Clipped Wings

CLIPPED WINGS

>You are a sky-blue fluffy momma, and your name WAS Candace.
>That was what your hoomin mommy called you, anyway, for as far back as you could remember.
>Mommy took very good care of you for a long time, but she had a bad rule.
>A dummy rule!
>The rule was that you weren't allowed to try and fly.
>She set it up so that you couldn't climb the stairs and jump, or would even tell you to stop flapping your wings so hard because you might "sprain" them, whatever that means.
>Mommy said your wings weren't enough to get "liftoff," and you wouldn't be able to fly, but that didn't make any sense.
>Birdies have wingies, and they can fly.
>And you have wingies, so you can fly!
>Every time the wind caressed your face or you stood on something high, you knew it - you were born to feel the joy of flight.
>Mommy was smart about many things, but she was such a dummy about this for some reason!
>One time you were in the park, running and flapping your wingies, which STILL didn't work for some reason - the sky must have been farther away than usual and harder to get to - and you got out of sight of mommy.
>Then you met a new friend, a handsome red earth fluffy.
>After playing for a while, he gave you the special hugs, which were fun, but you had to be going.
>You wanted to get some flying in by the end of the day, but it didn't happen because mommy found you and said it was time to come back home.
>You kept returning to the park with mommy day after day, and even though you weren't supposed to you got away, even found your red friend again.
>You had to tell him you were getting big and had a funny tummy-feel.
>You were curious if maybe the same thing happened to him.
>He told you what it meant.
>"Candiss haf baybehs hidin' in tummy! Candiss gon' be mummah!"
>How exciting!
>He said you should run away from your mommy, and live in the park where you could both play all the time.
>Mommy might not want you to have babies, he told you so - fluffy babies aren't for humans to have.
>Plus, without mommy around, you would finally be allowed to fly!
>Even though you were worried you'd miss mommy, you knew that eventually you'd be able to fly back to her if you wanted, and then she'd see how silly and meanie her rule was all along.
>It wasn't easy to get away from her, you had to play hide super hard.
>Covering your eyes didn't work, and when you tried to fly up to a tree with all your might all that happened was that you made poopies - probably because you had been attempting to fly all day and were too tired - only explanation for it.
>Eventually you two took a nap under a bush, and when you woke up, it was the dark-time and no hoomins were there at all!
>Living in the park was more fun than living with mommy, especially once the glowy ball came back.
>You missed the better nummies and cried that mommy wasn't there to hold you at night time, but you had a friend all the time to play with and who gave you soft fluffy hugs.
>You could eat grassies whenever you wanted, and because you were clever you could safely drink from the water where the duckies play.
>Silly duckies, birdies should fly, not be in wawa!
>You wanted to show them, but the babies inside you must have made you too heavy to fly.
>You didn't blame the babies though, because you loved them, just asked them to come out soon.
>They must have listened, and so you couldn't fly for a while because you had to take care of them, provide them with your milkies.
>"Mummah fwuffy haf good baybehs!" your special friend assured you, nuzzling your new foals.
>He was a good daddy for your babies, even if he couldn't understand about flying because he had no wingies.
>You liked to talk about how when you finally really got to soar, you would give the sun and all the clouds huggies!
>He just reminded you to worry about the babies for now and not fly away, but that was okay too.
>All your babies had wingies, like you, and when they were big enough you would all fly together.
>When you slept you could see it in your dreams, feel yourself standing on thin air with your pretty colorful babies floating all around you.
>You'd race the mommy birdies and their families and win, you knew it, because your babies would be allowed to fly their whole lives if they wanted to!
>Not like that rule from your old home... why did you ever live there, again?
>You don't even remember the tastes of the old nummies, or how your mommy would take care of you.
>Anyway, this was your dream for your babies, and you couldn't wait for it to come true.
>Because you had the babies, neither you nor your special friend called you "Candace" anymore, just "Mummah."
>That suited you fine, you loved to hear the future fliers peep it at you.
>"Mummah! Mummah! Wuv mummah!"
>"Baybehs," you would tell them while hugging them, letting them suckle from you, "Wook high!"
>They'd turn their newly-opened eyes upwards whenever you said this - some fluffies never bother to raise their gaze, but a pegasus who does it is always astounded, always feels a longing from deep inside their instincts.
>"Dat sky. Baybehs an' mummah gon' fwy in sky soon."
>"Fwy! Mummah! Sky! Fwy!"
>Their words made you feel like you were in the air already!
>Except then, one day...
>You just wanted the pretty-smell nummies in the park.
>You just wanted to eat those bright, beautiful flowers and walk among them with your babies and your special friend.
>Sometimes the big white flowers remid you of clouds and how fun it will be to dance in the air among them.
>But the bad hoomin, he took your babies, he threw them up and caught them, over and over, in some kind of horrible game.
>It was like flying but some kind of wrong way of it.
>Instead of being happy and laughing, your babies squealed and cried!
>And every time he threw them up, they almost fell.
