Not Your Momma

AnonymousFluffery, January 15, 2013; 17:46 / FB 8197
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NOT YOUR MOMMA

Be a fluffy newborn, just come out of your mother... in a fluffy mill.
Your eyes aren't even open yet, and you've only just finished crying from fear. You're now cold and hungry and loud sounds surround you as you peep weakly. Your siblings are doing the same.
The loud sounds are as follows: "Son of a bitch, it's all... why did you let the mother die?!"
"I didn't LET her die, I had to cut the foals out, the bitch's fluff was all knotty. You need to have Jorge shave it more regularly dude."
"You should have cut the foals up and let her live, her colors were valuable. None of these even have her multicolored mane!"
"Well I didn't know that when they were in her cooch!"
"Whatever, wipe them off and put them with one of the feeders early, we'll talk about it later. Shelly, she's empty."
You a wet washcloth wipe the not-pretty-smelling stuff off of your body, and then movement as you're carried away and put by something warm and fluffy, which you cling to, feeling around with your mouth desperately.
"Here you go, Shelly, more babies to feed. I'll even let you have some food, how does that sound? Lemmie just take your muzzle off... I know you won't bite me again, right? Because then you wouldn't get any food at all."
A clicking sound you can't identify is the strap being unbuttoned from a fluffy pony's mouth. You ignore it, continuing to cling to the warm fluff you find yourself in and blindly seeking something you can't name. You cross over a non-fluffy part that you don't know is a belt holding her legs together.
"Uhhnn... uhhhn... pwease... mistah... dat miwkie fow Shewwy babbehs... nuu gif tu uddah babbehs, shewwy babbehs nee' miwkies... dese bad babbehs steaw miwkies..."
"Jesus, Shelly, I keep telling you, you're not pregnant. You're just making milk because of the stuff we feed you, you should be happy to feed these babies that need your help too. When you get it and you stop trying to hurt the foals, I'll take your muzzle off and unstrap you, okay?"
"Shewwy make miwkies... shewwy babbehs comin'... go 'way, bad babbehs..."
"Fuck it, I tried. Open up, you need this."
There's a muffled, gagging noise as a feeding tube is forced into Shelly's mouth, and she spasms under you, trying not to swallow as high-nutrition hormone-laced feed is pumped through. She can't avoid it though, and you smell the upsetting smell of her tears - but that doesn't bother you, because you've just found one of her teats. A sibling of yours is happily suckling on the one next to you and you exalt in having your bodies pressed together while feeding.
"Okay, breathe, Shelly. And remember what I said, if you learn to be nicer to the babies you can go live with the other feeder mommas."
"... nuu... Shewwy nuu am bad babbehs mummah..."

***

You are a fluffy baby, eyes now open, surrounded by three other babies who you love and hug and play with.
The small pen that is your world has only you and them in it, but for one other fluffy - but she makes you sad, so you try not to think about her unless you need to approach her for food.
As you understand it, she is your mummah - that is the only word that fits her in your mind. She is where milkies come from, and you feel constantly compelled to hug her, recieve love from her - but she doesn't give it back. Her leggies are tied together and her mouth is held shut with a strap. Her big, over-swollen milkie places are where you get food, but she often squirms and moans when you do this, unless she has gotten tired and gone to sleep again.
The only time you hear her talk is when your hoomin friend comes and takes the strap from her mouth to give her nummies. He tells her that she should be nice to you, but she just tries to bite you and says words that you don't really understand, but make you upset.
"Nuu, dese bad babbehs... Shewwy wan' gif miwkies to Shewwy babehs! Nuu am bad babbehs' mummah! Go 'way, bad babbehs!"
And then she'll squirm and cry and try to shake you off of her when you feed. Your blue sissy tries to hug her to make her feel better at times like these, but it never works.
It makes you sad. Why doesn't your mummah want you?

