Bestest

pillows, February 4, 2018; 23:45 / FB 50001
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Bestest

You’re a small purple colt. You don’t have a name. Your mummah says you’re not big enough for one yet but she calls you ‘bestest’.

You have two siblings, a brother and a sister. Your brother, who is pink, is just called ‘babbeh’. You’ve asked about this before and Mummah told you it’s because pink is for fillies, not colts, which makes him a dummy baby for being pink. Brother had overheard and spent the rest of the day sobbing to himself.

You were yelled at when you tried to comfort him.

And your sister, she’s green. It’s a pretty colour, so you don’t understand why Mummah calls her ‘poopeh babbeh’. Sister isn’t allowed in the boxie and she has to sleep near the poopies. Mummah yells at Sister for stealing nummies and love but you haven’t seen Sister steal anything ever. Sister is a good fluffy! You know this! She gives great hugs and is always nice! She never bites you or kicks you, like Mummah sometimes does, and she’s really good at playing tag!

But still, Mummah won’t let you play with her. Somedays, she won’t let you play with Brother either. Her mood swings between loving and vengeful and you never know how the day is going to go until she either snuggles Brother or bats him away.

She never snuggles Sister.

Today, her mood seems neutral. She doesn’t hug Brother but she didn’t boop him either. You had your milkies but you didn’t fill your tummy. Instead, you let go of the teat and sat back on your bum, making a show of rubbing your tummy and sighing loudly.

“Done, Mummah!”

Mummah frowns. “Babbeh nu done. Nee’ mowe miwkies.”

You shake your head. “Nu, nu! Babbeh nu hungwy! Babbeh done!”

Her frown deepens. “Nu. Babbeh hab mowe miwkies.”

Her hooves push you back to her milkie-places but you struggle in her grip. “Nu! Nu wan’ tummeh-huwties! Tuu fuww!”

‘Huwties’ is the magic word. Mummeh lets you fall back, her face shocked. “Sowwy, babbeh! Mummeh nu knu. Otay, dummeh babbeh, com hab miwkies.”

Brother flinches and whimpers at the insult but quickly saunters over to have some milkies. A smile spreads on your face. Even though your tummy still hurts, you’re not sure how much milkies Mummah has left. Mummah will always give you milkies so it makes sense to make sure that Brother gets as much as he can drink.

With a pop, Brother lets go, milkies dripping from his mouth. “Fank oo, Mummah.”

Mummah grumbles under her breath and brushes him aside, standing up. She walks to the nummies place, hidden behind a flappy part of the wall that Mummah bent into the boxie-house. She huffs at the small pile and turns to speak to you.

“Mummah nee’ mowe gwassies. Gon’ go get mowe. Dummeh babbeh!”

Brother jumps, standing at attention.

“Nu wet bestest babbeh get huwties! If bestest babbeh get huwties, dummeh get huwties.”

You whine but Mummah ignores you as she waddles out of the boxie and down the small alley, leaving you and Brother alone.
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Both of you wait until you can no longer hear Mummah. She leaves you behind often and you love it.

When you’re sure Mummah is truly gone, you smile at Brother and run out the boxie-house, galloping to the poopie place. Sister is waiting there, her face wet with tears but she grins as she spots you.

“Mummah gone!” Brother says. “Wan’ pway tag?”

Sister stands but wobbles unsteadily. She hasn’t had milkies today. The thought makes your heart hurt. Instead, you look around for your ball. It takes a minute but you soon find the worn, jiggly ball hidden under a dirty boxie-part that fall off a few days ago.

“Pway baww!” You push the ball to Sister who bats it excitedly to Brother. For a while, you all push the ball back and forth, giggling and babbling. You love when Mummah leaves, finally allowing you to spend time with your siblings.

Eventually, the ball lost its charm and instead, Sister hobbled to the boxie-house, glancing around nervously. She’s not usually allowed in the boxie but Mummah’s not here to boop her. Sister creeps behind the flappy-wall and nudges the grass nummies.

“Dese guud nummies?” she asks but you and Brother shrug. They smelled weird and you’ve never tried to eat them before.

Sister cautiously grabs a grass nummie and chews it before flinching and spitting it back out.

“Bwah! Bad, gwoss nummies!” She spits again and again, then opens her mouth and lets her tongue hang down. “Bwah!”

Brother looks at you for a second before covering his mouth, holding back giggles. You shake your head at him and turn to regard Sister.