>You hadn't thought about it much before, but falling could hurt!
>The human should stop, you said, before your babies fell - they were too small to fly yet, anyway!
>Your wingies must have been too scared by the human, because they wouldn't even carry you up to rescue the babies, though you begged for their aid.
>"Wingies, pwease hewp mummah get baybeh!"
>After that, the sharpy sticks came out... and you were forced to watch as he cut off each of your beautiful babies' wings.
>The wings fluttered to the ground, severed from their backs, while the babies screamed for rescue.
>The hoomin munsta taunted you, saying you could never fly at all and that the wings were useless.
>You just wanted your babies back and not to be hurt, and all you could do was cry.
>When he finally let you run away with them, your special friend gave you all huggies, but the wingies, the wingies were GONE, still lying on the pavement behind you...
>Your babies now just had places where boo-boo jooce came out.
>No more wingies.
>"Baybehs nuu fwy...!" you wailed, looking up at the sky. "Baybehs nuu can fwy wif mummah!"
>The sky was so big and blue and open, waiting for you like it always had, but how could you take to it without them?
>How could you bear to know that when you finally flew, it would be without them alongside you?
>"Jus' wan' fwy wif baybehs... onwy wan' fwy..."
>Your special friend hugging you helped nothing, and you couldn't bring yourself to hold your babies or even look at them while he tried attending to them, licking them so the boo-boo jooce stopped coming out.
>This is now, and you are just sitting here, looking at the sky where you belong, and feeling as though you could almost fall up into it, get away from this horror...
>And this is what you are thinking as the sharp pain spasms through your back.
>"Damn, handle-hit. Let me use the second one."
>One of the sharpy-sticks the human had is embedded in the turf near you.
>It glanced off of your fragile wing, bending it forcefully, and now it aches and won't straighten.
>Your special friend stares in horror, but what can he do?
>He already tried giving the mean hoomin hurties, but it didn't work!
>You turn towards the hoomin, and you wail "Pwease nuu mowe huwty wingies! Nee' wingies fow fwy! Wuv wingi--"
>Another one of the shiny sharpy sticks spins towards you in a flash.
>This one cleaves the side of your wing, not cutting it off but leaving a long split in the tender membrane.
>Unable to beg for your safety, you crumple, the wing spasming from the pain and spraying droplets of blood on your family. "UAAAH! BAD OWWIES!"
>"Ooo, gettin' better!" you hear the bad hoomin announce to another hoomin.
>"You really juggle AND throw knives?" the hoomin's friend says. "That shit is awesome, man."
>Your special friend, to his credit, does not run, he merely leaves off hugging one of your offspring, trundling closer and reaching out to give you a hug and make the hurties stop. "Fwuffy gif huggies, make wifey owwies bettah--"
>He goes silent as the last of the hoomin's sharpy-sticks penetrates the side of his head.
>The fluffy you had so many happy times with, who was the daddy to your babies, falls over dead, a handle sticking out of his temple.
>You do not understand what's happened, and so nudge him desperately, ignoring the increasingly weak peeping of your foals, who are exhausted from their ordeal.
>"F-fwiend? Nuu wie down, fwiend, dis bad pwace fow sweepies!"
>Except he's not sleeping.
>His eyes are wide open and there is boo-boo jooce leaking from his ear.
>"Oh! Nice one!"
>"That fucker blocked my throw! I would've had one of her wings off!"
>"Ehh, forget it, it was badass anyway. Hey, you wanna come over to have dinner with me and my wife?"
>"Uh... sure?"
>"Good, you're just her type. But I have to watch while you fuck her and jerk it."
>"Oh man, I wouldn't have it any other way!"
>The meanie hoomin comes back to retrieve his sharpy-sticks, and you cover your eyes so that he isn't in front of you, scaring you.
>There is a wet squelching noise while he takes the one from your special friend's head.
>"See ya, bitch," he adds, to you. "Hope you starve without your man's help."
>Then he is gone.
>You spend a long time nuzzling your motionless special friend, trying to get him to move.
>However, it is obvious to you that if he could move, he would.
>If it were any other fluffy, you would think he were just being a meanie, but this one was a good husban' to you.
>He would never do anything to upset you.
>"Speciaw fwiend... pwease upsies... baybehs nee' daddeh..."
>Your babies, desperate and weakened from their injuries, eventually manage to inch their way to you and suckle from you.
>You barely notice.
>Without their wingies, they barely feel like your babies.
>Even though you can feel all the normally lovely sensations of them enjoying your milkie, whenever you look at them all you feel is sadness.
>They can't fly anymore - they were born to fly, and now they cannot.
>Their wingies have been taken from them.
>They are broken babies.
>As people leave the park, you make your move, leaving the babies behind to return to the scene of the assault on your family.
>"Mummah! Pwease! Huggies! Mummah!"
>"Mummah gon' come back, baybehs..." you say, not able to turn your eyes on them yet.
>Without you, they cling to each other for warmth in the deepening darkness, and lie against their dead father's fluff.