***

You are a fluffy baby, now capable of speech, and the nice hoomin is coming to pick you up. He has done this before to "inspect" and "weigh" you, which are games you don't understand, but being in his hands feels warm and welcome.
"Nice hoomin gif huggies!" your bruddah is enthusing from his other hand.
"C'mon, shrimps, you're moving upstairs. Say goodbye to the pen."
Goodbye to the pen? Why would you do that, and what is an upstairs?
As you're settled into the nice hoomin's arm, your blue-colored sissy is pulled away from where she is hugging mummah. She flails her leggies, trying to reach back, even though mummah's bleary eyes don't so much as look at her. "Nuu!" she cries instinctively, "Mummah, wuv mummah, babbeh nee' mummah!"
"She's not your momma, kid. You're old enough to drink formula safely now, and you've gotta go to school."
"Wat skool?"
He doesn't answer, instead taking you upstairs - you're kind of frightened by changes in scenery, the dingy basement full of pens is all you've ever known, and it's not like you could see past the walls of your own little area of it. But you like the place you end up - it is bright and has a big, open area full of playing little fluffies like you!
"Nyu fwiends!" some of them say as you're put down among them, and offer hugs. They are babbehs of many types, with horns or wingies (you've never seen either before) and of countless colors. The chase and tumble and play and you immediately join them, thrilled.
It's not long, however, before a door opens up and the hoomin is coming back in, leading a big fluffy, like the mummah who gave you milkies. However, she is not the same fluffy. She is purply-pink and has a horn on her head. "Teach 'em, Orchid, I'm gonna be downstairs with the littler ones."
"Otay, Mistah," Orchid says. She troops up to all the babies, who try to hug as well, but she does not look kindly or happily at them. In fact she pushes away one that attempts to find her teats, which are not swollen. "'Ou babbehs! Wisten! Aww 'ou babbehs!"
The many babies give her attention, though a couple resume their games of pressing hoofsies and hugging when she does not immediately speak. This proves to be a mistake. Orchid marches over to a pair of babies rolling around snuggling each other and knocks them apart, causing one to squeal in distress. This one she slaps full in the face with her hoof - like being hit with a marshmallow, sure, but shocking and upsetting to a young fluffy that has never known particular discomfort. "Gud fwuffies wissen when haf tu wissen! Bad fwuffies get owwies!"
It resumes crying and you want to go give it hugs, but you are frightened - especially when Orchid slaps it again, then turns her back on it, ignoring its even louder pleas for help. "Gud fwuffies nuu cwy, an' gud fwuffies nuu tawk to bad fwuffies!"
You're so upset you make scaredy-poopies. To your horror this turns orchid's attention on you, and you can't get away before she bites the scruff of your neck and lifts you, then flings you a few feet through the air. You roll over the rough surface of an unfamiliar place. One of your leggies gets stuck under you for a second as you roll, and feels pulled, hurting. You cry.
"GUD FWUFFIES ONWY MAKE POOPIES IN WITTABOX!" Orchid screams in your face.
You can't really focus on her words, the pain is too much. Stuck relying on your instincts, you only reach up your leggies and cry "Hewp! Pwease! Babbeh nee' huggies!"
"Nuu huggies!" she says, turning her back on you again, leaving you to writhe in the dusty litter. "Nuu am yu mummah."

***

You're a fluffy filly, on display in the pet shop for the first time. You frolic and play in the front window with lots of other fluffy babies. There are soft rubber blocks, lots of wood chips for snuggling down in for fluffpile naps, and even a baww!
"Wuv fwiends!" you often cry. And you do. One of your sissies is here, the boy-fluffies not having been in the group that was shipped here. You keep waiting for them to come, but for now you're happy to play with your many other friends in this happy place - plus now you don't have that meanine Orchid around to boss you.
"Oh, that blue one is perfect," a voice says, bigger than the little fluffies around you. It's a hoomin! A hoomin puts you in this wonderful place and puts the nummies in here, so you love hoomins from your fuzzy ears to your smooshy hooves. "Can you grab her for me?"
"No prob," says another voice, and the back wall of your window-cage opens. Two hoomins are standing there - immediately all of your friends and yourself are delightedly greeting them. He brushes them aside, which they think is a game, but holds your sissy from underneath and picks her up.
"Wah! Bigges' huggies!" she says. You giggle and try to follow to play too, but you can't get past the rim of your pen.
"She's just darling!" a lady-hoomin is saying, then takes her and hugs her. "I'm going to love being your new mommy!"
"Wuv nyu mummah!" your sissy says. She is so happy!
You reach up too. "Sissy! Fwuffy wan' huggies wif sissy an' nyu mummah!"
"She's not your momma," the pet store owner says, gently nudging you back into the pen.
"Sorry kiddo," says the lady, "I'm sure someone else will come get you and be your momma."
The door of the pen closes, and a few of the other little fluffies are still calling after the hoomin to be their mummah too. But none cries louder than you. "But sissy an' fwuffy haf same mummah a'ways! Pwease, cum back! Nee' mummah!"
The others go back to playing. You lie down in the wood chips, feeling blue. You're sure the hoomin lady will realize her mistake and take you as well as your sissy, or at least bring her back... but how long will it take?

