The Bucket

>Your unicorn fluffy pony is pregnant.
>The father was a feral earth pony.
>The typical litter is three to five fluffy ponies.
>You believe you could stand to have two more.
>You take every precaution to make sure your fluffy pony is not a victim of the dreaded fluffsplosion.
>You buy five copies of the Sunday paper, a paint bucket, and a very large bottle of whiskey.
>On the night you believe she will have her children, you lay out paper on your kitchen floor.
>You fill up the paint bucket with water.
>You cook your fluffy pony a plate of spaghetti that you hide in the refrigerator.
>You gently carry the very pregnant fluffy pony to the kitchen.
>Your apartment only has a shower and if it were big enough you would have done this process there.
>You set her down so that she is looking out of the kitchen and not towards the bucket.
>You then get very, very drunk.
>It doesn’t help that your fluffy pony has a vague idea that it is an expecting mother.
>Just as you’re about to finish off the bottle, it begins.
>”Uh-oh! Hafta poopies! Can’ get to wita box!”
>She squeaks as she tries to hold it in.
>You spring from your seat and take out the bowl of spaghetti from the refrigerator and immediately set it down in front of her.
>”Sketties!” she exclaims.
>Although it is impossible for her to move in her current state, she still tries to crawl toward the food, which is out of reach.
>Sparks shoot from her horn as she manages to levitate one noodle a fraction of an inch.
>While she does this, the first child pops out.
>You forgot to put on gloves, but it’s too late for that now.
>You quickly sex the defenseless baby.
>It’s a male Pegasus.
>Fluffies are an incestuous lot.
>You can only put up with two more.
>Before the fluffy pony can squeak, you drop it into the bucket of water where it drowns.
>Monster.
>Killer.
>It’s better than releasing it into the wild or giving it up for adoption.
>”Wan sketty!” your fluffy pony exclaims as she continues to try and move even though she is completely flat on her belly.
>The second baby pops out.
>A male earth pony.
>In the bucket he goes.
>Morality hits you as you imagine them drowning.
>Perhaps this is a bad idea.
>Then again, maybe it is not.
>If you give the extra fluffy ponies up for adoption, the people who claim them might do worse things to them than what you are doing to yours.
>”Tummy huwt,” she groans, giving up on her midnight snack.
>She mewls a little as the third pony shoots out.
>You’re going to need a new pair of jeans after this.
>The newborn is another male earth pony.
>Maybe this male earth pony will cause another owner to do this exact same thing if it survives long enough in the wild.
>You almost vomit as you toss it into the bucket, but not before it squeaks.
>”Wat dat? Dat baybeh?”
>She tries to turn around, but it’s no use.
>The fourth and fifth ponies squirt out together.
>One male Pegasus.
>One male earth pony.
>Splish splash they be takin’ a bath.
>”Baybeh?” she asks, still trying to turn.
>Five male ponies.
>What were the odds?
>Well, your luck has always been pretty poor anyway.
>”Just. . .just hold still, okay?” you say to your fluffy pony, swallowing hard.
>You don’t know how you’re going to explain this to her.
>You might have to reset her memory, which seems just about as kind as what you have just done.
>You’ll bury the dead babies in the backyard after you finish off that bottle.
>”Wan see baybeh! Momma fwuff wan see baybeh!”
>You pass out.
>Several hours later, you wake up covered in what you wish was spaghetti.
>Your fluffy pony is on her side.
>Something is pressing into her stomach.
>Your mouth is incredibly dry and your head hurts worse than it ever has before.
>Thankfully, your fluffy pony is fast asleep while its baby nurses.
>You pick up the hairless fluffy pony, which rouses the mother.
>It’s a unicorn.
>You flip it over.
>A girl.
>”Dat mah baybeh!” your fluffy unicorn, who trusts you completely, proudly declares. “Pwease no huwt baybeh.”
>You grin and put the eyeless turd on the ground where it searches blindly for its mother’s nipple for a moment before it finally finds it.
>”Yay, baybeh no huwt!” she exclaims because she’s always excited about something.
>You carefully stand up and then vomit into the sink, glad that the nightmare is finally over.
>But the memory sticks with you for the rest of your life.