“Sissie okay?”

Sister shudders, whipping her head around, her tongue lulling and flapping. “Bwah! Bwah! Dummeh nummies!”

Brother’s giggles get louder. Sister finally stops and turns to you, a grimace on her face.

“Mummah a dummeh to num dese bad, dummeh nummie. Dummeh Mummah.”

Suddenly, it’s too much for both you and Brother. You bray out a loud laugh, falling onto your tummy, tears building in your eyes as your laughter chokes you.

“Dummeh Mummah!” squeals Brother as he laughs. Sister joins in and soon, you all are prancing around, repeating ‘Bwah’ and ‘Dummeh Mummah’.

Even when Mummah comes back, her mouth full of nummies, ’dummeh nummies hehe’, and Sister hides by the poopies, you and Brother still giggle to yourselves, mimicking Sister opening her mouth and sticking out her tongue.

It’s like a secret joke for you and your siblings.

Mummah goes to sleep, holding you against her chest as she lays on her back. Brother isn’t allowed to sleep in her warm belly-fluff but instead, is nuzzled into her side. You’re still wide awake, waiting for Mummah’s breathies to slow down when you hear a very soft ‘bwaaaaah’.

You choke on your giggles as you slowly crawl off Mummah towards Brother. You swat him softly on his head, your cheeks puffed up but an unwilling smile pulls at your lips. Brother holds his mouth shut as his giggles threaten to wake Mummah.

It takes Brother a second to calm down but eventually, he does, dozing off while you cuddle him.

Reluctantly, you let go of him and creep over to Mummah’s milkie-places. You prod one of them hard and wait.

Mummah doesn’t even move.

Inwardly, you cheer and hurry out of the boxie-house to the poopies-place. Sister stares at you as you approach, waiting.

“Mummah sweepin’!” you whisper and Sister perks up, pulling herself to her feet and stumbling towards the boxie. You make quick peepees, far away from Sister’s sleepie-place.

Sister waits for you at Mummah’s milkie-place and you wrap yourself around her, hugging her tightly. She smells bad, because Mummah never cleans her but you don’t care. Sister hugs you back for a moment before nuzzling Mummah’s milkie-place and begins suckling.

As Sister eats, you watch Mummah to make sure she doesn’t awaken. If she did, you would have to quickly shove Sister off and take her place, burying Sister in Mummah’s tail.

And soon, as Sister gulps down milkies, Mummah stirs.

“Buh-Babbeh?”

You shove Sister off the teat and grab it for yourself. You make a show of popping off and throw yourself over Sister, hiding her from view.

“Jus’ babbeh! Bes’ babbeh jus’ wan some miwkies!” you say quickly.

Mummah smiles and shifts, mumbling ‘Guud babbeh’ to herself before she snores, having fallen back to sleep.

You sigh and let Sister back up. She gives you a sheepish look but continues drinking milkies. Soon, her tummy is filled and she hugs you, thanking you quietly. You shake your head and sadly lead her back outside.

“Sowwy, Sissie, sowwy fo’ nu fwuff-piwe.”

Sister smiles sadly but shrugs. You cuddle her for a while, ignoring the smell of poopies and dirt. A thought comes to you.

Mummah has always told you that you came out of her tummy first. That makes you the biggest babbeh of the brood. You are the big Brother.

Sister’s big brother.

Inspiration hits you and you pull back from Sister, holding her head in your hooves. As the biggest Brother, it is your job to take care of your little Brother and little Sister.

If Mummah won’t clean Sister, you will.

You start licking her head, forcing yourself to turn off your tastebuds and make quick work of the dirt and poop in Sister’s fluff. Sister cooes and sighs. By the time her head is mostly clean, your jaw hurts and your tummy grumbles but you move down to her tummy and sides.

But eventually, it is too much. It tastes too bad. So yucky. Your tummy roars and you push away Sister and jump towards the poopies, throwing up the contents of your tummy.

Even though your throat burns and your tummy aches, you don’t stop. You throw yourself back at Sister, cleaning her back fluff until she pushes you off. You don’t understand, she’s still got dirties on her!

“Nu mowe,” Sister whispers. “Nu make Bwudda sickies.”

“Bu’ Sissie got mowe diw--!”

She cuts you off.

“Nu!” she says quietly but firmly. “Nu mowe cweanies. Nu make yoo sickies. Babbeh fine wif diwties.”

