Runtyshy: Part 4 (Sadbox Ending)

Runtyshy: Part 4 (Sadbox Ending)

	>You are Cherry, a fluffy momma
	>And meanie Teddy is trying to take your last baby
	>He already took your other two good babies, and you hug your good baby as tightly as you can
	>”Nuu, Teddy! Babbeh nee’ mummeh! Gud babbeh! Babbeh wuv Teddy an’ mummeh! Pwease nu take babbeh!”

	“I’m not doing this because the I think the baby is bad. I’m doing this because it’s going to a much better home.”

	>”Nuu! Mummeh wuv babbeh! Babbeh wuv mummeh! Mummeh gud mummeh!”

	“That’s a lie, and you know it. Before you ‘loved’ this baby, it was the green one. Before that, it was the red one. Hell, I’m not even going to mention the runt.”

	>Teddy’s words hurt, and you cry even more
	>And now you’re angry

	>”Teddy big dummy! Teddy meanie! Mummeh hate Teddy!”

	“Don’t make this difficult, Cherry. Give me the baby.”

	>Teddy isn’t crying, like you expected
	>You’ve tried everything you can to keep your baby
	>You begged
	>You turned into a meanie
	>And it didn’t work
	>Maybe there’s still one thing you can try
	>The cage is locked
	>It would take Teddy a long time to get you when you went through with your plan
	>But first you need to trick him
	>You sniff loudly, and pick up the baby
	>It coos in your arms, and snuggles up into your warm fluff
	>A few minutes ago, you would have hugged your baby back, and given it lots of love
	>But that’s all changed now
	>”O-otay..muh-muh-mummeh gif baby Teddy…wuv babbeh…huuuu…”
	>Ted’s expression softens a bit, and you spring into action
	>You drop the baby onto the cage floor, and push both of your front hoofsies onto it’s head
	>”MUMMEH! OUCHIES! AAAAAAAGGGGGGGGHHH!  AAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGH!”

”Holy fuck!”

>The cage door swings open, and Teddy’s hand flies towards you
	>Your timing was off
	>As soon as you begin to push harder, you feel Teddy’s fist connect with your snout, and you smash into the back of the cage, crumpling into a heap of fluff and boo-boo juice
	>Teddy snatches the baby away, and you begin to cry
	>”W-why du-dummeh Teddy h-hewt mummeh? Am g-gud mummah!”

	“Are you fucking serious? You tried to kill two of your fucking foals already!”

	>”D-dummeh b-babbehs nee’ bi-bigges’ owwies…”

	“I’m going to fucking – no. No, forget it. That would be way too easy on you. Tell you what: I’ll leave you here over the weekend. No food, just a bowl of water. Maybe then you’ll learn some respect for both me and other fluffies. But most importantly, your babies, you terrible, terrible mother.”

	>No food?
	>You need food!

	“Dummeh Teddy! Gif Chewwy nummies nao, oh Chewwy…Chewwy gif sowwy poopies! Numm-ies! Numm-ies!”

	“Fine, give me ‘sorry poopies’. You’re the one who’s gonna be festering in it for two days.”

	>And Teddy leaves, with your ugly, dummy baby
>A terrible momma?
	>You’re a terrible momma?
	>No
	>No, you can’t be a bad momma
	>But you tried to give your babies ouchies
	>Only bad fluffies give ouchies to babies
	>But what about bad babies?
	>The bad baby
	>This is all the bad baby’s fault
	>If the baby was never yours, none of this would’ve happened
	>You hate the bad baby
	>You hate Teddy
	>You hate your good babies, because they’re bad too
	>You’re the only good fluffy there is
	>You hope they all get forever sleepies
	>All of them

	-----------------------------------------------------------

	As it turned out, everything was not going to be alright.

	It’s been about a week since Rex showed up, and today is the day that you have to give Runtyshy another hormone shot. The list of side effects she’s having are growing by the day; rashes, swelling, soreness, various pure liquid excretions, and a few other unpleasant things that usually clear up within a day or two. Needless to say, Runtyshy hasn’t been taking too kindly to the shots. She’ll comply, but you can tell she definitely doesn’t want to. No matter how much you tell her it’ll pay off in the end, she’s always hesitant.

	Today is a bit different.

	“Fluffyshy? It’s time for your shot.”

	You know that outright telling her isn’t making things any better, but it’s a lot better than trying to trick her. Besides, you wouldn’t have a way of making it subtle. You can’t just slip it into her food or anything like that, and she might jump when you stick her with the needle, which could break off while still inside of her. It’s best to just get it out of the way early.

