The Wind Turbine

Mascarpone, May 16, 2015; 07:21 / FB 31571
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The Wind Turbine

At the horizon, the red wind turbine spins... slowly.

For the humans, it was just an old building surrounded by other old buildings. A piece of the past painted in an old and weathered hue, too slow to be used for electricity, kept only because it wasn't in the way. And like a bored grandpa, it killed some birds as a pasttime... nobody knew why the stupid birds flew there, but nobody gave it a fuck either. Wild dogs smelled the bodies and came from the nearby woods to eat them; eventually, the humans decided to use the wildlife as the lazy man's garbage bin, dumping there some dead livestock unsafe for human consumption near the turbine.

For the wild dogs, the corpses were a cheap food source, easier than hunting fluffies. Sometimes small packs would check the area near the turbine for food and stay there for two hours or so - devouring carcasses, fighting each other, oh dog, good times. Then they would eventually flee their mix of banquet hall and meeting ground to go back to the woods, to avoid the humans. Just to be safe, you know? Humans are scary.

For the birds with their bird brains, the turbine was something stupid, attractive, unavoidable and lethal. Like humans shooting bullets when you steal grains, or fluffies shooting shit when you steal foals. You're flying, then you can't be helped but get near it, then suddenly pah! Shit happens, you die, great game.

But for the fluffies... for the fluffies, the wind turbine was something special. Huge and red, standing beyond the fields, before the woods, and above the human buildings. It would spin its threatening arms, pointing at the fields in a circular fashion. Pointing at the fluffies. It knew the fluffies were there.

From afar, the fluffies could see it killing some birds, sometimes they would see dogs coming and going, but they never associated one thing with the other - the buildings obstructed the view of what happened around the turbine. So they never thought the dogs ate the bodies; instead, they thought the wind turbine itself ate the birds. It was a munsta who nummed foal-stealing bird munstas.

And then they saw it - humans dragging a "baah munsta" (sheep) to behind the "housies" (buildings surrounding the turbine). The human left without the sheep. The obvious conclusion was that even the human munstas feared it and gave it nummies, else it would num the humans too. It was above them all!

It was no "wind turbine"... it was a munsta. No, it was above the munstas, a munsta even for the munstas. It was almost a god. Maybe it was indeed a god, a god of Death. Red, covered in booboo juice. And at each spin, the god would say "now I am become Forever Sleepies, destroyer of fluffies".

It was the Spin Munsta, and it could num fluffies if it decided to do so.

--Fwuffy gib Spin Munsta nummies, pwease not num fwuffies!
It was only natural, then, when the fluffies begun to ape the human and offer stuff to the Spin Munsta. The bodies of dead fluffies, as stillborn foals or a fallen comrade. Put the offerings in a pile, say something to the Spin Munsta, then run as fast as possible for their short, handicapped legs. Most were successful; and the occasional meatless bones they found near the wind turbine only reinforced the Spin Munsta actually ate the flesh. Sometimes, though, an unlucky fluffy would find the truth about their whole belief... in the shape of a pack of dogs. Those fluffies became one with the offerings.

The fields meant abundant food, camouflage against predators and a decent place for burrows, but only for six months or so; then the combine harversters would come. Red combines, as red as the wind turbine, would reap the grains; and then the humans would reap the fluffies for meat, fur and as crop pest control.

Not all fluffies were killed in the process, though. Some lucky ones survived; those would move to a new field with unripe crops, either joining the already existent herds in the field or creating new herds and new communal burrows. Life mimicked the turbine's arms and their slow, cyclical motion. And at each cycle, the fluffies would tell their new herds about the beliefs on the Spin Munsta, maybe add one or another detail, until it became a common knowledge among all fluffies from the fields that: the spinny thing was the Spin Munsta, it was covered in booboo juice, it wanted to num flesh and, if it didn't had enough flesh, it would send its herd of "vroom munstas" (combines) who were also covered in booboo juice to num all the grains and punish all the fluffies.

Among the survivors, there was an interesting unicorn mare. Some claim she survived for many harvesting cycles; she counted herself fifteen, making her more than seven years old - older than all the other fluffies in the fields, and older than the beliefs on the Spin Munsta. There was something creepy with her, though... she was melancholic, larger even than the earthies, and she never joined a new herd after the harvest. In fact, she always disappeared before the vroom munstas came in, only to be found in a new field, as if she was some kind of witch.

And, when she heard someone talking about the Spin Munsta, her answer would be always between the insulting and the puzzling.
--Fwuffies is aww dummeh fwuffies! Spin munsta is not munsta! Spin munsta is hoomin housie! It num NOT biwdies ow the fwuffies, spin munsta does nuffin! Bawk munstas num aww nummies!

Of course she was crazy, and her crazy talk was nonsense. If the Spin Munsta didn't num the bird munstas, why would it kill them? If it didn't kill fluffies, why would some fluffies disappear when giving it nummies? What had the bawk munstas to do with it, if they lived in the woods, not there? Why would the humans give the Spin Munsta nummies if not to avoid the Spin Munsta numming them? It didn't even look like a housie... and housies don't have arms or move by themselves! And it always sent the vroom munstas to punish the fluffies taking away the seed nummies, didn't she realize that? And of course she didn't live that long... nobody lives forever, nobody escapes the Spin Munsta's wrath for so long. What a dumb mare.

Then she would look at the other fluffies in disdain, neigh, turn her back and leave to her single burrow. It was useless; the other fluffies were too dumb. They never realized the vroom munstas came as soon as the crops were ripe. If they moved to a new field earlier like she did, they would survive like she does. Let them be... their ignorance will kill them all. For the old "unicorn" mare, their lives mattered less than the occasional ache in the wing stumps hidden by the fluff, just before the rain.

But the Spin Munsta kept spinning... and it kept sending its vroom munstas herd to threaten the fluffies' existence. Clearly, the offerings weren't enough. Stillborn foals were small, maybe the Spin Munsta needed more food? Just a guess... ...maybe giving it the stillborn foals and the runts would be enough?

July came. The old witch disappeared, as usual. And another harvest came. A festival for humans, a hunting season for the wild dogs, and the wheeled dispair for the fluffies. Move on, you Adam and Eves of the new field. Your offerings for the Spin Munsta weren't enough. The Death god is still bloodthirsty.

And the Antediluvian old witch was there, even before the Technicolour settlers arrived in the new field. How could she?

The stillborn foals and the runts weren't enough. Let's sacrify some derpy fluffies, too... they're dumb but fleshy.

--Dummeh fwuffies is stoopid! Fwuffies gib othah dummeh fwuffies fowevah sweepies, and then take away sweepin' fwuffies, but bawkie munstas eat the fwuffies! Spin housie not eat, spin housies is no munsta, is housie! Cassandwa awweady say that to fwuffies' mummahs and daddahs!

Crazy old mare... of course she's wrong. This time, the vroom munstas won't come, the human munstas won't kill the fluffies and everything will be fine.

January. Another spin of the life cycle. Stillborns, runts and derpies weren't enough.

Time to offer the old witch to the Spin Munsta.

And, at the horizon, the red wind turbine spins... slowly.