoom for her puke-green shitrat, drew his attention. A soft sobbing noise. Surely she hadn’t left it here. It was the only thing he’d seen her give actual love without a knife behind her back.
The fluffy, Lizzy was it? Lizzy was sobbing in her nest, blood dripping down her face from where a note was attached to a nail driven into her eye. Spencer almost threw up at the sight. Sure, he’d never liked Lizzy, since she stank and made so much noise, but to do this? What the fuck was Val’s problem? Apart from the obvious.
“Da…ddeh…?”
“What happened to you, Liz?”
“Mummah huwt Wizzy. Sae daddeh wan Wizzy tu gu forebah-sweepies. Pwease, daddeh, nu mowe huwt Wizzy.”
That bitch! Spencer approached, and Lizzy flinched back, but Spencer got close enough to read the note. “Please finish off the shitrat for me. She’s too fucking loud, hurt my ears. I only kept her because I knew you always hated her anyway.”
He seethed even more than before. Stealing shit and being a terrible partner was one thing, but hurting an animal this much and leaving it for someone else to mercy kill was a new low. That’s it. Fuck her. I’m not going to do anything she wanted.
“Lizzy, I’m not going to hurt you. Mummah lied to you, and she hurt me too.”
“Weawy?”
“Really.”
Well, I guess we’re both going to have to pick up the pieces together.
…
Years Later
…
“Daddeh…CAFF!..Wizzy wub 'ou.”
“Shh…it’s okay, you don’t have to say anything. It’s okay.”
“Wizzy hab wowstest huwties, daddeh.”
“I know, Liz, I know. The doctor’s going to give you something to help, and when you wake up you’ll be in the best place ever.”
“Daddeh, Wizzy scawed.”
“It’s okay, there’s nothing to be scared of. I’m here for you.”
“Otay. Tank 'ou, daddeh.”
As Lizzy slipped into unconsciousness, as the euphoria carried her life away, Spencer hugged her, shedding tears he’d struggled so hard to hide from her. She’d been his companion for so long, but time was hard on fluffies, and soon there was only one mercy left he could give her.
…
In Spencer’s home, so much better than the apartment he’d once lived in, there was a little table. Once it had held sports trophies from his youth, trophies he’d been so proud of, but now those trophies sat forgotten in the back of a closet. In there place was a stand, and on that stand rested his new pride. A little eyepatch, embroidered with flowers and the name “Lizzy.”
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It’s a terrible day for rain.
But it was well worth reading.
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How ironic that “With Good Intentions” was so much more torturous for Lizzy than “From Ill Intent”.
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