	“Nee, nu…”

	Yeah, turns out she picked up a few words from Rex, such as “good”, “no”, and “ouchies”. You don’t really know where the last two came from, since you didn’t hear Rex say them, but you figure she must have heard them somewhere.

	“We have to. You don’t want to have the biggest ouchies, do you?”

	She cowers a bit at the term ‘biggest ouchies’, but stays resilient.

	“Nu! Ouchies! Ouchies!”

	She clutches her stomach and then her head with each shout of ‘ouchies’, presumably trying to tell you that the shots give her stomachaches and migraines.

	“We need to do this.”

	“Nuuuuuuuuu! Nee! Ouchies!”

	She’s practically pleading with you at this point, trying desperately to convince you not to give her the shot. You feel terrible, naturally. While you don’t want her to be sad, or in pain, you’d rather have temporary pain over death any day of the week. Still, seeing the look in her eyes, a look of pure fear on her face, you don’t even want to give her the shots, not unlike how she doesn’t want them in the first place.

	But, as the saying goes, you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do. You look away, and begin speaking in a quiet, low voice.

	“I’m sorry.”

	You hold Runtyshy down to the table, firmly but not painfully, and force her front right hoof up. It’s tough. Not because she’s resisting, or fighting back, but because of the fact that she’s slumped down, defeated, bawling her eyes out. In her mind, you’ve betrayed her. She doesn’t understand that what you’re doing is for the best, just that her daddy, the one she loves and trusts, is shoving her down on a cold counter so that he can just inject her with more of the stuff that hurts her and makes her miserable.

Runtyshy sobs, loud, mournful sobs as you depress the plunger. She’s not fighting it. She’s just crying, as hard and as loud as she can, the knowledge that more sickness is on its way, all thanks to you and those fucking shots. You pull a chair out, and sit down, your head buried in your palms. Rubbing your temples, you reach into your pocket and pull out your cell phone.

	555-348-1856.

	“Hello?”

	“Hey, Ted. It’s Anon.”

	“Anon? What’s up?”

	“Remember the side effects of the hormones you told me about? Yeah, they’re fucking worse than we thought they’d be. Runtyshy is in hysterics now because I just forced her to take one, and she knows it’s gonna make her sick.”

	“So why’d you call me, then?”

	“Because I need some fucking advice, Ted! I’m not used to this kind of shit!”

	“Anon.”

	“What?!”

	“Calm down and take a breath.”

	You almost go for a retort, but you realize he’s right. The more you yell, the more reasons Runtyshy has to be afraid and sad by everything that’s being thrown at her right now.

	“Alright. Okay, I think I’m good.”

	“Good. Now, think back to the right you brought her here, when I gave you the hormones. Do you remember what I told you?”

	“Yeah. You told me about the side effects of the shots and what you used them for, stuff like that.”

	“No, Anon. I mean after that. What was the last thing I said to you when you left?”

	“Keep her happy…”

	“That’s right. Keep her happy. I told you that the shots might not work. Maybe this is a sign that they’re not. Even then, she’s not living happily right now, is she? I can hear her crying from however far away she is.”

	“What are you trying to say, Ted?”

	“I’m saying that maybe it’s time to stop giving her the shots.”

	His words hit you like a truck, the impact worsened by the fact that he makes sense. If the shots don’t work, and she does die before she’s all fixed up, there’s not a doubt in your mind that she’ll die a despondent wreck of a fluffy, betrayed by the one she loved the most.

	But what if the shots do end up working? What if it’s not worth the risk of stopping the injections? She’s grown, quite visibly over the past few weeks. Maybe, if you keep it up, she’ll manage to pull through. But you’ll have to find another way. You can’t keep shoving her down and forcing the needle on her. What could you even do?

	“Okay, Ted. I think I know what I’m gonna do. Thanks.”

	“Alright, Anon. Good luck.”

	You toss the receiver down on the counter, and bury your face in your palms. A long, drawn-out sigh escapes your pursed lips, and you straighten up. You clear your throat, and glance over at Runtyshy, taking another deep breath.

	“Fluffyshy?”

	The bawling doesn’t stop, but she musters up the little strength she has left to push herself up and look at you with watery eyes, sniffling and coughing.

	“No more shots. I’m not giving you any more of those goddamned shots.”

	Her ears perk, and the crying slowly turns to whimpering. She quietly, slowly trots over to where you sit, and lays down beside you. She sniffs for a final time, loudly and forcefully, as if to clear her throat, and smiles.