***

You're a fluffy filly who has lived in the petshop for days and days. You keep hoping you'll see your sissy again, although you've essentially forgotten your bruddahs from the fluffy mill. Still, you get to play with your baww and your fwiends - although there are less every day. New mummahs and daddies keep coming to take them... when will the one for you come?
It's getting more lonely, but moreover it's starting to smell. You all know to poopies in the litter box, but sometimes there are accidents, and drops of pee do make it out of place.
"Time to change the wood chips, guys," the pet shop owner says one dark-time. You're sleepy, but his words are different, which excites you. "You're gonna go hang out in the playpen for a while."
Playpen? You don't know what that is, but it sounds like a game-place! "Wuv pwaypen!"
"Sure you will. Anyway, two by two..." and he begins taking two fluffy babies at a time away. You wait patiently, although you forget what's going on a few times and wonder where everybody is going.
Eventually you're the last fluffy in the pen and are getting anxious. He picks you up and begins carrying you past interesting things you've glimpsed before - the fishie-tanks and the bunny hutch and the cage with the bird who says words. "Hai biwdie-fwiend!" you say.
"Hello, Joe!" it says back in its squawky voice. You smile, even though your name is not Joe.
There is a loud ringing noise. "Ah shit," the owner says. He puts you down on the floor and reaches into his pocket, extracting a shiny flat thing which stops making his noise, and then he talks into it. "Joe's petshop! Uh, tetra-sized? I was just closing but I can check, and if you can be here in the next fifteen minutes... just a second..." he looks down at you and says "Stay there or you get the sorry-stick," and then leaves.
You won't go anywhere, because you're a good fluffy. Once he's gone however, you hear another voice. "Fwiend. Hey fwiend!"
You take some time to find the source of the sound, but it's from a pet cage on the shelf right next to you. You raise a hoof in greeting. "Hewwo!"
It's hard to see, but there's a fluffy pony in there - in fact, there are lots of cages on that shelf! All of the occupants are fluffies, who are sleeping. Fair enough, it is dark-time after all.
"Pwease hewp, fwiend!" the pony says. He's a big fluffy with an orange mane and body. "Daddeh fowget weave Sidecaw in cage! Nee' go ou'side!"
You blink in surprise. "Nyu fwiend haf daddeh?"
"Yup!" he says. "Nice hoomin wif foodies am Sidecaw daddeh. Pwease, pwess outie-ting so Sidecaw can' go by daddeh!"
So the nice pet shop owner is his daddy! Well, nice pet shop owner will be very happy if you helped him get his fluffy out of a dark cage! You trot over to the button that will mechanically spring the cage door open. It takes a few tries, but eventually you manage to cause it to release.