You huu softly but marvel at how much she sounds like Mummah. She truly is Mummah’s baby.

“Otay. Nu mowe lickie-cweanies.”

“Fank oo fo’ lickie-cweanies, Bwudda.”

You puff out your chest, proud of your ability to take care of your Sister. “Nu nee’ fankies! Wuv Sissie!”

“Wuv Bwudda.”

You snuggle Sister until she begins snoring, letting her have your body warmth. She’s a good baby, you just know it. You need to think of a way to show this to Mummah.

You creep back to Mummah and nuzzle into her side.

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When you awaken the next morning, Mummah smiles at you and offers you milkies. Again, you only drink a few gulps before denying any more. When Mummah presses you to continue, you remind her that ‘you’ had nummies during the night. Satisfied, she lets Brother have some too.

The day passes slowly. Mummah won’t let you play with Brother, instead forcing you to watch him running around and jumping as she holds you to her chest.

She doesn’t even look at Sister as she walks over and makes poopies directly next to Sister. Tears well up in your eyes but you hold them back. Sister’s back got hit with poopies but you’re going to make Sister let you clean her up tonight.

It seems like forever before the night-time comes. Fortunately for you, and Sister, Mummah falls asleep on her back again. You quickly run to Sister’s side and bring her into the boxie. You keep a careful eye on Mummah but she doesn’t awaken.

However, Brother does and he goes to waddle, mumbling about peepees. His eyes go wide as he spots the two of you, Sister still suckling on Mummah’s milkie-place.

Time seems to stand still. But then, Brother smiles and says ‘Bwah’, sticking out his tongue.

You giggle softly and go ‘bwah’ too.

Sister finishes her meal before Brother comes back and you usher her outside, cuddling her amongst the poopies.

As you begin cleaning her fluff, you hear a groan from the boxie.

“Wa’w bestest babbeh? Bestest babbeh?!”

Moving quickly, you hug Sister tightly before running back to the boxie. “Jus’ makin’ peepees! Guud peepees!”

Mummah sweeps you up and holds you tightly to her chest. You sigh and settle in, upset that you can’t spend time with Sister.

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You jump and run through fields of flowers. A herd awaits you, friends waving and cheering. The sky is bright blue and the sky-ball shines brightly.

Brother and Sister hug you as you join the giant herd. You all surround a huge pile of skettis, so tall it touches the sky.

Something moves, trying to take you from the wonderful paradise in your mind.

There’s a soft mumble.

Sister jumps into the sketti, sending delicious nummies everywhere.
Brother and you laugh loudly but soon join her in the sketti.

Cold. It’s cold.

You’ve been moved to the floor. You don’t open your eyes but blindly wriggle until you feel fluff.

Sister smiles widely as Brother hugs you. ‘Yoo da bestest big bwudda’, they say over and over. ‘Wuv biggest bwudda!’

Sleep overtakes you again.

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Morning comes too quickly. You groan and roll onto your feet, sluggishly walk out to the poopie-place and making good peepees and poopies.

When you arrive back at the box, Mummah is feeding Brother and singing a lovely song. She never feeds Brother first. That must mean...

Your heart jumps. Mummah is finally loving Brother like she should! You look back to the poopie-place and again, your heart squeezes. Sister isn’t there! She must be in the boxie-house! Mummah must have given her milkies!

You could cry! This is happiest day of your life!

“Mummah!” you cry out and Mummah grins at you.

“Nu wowwy, bestest babbeh, Mummah hab wotsa miwkies fo’ babbehs!”

You run up and tackle Mummah’s backleg, hugging tightly. Tears streamed down your face.

Finally! Finally, you can be a real family!

Mummah laughed. “Com get bestest miwkies, bestest babbehs!”

You hop down and nuzzle Brother before latching on to her second teat and suck down milkies.

“Mummah am smawtest Mummah, hab bestest nummies.”

You’re barely listening. The milkies taste so good.

“Nu nee’ dummeh poopie babbeh an’way,” she giggles. “Bu’ make guud nummies.”

Everything stops. The milkies in your mouth turns sour. You can’t breathe.

You let go of the milkie-place, the milkies in your mouth dribbling out and drop onto your belly. Brother, too, has pulled away.

You must have heard her wrong.

She… She couldn’t have…

“Wha’ yoo say, Mummah? Wha ‘bout Sissie?” Brother chokes out around the spilled milkies.

