I don't want to be here anymore

Giant_Neckbeard, January 10, 2013; 10:52 / FB 8081
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I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE ANYMORE

>Be Drop, a blue fillie with a dull green mane and tail.

>And you don't want to be here anymore.

>It all started when you got your teeth in, you were so proud, you could eat grass like a big fluffy, but there were other Fluffies, all Stallions, who said there was better nummies than grass.

>'Sketties', they called it. A food only found in the domain of the Hoomins. A food that only a Herd could procure ...

>Your father got so angry when he found the Stallions, these 'Toughies' trying to talk to you and the other Foals, and he hurt those 'Toughies', driving them away in a fury and yelling at you and the other Foals for so long ...

>"Dose wewe Bad Fwuffies, yuu mus' neva tawk wit' dem 'gain! Mus' stay 'way fwom de Hoomin Munstas!" He roared at you and the other Foals of the other Families, his eyes bulging with rage. "Dose awe Bad Fwuffies who wan' take yuu back tu a 'Hewd'! Is a Bad Ting, a Hewd, whewe Fwuffies mus' suffah an' wose evwy'ting dey wuv!"

>But ... you wanted to get out, to get away. You didn't want to be there anymore.

>To flee from your Father, who had already picked out your Special Friend, from your Mother, who just went along with everything your Father did, from the other Fluffies around you, who never wanted to do anything new or be anything more than what they were already.

>So that night, you snuck out to try and find the Toughies. Surely they'd lead you to their Herd, you could have these 'Sketties', and then you could come back and show your Father he didn't know everything, and he'd stop trying to make you do what he wanted all the time.

>It was So scary, you almost went back as the sky went dark, but then you found the Toughies, and they had a lot of other Fluffies with them this time, all babbling happily, asking "When Fwuffies see Safe Pwace?"

>A 'Safe Place', the Toughies had called it, as they led you into the ageing, abandoned house.

>No Bad Fluffies to hurt you, or steal your food, or make you cry.

>Your parents were silly, the Toughies told you with a laugh, all the best nummies were found by the Herds, deep in the Hoomin See'tees.

>And then Twisty-Horn the Smarty Friend was there, smiling so warmly ... before the rest of the Toughies jumped out of hiding from their Boxes, rushing to block the entrance, and there was no way out of the Safe Place.

>You and the others were set upon, beaten, and then separated by gender. The Colts, Stallions and boy-Foals were beaten to death ... the Fillies, Mares and girl-Foals ... you all wish you'd had the Longest Sleepies.

>The Toughies pushed all of you down a hallway lined with broken windows and faded, floral paint to a room, with bare, dusty, crack-riddled walls and floor, and a few hollow-eyed Mares and whining, crying Foals.

>"Dis whewe yuu bewong!" The Smarty screamed as you all balked at this terrible place, dragging one of your number in by the ear while the rest of his Toughies pushed the rest of you in. "Mawes awe stuuuupid an' use'wess and dummies! Mawes bewong in Baybehs Woom!"

>You never thought the sound of the other Fluffies laughing could make you feel so horrible, as they pushed a thick, tall piece of wood into the doorway, trapping you all inside with the hollow-eyed Mares.

>How you wish you'd listened to your Father, and never tried to join a Herd.

>You don't want to be here anymore ...

***********************************************************

>It's hard to remember how long you've been here. With no way to look at the sky, you can't count the White Dark-Time Ball ... but it's been some time.

>Long enough for you to have become a Fluffy Mumma, and for your baby to be able to speak .... so at least 19, maybe 20 days. Two full turnings of the White Dark-Time Ball ... your Family must have forgotten about you by now.

>If they do remember, you're probably just a story told to frighten good Fillies and Colts into staying with their parents.

>You wish you'd had that story told to you as a Filly. You'd give anything to have known what a Herd is really like ...

>Twisty Horn ... how you hate him. But you learned early on to fight him was futile.

