A Moment of Peace part 3

A Moment of Peace - part 3 by Toran

http://toranistheauthor.tumblr.com/

Continuing the story of a boy who loses his mother ot the world's first recorded fluffy perpetrated homicide.


Some regular cops were passing the surveilance tapes around and having a laugh at what those fluffies said.
The judge had quietly changed moms cause of death and had the bastards destroyed, but some prick in the
precinct must have been looking for a pay day.
Three weeks after the investigation, news breaks about what really happened to mom.

It was like the whole goddam world came down on us.
Reporters camped out on the sidewalk, the phone ringing all damn day, even a few people I used to call
friend offering to split the cash with us if we gave them an interview.
I was already bottomed out, all I had left was anger.
So I started showing every piece of shit who bothered me how I personally felt deep down.
I've had my ass handed to me too, you can't win em' all.
But the fluffies they had with them never made it out alive.
I'd rather get kicked in the head ten times than let one of those shitstains live.
Detective Einstein managed to keep me out of jail, but I think he's run out of favors.

News coverage (the little I watched) was mostly about how the fluffies managed it, staging recreations and
examining the hidden camera footage of their little training runs.
A couple of commentators were going over it for the hundredth time when one of them laughed a bit at how
embarrassing it must be for the family of the deceased.
The shame of being killed by a fluffy pony of all things.
He apologized right away of course.
I'd still smash his head in with a rock if I we ever met.
Some of the bigger guys at school thought it was a laugh too, for a while.
Until I broke one of the basketball players jaw.
I don't remember too much from many of my fights, just my hand hurting and a bunch of teachers trying to pull me off of him.
Most people got the point.

I still have some clever ones bring fluffies to me and shake them in my face now and then.
Ever seen a guy get beaten with a fluffy corpse?
It's not very effective, you really gotta try hard.
The key is, grab em' by the hind legs and swing so the skull makes contact (watch out for the poop).
It's still weak but the skull is one of the toughest parts of a fluffy.
That's something I picked up through experience.

We've found dead fluffies on mom's tombstone a couple times.
Even a live one once, tied to it.
My sister ran off crying, I ran towards it.
Kicked it so hard the string around its neck decapitated the fucker.
When the fluffball first spotted us she called for help, thinking the nice humans would let her go.
However, it started running away and crying "nu huwt" right before I got there.
I guess the look on my face gave my intentions away.
Dad told me I scared him a bit.
I don't know how he can't despise these worthless freaks.
Maybe he's a better person than I am.
That, or he's just surrendered to being miserable.
I'm guessing it's both.

Even the freaking cat has changed.
She spends most of her time outside hunting stuff when half a year ago chasing a laser pointer was the
highlight of her day.
There's been plenty of times I'd go to the back porch and find her playing with the fluffy corpse she's dragged back to gnaw on.
It's something to see, watching a cat dissect one of the little bastards.
They have to be meticulous in getting around all that fluff to the meat inside.
She's good at it though, taught herself where the neck is on these things despite not being able to see it's exact spot.
Sometimes she'll come back with a living one (often a foal) and just bat it around, playing with her food.
It's pathetic, the foal begging for help or offering hugs to make it stop.
I'll occasionally sit close by and watch;  dad doesn't like that but I tell him it's nature at work.
Am I wrong?

So here I am sitting in the middle of nowhere, reading books I don't like, hiking through places I'm already

bored of and trying my best not to think about the trainwreck my family has become.
All because some fluffies found a way to make people drop their groceries.

I hate them.
Oh Jesus, how I hate them.
Friends with fluffies made sure they were well hidden when I was around.
I dunno how many ferals I've killed these past couple months, but its not enough.
It'll never be enough.
Maybe I'll become an exterminator after school.
I've heard you gotta be one crazy fucker to kill babies that can beg for their lives.
I think I can do that.

Yeah.... yeah I think I can do that.

I haven't even gone out of my way to find them.
Well, the first couple from the herd I did.
They were a special case, I needed to get my hands on any that might have had a part in killing mom.
There aren't any fluffies left in that wooded area, I should know.
I burned the whole fucking place down.
There's nothing around it beside a very, very run down shell of a house.
If there were any fluffies hiding in there, they waddled away while I looked for hobos inside.
I still had the presence of mind to check the place before emptying the 2L bottles of gas in my backpack.
I'm not the killer here.
All I do is crush fluffies, they don't count as people of course.
They don't even count as animals.
They're things.
Property.
Monsters.

I don't like obsessing about it, but my mind wanders back if I'm not occupied.
The doctors have me on a few meds, one to keep me calm and another is an antidepressant.
Lately one doctor been trying to talk me into something that'll keep me from obsessing about mom's passing.
I felt like smacking that woman in the mouth for suggesting it, didn't do it of course.
I simply stated my mother's memory deserves more respect you fucking dumbass cunt.
Surprisingly she wasn't mad, maybe she could tell I felt bad about it the second the words left my mouth.
Got a bit of an impulse control problem.
Not that I think my doctors actually care, all the flyers and crap in their offices clued me in to them having "understandings" with the a variety of pharmaceutical companies.
Gotta know who's buttering your bread, right?

So right now it's pretty boring.
I'm headed back to camp the the hundredth time, no reason really, it's been one lazy day after another.

... Well... it was boring.
I just heard some high pitched, squeaky voices.
They're coming from my campsite.
Fearls out here?
Why not?
The vermin are everywhere else.
Looks like they're trying to get into my food supply.
I'd be damn hungry on the way back without it.
Maybe even starve.
But they don't care.
Fluffies don't give a damn about anything but themselves.
They'd doom an entire herd to save their own neck.
They'd steal the last crumb from a starving child.
They'd destroy a family for two grocery bags worth of food.
They don't deserve to live.

So they won't.


End Part 3