>"Daddeh! Huggies?" they ask him.
>He doesn't respond.
>Your hooves thump gently against the pavement, and you twitch nervously at the smell of the flowers, so sweet and tempting, but now associated with horror in your mind.
>You find what you are looking for.
>Five tiny wings lie strewn around.
>Dried blood, dirt and the steps of humans have rendered them ugly and useless - the missing one is probably stuck to the bottom of a shoe somewhere.
>You can't count, however, and gather them up delicately, using your mouth and trying to nestle some of them in your fluff - as gently as you ever handled your precious babies themselves.
>Soon you return to the babies, two of whom are sleeping fitfully, all their energy spent.
>The very smartest one, who tried to follow you, looks up at you with his big eyes.
>A pang of heartache racks your body, makes you conscious of the wounds you've sustained yourself more than ever.
>"Daddah... nuu pway. Wan' pway!" he says.
>There are buzzy buggies sitting on your special friend's fluff.
>The baby's siblings are resting, and you drop the wings and nudge him closer to them.
>Normally you'd find a sheltered place where you can all nestle together and feel safe from the wide world and cold air.
>Tonight all you care about is getting your babies their wingies back.
>With as much skill as you can muster, you drop the wings on your awake child's fluff.
>"Huwty," the smart baby whines, cognizant of the two tender scabs on his back where he was mutilated.
>You disregard this and begin to hug the baby with the wings between you - he squirms at first, but becomes calm and allows his mother to hug him.
>The wingies don't stay on very well, even though you give all the hugs and love you can muster. "Huggies make wingies bettah, baybeh..."
>You're not very good at sorting out the positions they're supposed to be in, or which colors match up, so he's got a blue and a purple wing sticking out of random locations on his back.
>"Mummah," your smart baby peeps, and you have to put one of his new wings back on as it topples off into the grass. "Mummah saddies?"
>You are crying, the wings look all wrong, not pretty at all.
>And your babies were so beautiful, destined to be the wonders of the sky.
>But at least you've done something to save them, set things on the road to being all right...
>Your babies will still have wingies, and you will keep them on with huggies until the wingies are happy and stay where they are supposed to.
>"Pwease stay on baybeh, wingies... baybeh good fwiend fow wingies..."
>They can still fly with you, once your own wingies feel better, you have to believe that.
>"Hewe, baybeh... time fow sweepies wif bwuddah an' sissie..."
>"Huggies?" he asks.
>You make sure not to let his mismatched, half-twisted wings fall out of his fluff as he cuddles
up to their sides.
>Delicately, you place another pair of wings on one tired, fidgeting baby - because she's asleep, they have to both go on one side, which looks upsetting to your eyes, but you force yourself to ignore.
>When you come to the last, you are confused.
>You only have one wingie for him.
>Your mind aches to deal with this - not being able to count, but knowing something is amiss.
>"Baybeh can fwy wif onwy... onwy dis wingie?"
>Your baby is sleeping and can't answer.
>He couldn't even if he was capable of understanding.
>You nose the wing as deep into his short fluff as you can, nearly waking him.
>With all your tears, your vision is fuzzy enough that you can almost pretend nothing is wrong when you look at your foals.
>You lie down on your side, holding them in your loving but heartbroken hug.
>It's not as warm without your special friend, but you don't want to give him hugs, he has begun to smell not pretty and you think you might have to go away from him soon, which makes you sadder.
>"Wuv mummah," your smartest baby says before shutting his eyes to try to find sleep.
>He's already forgetting the horrors of the day, already losing track of ever owning wings.
>You don't know it consciously, but are aware in some way that by tomorrow he won't even understand that he was meant to have them.
>Your despair sends you back into your memories, to a time you haven't thought about in so long -  living with your hoomin mommy, when you were always warm and fed and nothing hurt you.
>Once, the sky had so much saddies that it cried all day, and the clouds got dark and fought with each other.
>You wanted to fly up to them and make them feel better with huggies, but the fighting clouds made loud noises and bright flashies, which scared you.
>You shook so much that mommy held you in her arms, and comforted you by singing.
>You don't remember mommy's song, but now you sing too, to your babies... but also to yourself, trying to make your heart-owwies go away like back then.
>You have no ability to create a rhyme or carry a tune, but no trouble thinking of words, or whispering them in a singsong voice.
>"Baybehs, mah wingie baybehs,
>Mummah wuv baybehs wif wingies,
>Gif huggies fow baybehs,
>Wingies gon' be pwetty 'gain,
>An' mummah nuu haf saddies
>No mo'..."
>It doesn't make you happy.
>Your beautiful babies don't have beautiful wingies anymore, they are misplaced and crushed.
>Your own wingies have owwies whenever you try to move them.
>Your heart has owwies even more.
>You begin to sing again, even though all your offspring are completely asleep, and feel sure your motionless special friend cannot hear you.
>"Baybehs... mah wingie baybehs... mummah gon' fwy wif you..."