>You bopped his nose when he tried to mount you the first night you were here, and told him to let you all go. To stop being a Meanie.

>The other Mares cheered. The Toughies laughed, a cruel, chilling chorus, and the Hollow-Eyed Mares sobbed and crawled to the far end of the room, leaving their Babies behind.

>Before you had time to hit him again, several of Twisty Horn's Toughies tackled you and held you down, and the Smarty Friend slowly, painfully ripped your tail-hairs off and then chewed on your tail itself, then gave you Special Huggies, screaming incoherently at you and savaging your ears and the back of your neck in his frenzied, hateful mating.

>Your beautiful tail, once your pride and joy, never regrew the long tail-hairs, it's just a mangled stump now, and your mane was torn out, leaving you just a ragged tuft that began at the crown of your head, rather than the shoulders, and that has only regrown a tiny bit.

>Day after day, Twisty Horn came back and assaulted you ... you're his Mare now, none of the Toughies dare to touch you without his consent. But you're not his Special Friend. There's nothing Special about a Mare, as Twisty constantly screams at you all.

>For Mares are dumb, stupid, pitiful creatures to Twisty Horn that only live so he can have more Toughies to expand his territory. If even one of his Stallions says otherwise, or treats one of the Mares with the slightest kindness, Twisty Horn's Best Toughies hold them down, and the Smarty Friend grinds his horn into the 'Weakies' eyes until they have the Longest Sleepies.

>And then no Mare gets food or water for a whole day, for poisoning the mind of a Toughie and making them a Weakie.

>So you sit with your back to the wall, so your tail-less rear isn't exposed and your pitiful mane can drop down over your eyes, and stare listlessly down at the baby that suckles fromy your teats, so heavy and full they lie on the cold, dusty ground as you sit.

>Twisty Horn's baby ... you can't hate it, it's not the baby's fault it was put inside you by that dreadful Stallion, but you can't love it either.

>It's the same colour too, the only difference is that it has no horn. It begs you for hugs, to be loved, but you can't even bear to touch it. Just having it nurse from you fills you with a deep-seating terror and loathing, and only the threat of Twisty Horn beating you and leaving you to die slowly keeps you from kicking it away.

>Every time you look at the baby, you're reminded of the horrible things Twisty Horn demanded of you to do, perverse, disgusting, shameful things, or he threatened to kill you, and when that didn't work anymore, and you told him to kill you and get it over with, he promised to hurt the other Mares the same way he hurt the Weakies, but he'd leave them alive.

>Blind and helpless, because you dared to stand up to him. They'd never seen anything again, all because of you.

>You had to give in then. The other Mares were the only ones who could understand you, and you them.

>And there are so few of you left now, five Mares out of a group that once numbered two-score. Most died from heart-ache, or the Special Huggies of dozens of Toughies that left them bleeding out on the floor, and the smaller, lower-ranked Toughies complaining of “Woose No-No's nu feew guud!"

>"Cwean baybeh, cwean baybeh, mus' be cwean, baybeh mus' be cwean!" Lime babbles desperately, trying to lick her baby clean, but it's only a day old, it doesn't understand what it's doing to it's poor Mumma.

>No sooner does the green Mumma clean the baby than it piddles itself and smiles in relief, staining it's belly and the floor under it with stinky, stinky pee, causing Lime to burst into frustrated tears as she has to roll the baby over and lick it clean again, gagging on the terrible taste.

>A Baby that's not clean when Twisty turns up for an inspection earns a beating for the Mumma, and a baby that's had the Longest Sleep ...

>You shudder and close your eyes.

>You don't want to remember what happened to Cork. She took forever to have the Longest Sleep, and she screamed the whole time ...

>Lying on her side in front of you is the largest Mare you've ever seen, her fluff thick with dirt and lice, one baby hugging her mane and begging her Mumma to let her have some milk, while her two siblings, both males, drink their fill.

