Write a smol story 11 (InfraredTurbine)

A foal was seeing in the middle of a park. It’s a feral.
It looks like it was steped on, maybe by its mother, or somebody else ?
It doesn’t look like it can walk or move properly.
What happened ?

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Poopies for poopie fluffy.


Writing this on my phone while cooking dinner.

“Huuhuuhuu… Hewties… Su hewties… Why can fwuffie nu few weggies?” The fluffie sobbed. Seeing a human passing by it cried out, “Hewp! Pwease hewp fwuffie!”

The human, hearing its cries, stopped and looked. “A fluffy? Oh shit… What happened to you, little buddy?” The man asked rushing over to it.

“Hoomin nu see Fwuffie. Su fwuffie was given wowstest stompies! Pwease, nice mistah, hewp fwuffie! Can’t few weggies! Hewts su much!”

The man gently scratched behind the fluffy’s ear. “Don’t worry, little guy. I’ll get you to someone who can help you. God I hope that’s not as bad as it looks! I’m going to have to pick you up. Because you’re injured it might hurt a bit, but try not to move around too much. I don’t know how bad you’re hurt and I don’t want you making it worse. Can you do that for me? Can you try to stay still?”

“Huu huu… f-fwuffie twy, nice mistah…” it said, tears running down its face.

“Good. Just hold on.” The man said, picking it up. He was careful to try to keep it as flat and still as possible. It whimpered in pain but otherwise didn’t put up much of a fuss.

The man rushed the fluffy to the vet. The doctor suggested euthanasia but the man insisted that he would keep it and take care of it himself. So the doctor preformed surgery on the fluffy to save it.

It was never able to use its hind legs again, but it retained control over its bladder and bowls. The man, after adopting it, named it brownie and bought it a set of wheels so it could still run and play.

It lived a happy, mostly healthy life from then on out until it eventually died of old age in its human’s loving arms with its special friend by its side, nine years later at the ripe old age of ten years old.


The foal clearly wasn’t going to eat again tonight. He took a deep sigh and began to question his degree in sketties. Robert, as his mother called him, was dead broke. He was fifty thousand dollars in the hole from college, plus he had to pay that whore child support every month for his stupid bastard offspring. Trudging through the park on his way home from work, he looked in his fluffy wallet. Nothing.

Robert would enf a foal just for a single fucking cigarette. Racking his brain, he tried to think of what to do. He could go behind Giorno’s, they always had left over pasta. No, Robert didn’t want to look like a bitch to the one person still charitable enough to give him handouts. Maybe he could get lucky with a scratch-off. Maybe… fuck. Maybe it was time to call his folks back home.

Then, looming over him, stood a man. He looked well off, fresh pressed suit walking in the park at night. Had to be at least sixty judging from the number of wrinkles on his face. Christ, the guy looked like a scrotum. The old fuck didn’t even seem to notice Robert contemplating to himself. Perfect.

Robert aligned it perfectly. The man brought his foot down on Robert’s back, and Robert did the usual act for this.

“SCREEEEEEEEEE! Mummah, hewp babbeh! Nee gu to hospita!” Screeched Robert. The old fart jumped back, nearly falling over.

“Holy fuck! Jesus Christ, aw fuck!” The old git placed his hands on his bald head and began to spin around, shooting the occasional glance at Robert, who was really chewing up the scenery. Robert had done already shit himself, throwing in some piss for the bit.

“Babbeh nu can feww weggies! Why mus wife be su cwuel!” Robert screamed to the heavens.

The old man bend down and began inspecting the foal.

“Fuck! I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry! I’m gonna call 911!” The man said before walking a few paces away to speak to the dispatch. This would make a lovely lawsuit, probably about half a million, even more if they old man had managed to actually paralyze Robert. That would allow him to coast easily on disability till he gets too sick to breathe.

Robert sees some weird looking guy pass by him. Some fella with a turbine for a head? Robert just continues to pull out all the stops till the ambulance arrives, fuck whoever sees. Robert gets through the pain by imagining all the spaghetti he’ll get in the hospital, all the rent he can pay with the settlement, and all the sympathy he’ll get from his ex. Everything is coming up fluffy.


Little shit got a severe case of Ligma.


Jade was walking through the park late at night, she heard a crunch and a pitiful cry of pain as she stepped forward carelessly in the dark where the streetlight was out. “Oh! Fuck!” she exclaimed as she scrabbled about to get her phone out and turn on the torch, in the harsh cold light of the phone torch is a small brown fluffy, it’s back clearly broken from where she had stepped on it, already some blood had leaked from its mouth and nose, its bowels had been voided by the crushing weight that had been applied.

Jade yelped in surprise when the fluffies bloodshot brown eyes locked onto hers as it cried “Why gib fwuffeh owwies!? Am sowweh nice wadeh… Nebah do anyfing wong 'gain.”