Sidecar wastes no time in walking out of his low cage, grinning. "Tanks, fwiend!"
"Wuv fwiend Sidecaw!" you say, opening your legs for huggies. To your surprise, the stallion doesn't reciprocate, he just keeps going, until he's behind you. And then you feel the weight of his hoofsies on your back. "Owwies! Fwiend, nuu, huwty!"
"Jus' gon' gif speciaw huggies," he explains matter-of-factly. "Den haf gud feew, an' daddeh gif cookie!"
Special huggies? Well, that sounds nice, but you don't know whaAAAAT THE FUCK!
"AAAH!" you cry, your poopie place hurting like not even your biggest shit has ever made it hurt before. "OWWIES! OWWIES! POOPIE OWWIES! SIDECAW MEANIE, FWUFFY NUU WIKE DIS GAAAAME!"
"Enf! Enf! Enf! Good feew comin'!" he announces, oblivious to having missed his mark. "Enf! Pokey ting gon' make babbeh-jooce! Enf!"
"SON OF A BITCH!" the noise comes, and suddenly Sidecar is being pulled off of you - his pokey-thing coming out hurts just as much as going in, so you collapse. The pet shop owner has picked him up. "YOU LITTLE SHIT!"
"Wook daddeh!" Sidecar says, oblivious to the anger being directed at him. "Gif mawe bestest speciaw huggies! Cookie nao?"
"You fucking psychotic studs, I never should have stocked you, I never should have thought it was a good idea to own fluffies that fuck everything they see, and I am NOT..."
He throws Sidecar to the ground and there is a cracking noise. You see Sidecar's eyes widen as his chest hits the floor, his mouth hanging open with shock.
".... your GODDAMN..."
... the pain hits him just a second before the booted foot steps on his back half as well, sending Sidecar into a world of agony. He tries to cry out but there's already enough pressure on him that he can't breathe in.
"... DADDY!"
The pet shop owner puts all his weight onto his foot, and Sidecar's organs pop. Blood dribbles quickly from his mouth and his eyes stop moving. Then the pet shop owner picks you up in the quivering, sobbing mass you are and examines you. "Shit... you're probably ruined for life now..."
The other studs on display in the shelf cages have woken up from the commotion and smell the sex in the air. "Whewe mawe?" "Wawwbanga wan' gif' speciaw huggies tu mawe!" "Scwewdwiva wan' haf gud feew!" "Nuu, Kameekazay haf gud feew fiwst!"
The stallions all try humping their cage doors to open them, their engorged pokey-things sticking between the bars.
You're carried away and unceremoniously dumped in with the other little fluffies, who are interested to see you sad. Some try to give you huggies, but for some reason they don't make you any happier. Your sorrow comes from such an old, deep place that the only thing you crave is to be in the presence of warmth an milk and security again, even if the one giving them to you never showed you any affection. "Huuu... huuuu huuuu huuuu...! Wan' mummah! Wan' mummah!"
The little fluffies around you are confused. "Nuu am mummah," one says, and another agrees.
"Nuu am mummah!"