>Colts are the only thing Twisty wants the Mares in the Babies Room make for him, the only reason that savage, vicious Fluffy tolerates your collective existence.

>Fillies are only get what milk is left over, and if a Mare is caught hoarding milk for a Filly, everyone who has a Filly is forced to watch as Twisty gives every Filly and girl-Foal his Bad Special Huggies until the Fillies and girl-Foals have the Longest Sleep.

>You have a free teat, and you're fed so much food because you're the one mare that ever bore Twisty a Foal, and a male one at that, but you tried to be kind to another's Foal before and it ended poorly.

>Twisty killed that Foal, and then turned the Mumma and her girl-Foals into Weakies. Screamed at you that ALL your milk was for his Colt, then beat you so hard some of your teeth fell out, beat you until it hurt for you to breathe.

>They just sit on the far side of the room now, silent as they lean against each other and wait for the Longest Sleep to claim them.

>The only boy-Foal she has left, an orange-fluffed boy-Foal, screams and cries and begs for her love, but his mother and siblings don't answer, don't even flick an ear towards him, the only sign they are alive is the painfully slow rise and fall of their chests. He sits in a puddle of pee and bawils till his cheeks are soaked, but they don't respond.

>It was he who told Twisty that you'd given milk to another Foal. It was done innocently, he asked if he could also have 'miwk fwom Bwue Mumma'.

>So now the boy-Foal gets nothing from any of the Mummas. Not a hug, not a drop of milk, you all ignore him, tell your babies to ignore him, pretend like he doesn't exist.

>The babies have to learn that they can't say anything other than what the Smarty Friend wants to hear in front of Twisty Horn or his Toughies ....

>Their lives and yours may depend upon it.

>You don't want to be here anymore.

>Today, Twisty came, noted that your Foal had his first teeth, and could now start to eat grass.

>You don't feel the shame anymore as Twisty beat you, just to remind you of your place, and the pain isn't as bad when he has Bad Special Huggies with your No-No's, then your Poopie Place, before he wipes his Meanie No-No's off on your mane and tells your Foal this is the right way to treat a Mare.

>You do feel the hatred rise within you, however, and you bank those flames, letting them sit and burn within you as your Foal stares with wide, horrified eyes as you bleed heavily from your No-No's, from the bruising the Smarty Friend gave you around your face and milky-places.

>But he remembers his lessons. To question the Smarty Friend is to risk the lives of every Fluffy in this room.

>It's a small mercy, one of the few you have.

>When the Colts are taken away, other Toughies arrive, carrying nummies for the Mummas, so they can keep making milk, but there are no hugs, no greetings, no laughter.

>Toughies leave what they have scrounged in the middle of the room, refusing to meet the eyes of any of the Mares, and then retreat, letting the Toughies outside the room grunt and groan as they strain and push the wooden pannel back into place, sealing off the Babies Room once more.

>You're hungry ... but you don't eat. The Foal has teeth now. If your lessons from Mumma were right, then your milky-places should stop working soon. You don't need to eat ... in fact, you plan on not eating at all.

>You can only hope the Foal can manage to escape on his own, because you won't be able to help him soon.

>You don't want to be here anymore.

***********************************************************

>It's getting colder when the Colts finally come back, shouting and cheering as they race around the legs of the Toughies, who smile down at the Colts.

>But as the Colts shuffle back into the Babies Room, their faces screw up in confusion. They have spent all day playing outside, overwhelmed with the wonder of it all, and now that they are back here ...

>The Outside is full of grass and sunshine and warmth and happiness. The Babies Room is full of cold floors, dust and their mothers, who are always bruised and battered and crying.

>As your Foal looks around, blinking with his mouth working silently in confusion, and then as he meets your eyes, you nod at him and shake with a sob, clutching yourself to try and hold the tears inside you.