“I’m sorry little guy… You didn’t do anything wrong; I just couldn’t see you.” Jade apologised.

The fluffy tried to waddle towards her but its back legs were lifeless and just dragged behind the fluffy, it stoped for a moment and looked back towards its own paralysed legs “Weggies? Why weggies nu wowk?” It questioned, before accepting and dragging themselves up to Jade’s feet. With big sad eyes the fluffy begged “Pweese hewp fwuffeh nice wadeh? Fwuffeh nu hab housie, nu hab nummies, onwy hab cowdies and hungies…”

Jade desperately wanted to help her poor innocent victim but she knew that paralysed like it was it would have needed constant care and expensive surgery that she could not afford. “Okay little guy I will help you.”

The fluffy managed a confused “Whuu?” before Jade’s boot finished the job it had started. Jade walked home feeling sad about the accident, but after a few days never thought of it again.

decided to draw the aftermath


“Babie jus wanted wub…” The little fluffie softly cried out, looking up at the pretty sky and clouds he loved so so much. the blue color reminding him of his mama’s pretty fluff, the white clouds looking just like her fluffy mane, and… the big yellow ball in the sky, it hurt to look at it, but it looked pretty like his mama’s eyes… it hurt less then looking up at his mama’s disappointed face every time she looked at him.
he didnt get her pretty eyes… nore her hair… nore her eyes… he wasn’t pretty like his siblings, or his father… he was brown… and sadly that was a sin he could not be forgiven for…
his mother was tired of him, having found an owner who wanted to take her in after she ran away, her fluffie babys being so so pretty, beautiful patterns that would sell wonderfully.
so she agreed to leave with their new daddie, to have many babys, lots of sketties, and every pretty baby would get a lovely little home…
so as she left, he followed, so so happy to have a home. though, his mother wasnt as pleased… telling him off for following… even when he followed frim far behind… so she stepped on him, breaking his little back and ribs. how bowles failed… and booboo juice came out of his nose and mouth… watching his mother leave him… for a happy new life with her better babys… and her pretty special friend, and new daddie… all so happy… without him…


Though he had survived “fluffy baseball” he soon discovered his hind legs no longer moved.


That classic moment when you panic cause you thought you accidentally kicked a dog and are mid appology~ and then you realize it was a fluffy.


“And that’s how Fluffy learned to fear the boot. But he learned far too late.”


“Daddy, I want a bowl fluffy!”

“Those special breed fluffies are too expensive.”

“But you promised!”


Poor lil guy! They’ve got a cute colour combo imo but I guess them’s the breaks for a fluffy. Especially a poopy one. Probably got hit by a tennis ball.


Keith trudged around the outskirts of the park, doing his best to look nonchalant and failing miserably, it was far to warm a day to be wearing a full length trench coat, all black jeans and a black Bennie but Keith hadn’t the presence of mind to care what other thought of him at all, he was on a mission.

Carefully he readjusted the shoulder straps on his leather ruck sack, careful to not jostle its contents to hard least its contents give him unwanted attention from nosy fucking do-gooders. Making his way to the far less well maintained corner of the park where typically the local druggies and high school truant kids hung out to get high his mind began to wonder away, thinking of what the nights entertainment might bring him… when a faint cry pricked his ears and brought him snapping back to reality.

“Huuuu huuuu huuu wan die wan die huuuu huuuu”

Keith was ecstatic and with a renewed energy made his way toward the sound.

In the middle of the bushes Keith found him, surrounded by cigarette butts, used needles and a few hard liquor bottles a small brown foal laying spread eagle in the dirt crying to itself. Keith eyed it up as it lay there wallowing in its own miserable existence, it had cigarette burns all over and a dent in it’s side along its back from what Keith guessed was the whiskey bottle laying close by.

Checking over both shoulders before kneeling down on the ground to get a better look at his new interest, Keith extended a hand and picked up one of the junkies needles and poked the foal in the back legs to see what would happen. The loud SKREEEEEEE told him everything he need to know, the foal was paralyzed but the pain receptors still worked, just what he was hoping for.

Putting a fake smile on his face and extending a fingerless glove toward the blubbering foal, Keith asked the magic words "ill be your new daddie. "
The foals expression changed from pain to joy as Keith carefully took off his ruck sack and gently opened it, removing a Tupperware container with holes drilled in the lid and sides. The faint sound of other little voices could be heard coming form the rucksack “huuu huuu no wike darwk pwace” and “hewp daddy pwese” but the brown foal on the ground was seemingly unaware and reached toward Keith’s outstretched hand.



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Remember that one time that foal wandered onto the golf course? Good times.

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Best outcome for him after that, really.