As the bleeding fluffy foal squirmed and fell upon your floor, eventually ceasing all movement entirely, you moved away, wanting to distance yourself from the “crime”, before opening the closed wooden door. With this, the mummah could walk in, no help from you, to see what had happened. It was those little things that added up, you thought, that would make no retarded child-minded fluffy think you did anything. After all, her last best baby only died helping to get her nummies, right? How sad would she be now? A real tragedy, you figured, almost sarcastically to yourself, of all people.
“Mummah! You might wanna come in here! There’s been an accident!” You yell out, prompting a clearly very slow movement from that fat little fuck. You could hear every nearly-strained footstep as she, along with her fur-covered brown (or white?) baby, walked toward the door, pushing it open with her snout. It took her a few minutes to go from anger and sadness at being forced to stand up, to even seeing her dead baby, to then comprehending what it all meant. The last trace of her “bestest” line was now wiped out, completely decimated by, ironically enough, the very “nummies” she was so adamant to get. Now, completely disregarding her other foal, she sprinted, or rather, waddled quickly, to her dead baby.
”Nuuuu!” She yelled out, bawling her eyes out, quickly pushing the very much dead baby into her arms. After all, huggies make everything better, right? ”Pinkie-babbeh, nu gu fowebah-sweepie!” She yelled out, shoving the loose corpse against her, hugging it. You didn’t really believe she liked her pink baby that much, especially with how much more she was crying over this one than the white one. No, it wasn’t the death of this baby in particular that got her, it was the idea that the only one left was her worstest, and even worse, the one she had to pretend was now her bestest. It made logical sense, he was wearing his dead brother’s skin, and that fur was white, so…he was the bestest, right? But, as this usually is, the brown baby would never feel right to the bitch, even if it saved her a hundred times over.
And that last little bit of hope, the idea that, at least, she had her pink baby as the new best one, it was snatched from her, seemingly by random, and cruelly so. And now, you got to deliver the killing blow. With a single smooth movement down to the brown baby, you removed the white fur over him, moving it above the mummah.
“Look at this! Your white baby’s fur! You want me to get rid of it?” You ask the mummah, knowing that the answer would be a definite “no”. After all, the only thing worse than being stuck with a pretender of your bestest baby is being stuck with your worstest and nothing to remember the others by.
”P-pwease! Nu twow bestest babbeh fwom mummah!” She said, practically wailing out in terror as soon as you took it off. And, unsurprisingly, as soon as the white fur was off, she completely neglected to even look at her remaining brown baby. It seems she had not even begun to learn her lesson.
“Mm…I don’t know, mummah.” You pondered, holding up the loose and dry fluff remains of your first victim. “Maybe you would be better off with just a real baby. Like your brown baby!” You exclaim, bringing the poor and petrified skinny guy forward, in front of her. Which didn’t seem to sit too well with the fluffy.
“N-nu! Poopie-babbeh is bad babbeh! Nee’ bestes’ babbeh!” She yelled out. Still, after all this time of hugging her baby, knowing that it was the same as her worstest, she hasn’t learned. That pissed you off. It was like she remembered and forgot however she pleased, as if no one would notice. Sure, it was childish behaviour, but she neither was, nor was supposed to be, childish. Like she said, she was the “bestest”, so why didn’t the bestest include being competent at consistency?
Of course, you knew the real reason. It was quite obvious. The bitch was stupid, and even worse, the bitch was a stupid bitch. It was a deadly combination in humans, and somehow an even worse one in fluffies. At least stupid people nearly always loved their own kids. All this comparison in your head, piling on and on after your five-part escapade, it was really driving you nuts. Once, just once, you needed to cut the stupid babyspeak and be blunt to the mare.
“Listen to me, you self-serving cunt.” You said, snatching her away by the top of her hide. Of course, she started crying, as was normal, and even pushing some crap out of her ass, but you were sure you had her undivided attention. “I fucking killed your useless, stupid babies. I killed your bestest, and I made him suffer, and I killed your pinky. All because they were mean to your last baby.” You said, shoving a cruel finger where her ribcage was. All it took was a little pressure to get that thing cracking a bit, and the mummah crying, pleading for you to stop.
“If you’re mean to your baby again, if you don’t treat it like it deserves, like your child, then I will fucking kill you and whatever new flock of retards you make in half a day because you’re bored or whatever. You fucking understand? I will give you forever-sleep, and I won’t even fucking care about it.” You said. At least a little baby talk was needed with this asshole, to really drive the point through. And boy, was the point driven. The mummah was crying, pissing, shitting herself, whatever combination of words could describe absolute physical terror, that cunt was expressing them, and then some.
”M-mummah pwomise! Mummah pwomise nu be mean tu poopie-babbeh! Pwomise!” She yelled out. At that, you lightened your touch, letting her move off. Naturally, just like the promise of a toddler, the promise of a fluffy holds less weight than they could move, which was never really much. But you felt nice, and you felt karma was nearly repaid after you killed the mare’s two fluffy offspring. You would give her one, one, more chance. Just one, and if you found her again with a skinny or a crying brown baby, you’d have to do something.
You walked off, slowly, allowing the mummah to recover her frail and obese body, before opening the door. “Out. Now. Take your baby with you, and take care of it.” You said, much to the disappointment of the mummah. Even when clearly hated, her instincts still somehow believed she’d get a home. It was a really revoltingly entitled instinct, really.
”M-mummah c-can hab bestest babbeh fuw?” She asked, standing at the door as she did, not even an hour ago. A final wish, and a final goodbye, still desperate to cling onto when times were better. Sure, you had a lot of fun skinning the fuck, and you didn’t really keep memento’s, but giving it to her…it was practically an assurance of her breaking her promise.
“No. Now fuck off.” You said, shutting the door in her face. That was final. And although the sobs of the bitch could be heard for a few moments more, the tiny cogs in its brain processed the fact that it was, well, final.
As you scrubbed the crap, piss, blood, and bodies off your floors, your mind naturally and understandably wandered back to the whole situation. You’ve never done something like this before. Honestly, if you had done this to anything but a fluffy, you would’ve felt sick. But you didn’t feel sick. Which was understandable. But you didn’t even feel fine. You felt great. You felt refreshed, and spent, and like all the tension from life was unwound.
When you dumped the last bucket of crap down the gutter outside, you figured; you almost hoped that she would break her promise.
And who knows? Maybe she will, one day. Maybe you wouldn’t see the exact moment when, or the exact moment after, but these things weren’t fast. One day, you’d run into her at the city, and you’d do something horrible down an alleyway, or maybe in an empty garage.
After all, one cannot ever trust a fluffy. But whenever a fluffy lies, it’s almost as satisfying as them telling the truth. Because then you know, the fun can begin. And perhaps, one day, it would begin again.