***

You are a big fluffy now, and one of the last two in the window. You spend most of your time watching the metal boxes go by outside and napping with the other fluffy, your only remaining friend. The back of the pen opens - could it finally be your time?
"The black and blue one I can use as a breeding mare myself since nobody bought her," the pet shop owner who can turn into a munsta and destroy a fluffy is saying, "But that orange one with the blue mane? She'll never sell, she barely even runs around anymore. It's an ugly color combination, I was hoping we'd get a Knicks fan or something, but...."
You look at yourself. You're not an expert on colors, but you think your orange fluff is nice, not ugly!
"Fine, give her here."
You cower as the big hand takes you, and then puts you in a dark cardboard box. "Pwease!" you say, staring out of the top. "Wan' out! Wan' fwiend an' baww!"
A human face looks down at you. It is a lady. "You're coming with me."
"... nyu mummah?" you ask, barely daring to hope.
"I'm not your momma," she says, and then puts on a lid, casting you into total darkness.
You put your hoofsies on your head and shudder as you weep.

***

Be a fluffy mare.
You live in a cold metal cage at the end of a row of more of the same. You are afraid of many of the other fluffies in these cages. What if they're meanies like the cage-fluffies at the pet store?
Your cage-mate is Nipper, a girl-fluffy who is very strange. To you, she is a nice friend who likes to hug and touch hoofsies and play with your small, semi-deflated ball together. However, if any of the humans (who call themselves "shelter workers") tries to touch her, she bites them.
"Hoomins migh' gif huggies," you caution her, but she won't listen.
"Hoomins am meanies," she explains. "A'ways gif Nippah huwties."
You can't square that with the way that they give you two food and water, but it doesn't really matter. They don't make you happy - and you're inconsolable when the other hoomins come.
They look around and they always take a fluffy, who is so happy. Other fluffies cheer and beg to be chosen, but you don't. You know no one is ever going to come for you - sometimes the cold in here makes your leg-owwies from when you were a baby hurt, and you have trouble sleeping close to Nipper because sometimes her weight is on your back, which makes you cry out. It's too much like those bad huggies you got - and not being good at sleeping in a fluffpile, you feel sure, makes you a bad fluffy.

***

Be Tessie, little girl. Well, not little the way you see it - you think being 11 is practically an adult.
You did a project on rescue animals at school, and got an A. You're pretty clever, so you convinced your dad that this means you're ready to adopt an animal yourself!
Unfortunately he didn't go for the "Let's get a dog!" pitch because you'd have to walk it even in bad weather, and you're not interested in something as aloof as a cat. So, fluffy pony it is!
Gosh, they're all so cute. They say "Pwease pick fwuffy!" and "Nyu mummah, fwuffy wuv 'ou!" "Gif fwuffy nummies?"
However, your research taught you that the animals that really need adoptions are the special needs ones. Dad's waiting for you in the front, but the nice volunteer lady is with you. "Do you have any fluffy ponies who're like, crippled or anything?"
"Honestly, we send those over to the shelter for the abused," she says, "They're two towns away and have a lot more money. These are what we have, and they're all pretty normal, aside from the... well, they're all pretty normal."
"What were you gonna say?" you ask.
"Uh, the two at the end there. They're kind of special cases."
You hurry over to inspect them. They are indeed unusual - one bares its teeth at you, and the other is the only fluffy pony in the place not paying any attention to you at all. She seems to be trying to ignore your presence, looking moodily at her ball.
"That one's not a popular color scheme anyway, but she never asks to be adopted like the others. We're not sure why. Also, she limps, and she has trouble sleeping in company. The other one is Nipper, who I don't think I can let a kid adopt. She, uh, bites."
"Gif owwies tu meanies!" Nipper announces, then clacks her teeth together in the air.
Yeah, you're not in the market for that. The other one, though...
"You have no idea what happened to her?"
"Eh. They tend to remember the worst things that happened to them, and if they're tied to ideas, the ideas stick... I think she got it into her head that nobody loves her."
And of course the fact is, nobody does.
Well, you can fix that. "I want her."
"Seriously? Most little girls who come in here want bright pink unicorns, or ones that look like Applejack..."
"Not me, I want that one."

***

The shelter lady is opening your cage for some reason.
You don't like leaving the cage, because bad things happen, but you also don't like being in it because it's awful. You're lifted up before Nipper can get a bite in on the arm that's fetching you, and then the shelter-lady gives you to another human, who holds you up. At length, you look into her eyes.
This sure is a small human. Her hair is in a pretty style, it kind of looks like your tail - except not blue, of course. "Haiw pwetty," you mention, although you don't feel like adding anything else. You'd rather just be left alone, frankly.
"Guess what?" the little human asks.
"Wha?" you wonder. "Guess wike game?"
"Sure. Guess what's gonna happen!"
"D-dunno..." you say, shuddering. You have trouble thinking about things that could happen. It coule be a game of ball, it could be more bad special huggies - there's no way to tell.
"I'm gonna be your new momma!" she says.
You meet her eyes. Your mouth is open in disbelief. "B-bu'... fwuffy nuu haf mummah." You know that as deeply and as truly as you know anything. Everything in your life has taught it to you. You do not have a mummah.
"You do now!" the little human says, and holds you close.
She hugs you.
Your whole body feels light, distant, like it has to be a dream... but after a few moments, it comes rushing into reality. You are being held in the warm embrace of a new mummah. You hug back. There are tears in your eyes, but you're not sure why. You don't feel saddies at all.
"Wuv mummah!"