	“Nee gud…”

	You give her a pat on the head, and she slowly begins drifting off to sleep, clearly tuckered out from the practical panic attack she just had moments ago. She’s blissfully unaware of the fact that you just signed her death warrant, content with just napping while her beloved-and-now trustworthy “daddy” caresses her mane with the knowledge of all this shit fresh in his mind.

	“I’ll make these last few days the best you’ve ever had.”

	She doesn’t hear you. That’s alright.

	You were pretty much saying it for yourself, anyways.

	------------------------------------------------------------------------

	By the end of the week, you’ve done almost everything you could imagine that would make a fluffy happy. You ordered the entire month’s subscription of FluffTV, even though you doubt she’ll make it that long, served spaghetti for every meal, three times a day, and you even took her to that stupid Spaghetti Land theme park. She’s loved every minute of it, and you’ve had to put on a gleeful façade, as if you didn’t know that she’s already living on borrowed time.

	The two of you are just sitting on the couch right now, watching an episode of “Babies!” It’s schlock, to say the least, just some thirty-minute advertisement for “baby toys” and Fluffy Mother Training Handbooks.

	As a matter of fact, you seem to be the only one watching it. For a few days now, Runtyshy’s been complaining about “hewties” all over, and asking you to help her out. You’ve been crushing up an acetaminophen into her nightly pasta, to try and dull the pain. She’s practically knocked out, slurring her words and not really focusing her eyes on anything.

	“Neeeee…babbehhshhs…?”

	“Yeah, those sure are some babies.”

	“Waaaaahhhnnnnn babehshhss.”

	How she’s managed to learn a couple words within the half hour broadcast that isn’t even over yet is far beyond you, but there might be an angle to fluffy ponies learning language from their peers.

	“Tell you what. I’ll get you some babies soon, okay?”

	Runtyshy sighs a long sigh, and begins to go limp.

	“Wuuuhhhhvhv Neeeeeee…”

	She sighs once more, sniffles, and then begins to very softly snore, in her wonderful little drug-induced sleep. You run your fingers through her fluff, and rest your hand on her head. As much as you’re trying to fight it, you can feel a great sadness rising from the pit of your gut.

	Bleary eyed, you manage to say the words “I love you, too.”

	You lie down on the couch, next to Runtyshy, and cradle her into your chest. You begin to softly hum a tune without a melody, just trying to produce the softest, most pleasant noises. Your fingers find their way behind her ear, and you give her a few short, small scratches.

	Your dirge continues for only a few more brief minutes, as you feel yourself slowly drifting off to sleep.

-----------------------------------------------------------

“EEEEEEEEEE! NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! AAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

You’re thrown from the comfortable world of slumber into a screeching hellhole. It’s pitch black, and the only thing you can hear is Runtyshy’s shrieks. Startled, you leap to your feet, and flick on the light.

She looks almost bloated. Her skin seems a bit too tight for the rest of her, and her eyes are a bloody red. Both of her wings seem to be awkwardly malformed, as though something’s trying to escape from inside them. Her hooves seem to be split open, leaking blood.

“Jesus Christ…”

“NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! HEEEEEEEEWWWWWWTTIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEESSS! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

She won’t stop screaming. You can’t exactly blame her.
You scoop her up, and bring her into the kitchen, to get a better look. As soon as you set her down, a long tear forms all along her belly, and a massive amount of blood and a sloppy red substance pours from the wound onto the pristine counter.

“Holy shit. Holy shit.”

Her screams have become a garbled mess of gibberish, no longer making sense, but managing to convey the utter amount of pain she’s in. Her pleading, bloodshot eyes stare up at you, as though they were begging you to just end the pain.

Without thinking, your hand shoots out, and your fingers wrap around her neck. She continues her distorted screams, and you feel a hot stream of tears run down her face, and a hot stream of urine run down her legs.

“I’m so sorry.”

You begin to squeeze.

“Daddy loves you. So, so much.”

Your fingers clench as tightly as they possibly can, and your knuckles turn a deathly white. Almost instantly, you can feel bones beginning to snap, an agonizing one by one. It’s all over in an instant, but it feels like an eternity. Runtyshy’s tongue lolls out, and her limp figure becomes dead weight.

You slump against the fridge, and shove your head into your bloody, tear-stained hands. Feeling what seems like a boulder in your stomach, you manage to stumble to your feet, and move over to your pantry, grabbing the strongest drink that you have.

Chugging down as much of the bottle as you can, the feeling doesn’t seem to want to leave. So you drink more. Nothing. So you drink more. Still nothing. Taking another massive swig, you take a look at your watch.

It’s only 1:36 AM.

In the beginning of all of this, you said that you would try to give her the best life you could. Try and make everything work out.

But, by God, did you fail.