>Finally, he understands. Finally, he Knows. He has seen for himself the difference of your worlds, a difference you felt no words you could speak would make him understand. He had to see that difference to fully understand the world he had been born into.

>And for the first time in his life, as he climbs up your body, past your teats to your neck, to cling to your neck and sob how sorry he is, you find you can hug him back, and shed the first tears you've allowed yourself in weeks to flow down and dampen his fluff.

>"Is nu yuu fauwt, is nu yuu." You whisper, holding the shivering Colt tightly. "Buh yuu mus' weave dis pwace, take otha Cowts an' wun, get 'way b'fowe Twisty makes yuu a Bad Fwuffie wike his Toughies an' ..."

>"Wat yuu doin'?" A voice shrieks, and the baby is torn away, before a very familiar horn, one that spirals, rather than grows straight, is shoved into your face, and your world become white-hot agony in the form of sparks. "WAT YUU DOIN'?! Dis mah Cowt! NU YUU'S NU MOAR! NU NEE' DUMMY MAWE NU MOAR!"

>You scream and you scream, writhing in agony, but Twisty is standing on you, pointing his strange horn into your face and shrieking insults at you until he screams himself.

>You blink past the tears and see Twisty hopping about like a Rabbit-Friend with blood spurting from under his tail, and there's your Colt, sitting there, snarling with blood staining his muzzle.

>Your Colt bit Twisty on his Special Lumps ... for you.

>The knowledge that something actually cares enough to fight that Monster of a Fluffy for your sake gives you strength to stand, to fight, and most importantly, to hope.

>"Baybeh, haf tu wun fwom dis pwace, WUN!" You yell to him, struggling to your feet and tackling Twisty, sending him sprawling to the ground as you blindly flail at his horn with your hooves. "Mummas, get baybehs an' wan! WUN!"

>It's pandemonium as the Toughies barge into the Babies Room, squabbling and pushing each other in their rush to be the first to help their Smarty Friend, and the Mares all crush against the opposite wall to avoid the stampede.

>You don't see what happens as the first Toughies slam into you and carry you to the far wall.

>You don't remember much of anything after your head hits the wall, and everything goes dark.

>I don't want to be here anymore ...

***********************************************************

>".... an' yuu Speshaw-Huggin' DUMMIES wet dem hide in pawk?! Aww of dem?" You wake up to see Twisty screaming at a sobbing Toughie. As a matter of fact, all the Toughies are crying, their fluff all smouldering or smoking, their muzzles bruised and bleeding, their ears torn and ragged.

>Thirty Toughies, yet they all fear the lone Unicorn ... it always struck you as strange until you tasted Twisty's sparks, his furious assaults on your body, his cruelty.

>"Is nu owr fauwt!" A Toughie complains, rubbing his bruised muzzle. "Wed Mumma wun tu Pawk-Fwuffies, yeww fo' hewp! Tua many Fwuffies come out tu hewp Dummy Mummas, Toughies nu couwd bwing Mummas an' owr Baybehs back!"

>"Yuu is TOUGHIES! Yuu suppose to kiww dem aww owr gu haf Wongest Sweepies!" Twisty screams back, showering the Toughie in his horn-sparks and making the other Stallion squeal in pain, and the other Stallions scrabble away in a panic.

>You want to get up and bite Twisty's other Special Lump off, you can see the deflated sack where the one your Colt attacked hanging there, ripped open and bleeding, but ... it hurts to try and stand, and your leggies won't listen to you.

>Your leggies ... no, your everything hurts.

>As you try to turn your head to look around, you see a piece of the broken glass, leaning against the faded walls of the abandoned house, in the hallway opposite the Babies Room, and see your reflection.

>It takes a few moments to realise the bleeding, nearly-bald Fluffy staring back is you. Your leggies hurt because they're not supposed to bend like that.

>"YUU AWW DUMMIES! AWW OF YUU!" Twisty screams and screams, chasing his Toughies around the room many times, many of them tripping over you or kicking you until he has them huddled in the far corner of the Babies Room, screaming insults at them as they bawl for mercy and forgiveness.

>So ... at least the Big Red Mumma got away. The Park ... maybe it's your Park, where your Family lives. She'll be safe there, for while there's no Herds there, the Families do look after each other as much as they can.

>But ... the Toughies and the Smarty Friend are going away ...

>No, that's not right, they're not running anymore, you're moving! You're being dragged away, out of the Babies Room!

>Something has you by the stump of your tail, but it was just one more owie amidst all the others all over your body ...

>As you're dragged out the Babies Room, you see faces you thought were long gone.

>Faces from the Park, friends and family that stare back at you with horror and rage in their eyes. Older, angrier, but familiar.

>Faces belonging to Fluffies that grunt and strain and push the wooden pannel back across the entrance to the Babies Room, and you cannot help but sob in relief as you see Twisty Horn turn around, face slack in disbelief, as now he is sealed away in that cold, dusty prison.

>Much of what happens next is a blur to you, for you keep going to sleep, only to wake again as something bumps against your leggies and makes you scream and wake up.

>The howling of the Toughies and the hammering of their hooves on the pannel, and the smell of burning fluff that makes you cringe.

>Your Colt, sobbing, begging you to wake up, to hug him again as your are carried on the back of a large Stallion, down an alleyway with the sun shining high overhead.

>Your father, pale under his black-and-grey fluff, whispering how sorry he is that it took so long to find you, his face stained with blood and tears.

>Other Fluffies from your childhood, telling you you'll be home soon, to hold on, to be brave.

>That they never stopped trying to find you.

>It's hard to keep your eyes open anymore. Even when your leggies bump into something now, you barely feel anything.

>But finally, you're home, you can see the slide and the sand-pit, the Willow-Tree where everyone lives in burrows under the roots, and a crowd of Fluffies waiting under the long, hanging branches of the tree.

>"Am home ... s-su sowwy." You whisper softly as the Families charge out, shouting your name and the names of the other Fluffies.

>Your Colt hugs you as you're gently lowered to the ground, sobbing and bawling, begging you to not leave him.

>Crying yourself, you bend your broken leggies, grateful that you can no longer feel your owies, and hug him to you.

>"Y-yuu is guud Baybeh. Yuu is ..." You whisper to him, trying to tell him how grateful you are, and give him something you've held back from giving him in all your fear and pain and hate, a name, his name.

>And then ... you're not there anymore.

***********************************************************

>Be a Fluffy Fatha ... and you grieve.

>Your Filly, Drop, ran away almost a month ago, chasing after the lies of the nearby Raider Herd ... you should have kept a closer eye on her! You should have known that your curious, head-strong girl would try to explore on her own, like she always did the moment she heard about something new!

>Now ... n-now she's gone. Drop, your bold, ever-curious little Filly, is gone forever now.

>The Families took her body to the Sleeping Tree, placing her almost-fluffless body in one of the shallow pits and gently covering her with dirt, and then clods of grass, so she can rest in peace, without the Munstas coming to dig her up.

>Your Mate screams and cries, hugging the ground where your beautiful little girl now sleeps forever, and your other children lean on each other, sobbing and wailing.

>And Drop's Colt stands there, shaking and crying, all alone.

>You hurt so much inside, and the other Mares told you what had happened to your little girl, and who this Colt was ... the son of the monster who hurt and tortured Drop.

>So you plod over to the young Colt ... and hug him tightly to your chest, shaking with grief, as the Colt hugs you back, screaming wordlessly in loss.

>He will not be judged for his father's sins. He fought to save his mother, and helped all the other Mares escape.

>Drop raised him well. Drop named him well.

>"Is oh'tay, Hope, she nu feew saddies owr owies nu moar." You whisper to the Colt as the Herd gathers around his mother's grave to pay their last respects.