Mummah huffs, batting his head. “Nu talkies bak to Mummah, dummeh.”

You stand on your forelegs, placing your hooves on Mummah’s tummy.

“Mummah,” you whisper carefully, your entire body shaking. No, no, no, Sister, she must be in the boxie. She has to be. “Wawe Sissie?”

Mummah rolls her eyes but smiles at you. “Siwwy bestest babbeh. Mummah nu nee’ dummeh, poopie babbeh. Tuu dummeh. So Mummah nummed!”

She is lying. You… She has to be lying. You step back and run the length of the boxie-house. Sister is nowhere to be found.

Obviously, you didn’t look hard enough. You search again. And again. You move the flappy-walls and look at the pile of perfectly good nummies. Mummah wouldn’t num Sister if she had all these nummies. You just know it.

If Sister isn’t in the boxie-house, then she’s at the poopie-place. You were sleepy when you were out there! Obviously you simply overlooked her! How silly of you!

You sprint out to the poopie-place and still, Sister is nowhere to be found.

As bile rises in your throat, you shake your head. Stupid self! Sometimes Mummah made poopies on Sister. She’s under the poopies! It’s so obvious, you could hit yourself for thinking otherwise!

You jump into the large poopie pile and start digging. She’s in here. You’ll get her out. You’re her big brother. You’ll save her.

Behind you, soft steps approach and you glance back to see your shaking brother. The creamy milkies still stains his fluff. You expect him to stop you but instead, he takes your side, digging with you.

Tears fill your eyes as you dig to find your sister. Once you do, you’ll clean her up and bring her into the boxie.

“Dummeh babbehs!” Mummah calls.

A hard pinching in your scruff makes you squeal and Mummah drops you onto the ground, away from the floor.

“Wai in poopies?! Nu be in poopies!”

“Wawe Sissie?!” You scream, ignoring Mummah’s shocked look. “Wai ma wittwest Sissie?!”

Your world explodes into white spots and your body is thrown to the side.

“Nu tawkies tu Mummah wike dat!” Mummah snarls. “Nu be dummeh!”

You sob, beating your hooves against the ground. Mummah huffs again and crouches down, nudging you and forcing you to look at her.

“Nu cwy. Mummah nummed da dummeh, poopie fiwwy so dat bestest babbeh be happeh. Be happeh, bestest babbeh.”

And then you see it. Even as your mind is rejecting it, you stare at the horrible truth on Mummah’s muzzle.

There is a small, teeny-tiny amount of green fluff in the corner of her mouth.

Green fluff.

Your Sister’s fluff.

Mummah ate your sister.

She had plenty of nummies but she ate your sister.

Your little, green, cute, snuggly, beautiful, bestest sister.

Behind Mummah, Brother gags and hacks, eventually vomitting every single drop of the sickening milkies.

In your belly, you felt it. The acidic liquid churning in your gut. The milkies made from your sister.

You’ve eaten your sister.

Your entire body convulses and empties onto the ground.

Everything moves in slowmotion. Sister is gone.

Sister is dead.

And it’s all Mummah’s fault.

You spring towards her, biting and kicking, aiming for her eyes. She is slow to react but knocks you away.

Something cracks in your side but you don’t feel it. There’s a taste of metal in your mouth and it only fuels your rage. You pull yourself to your feet and charge at Mummah, screaming.

Her hoof swings and hits you head on. The world is bright. You’re flying. You catch a glimpse of Brother’s tear streaked face. You land on your feet and the pain is unbelievable. You can’t move. Your legs fold like the pretty papers that sometimes blow into your boxie-house.

Mummah walks off, snarling under her breath and you watch her go with a hollow feeling in your chest.

You hope she does not come back.

Freezing and shivering, completely unable to move, you cry.

Brother slinks into view, fat tears dripping down onto the ground. “Bwudda?”

Sleep is coming. Good sleep. Maybe in your dreams, you’ll see Sister again.

“Wittwest bwudda,” you cough. “Mummah… Mummah… munsta.”

“Mummah nu...,” he sniffed. “Sissie fine, wight? Mummah wyin’, wight?”

“Sissie gone,” you choke out.

“Babbeh… babbeh nu can move.”

“Wha babbeh gone du?!”

It’s entirely clear to you now.

When you go to sleep, you aren’t going to wake up. You’ll be in your dreams forever. With Sister. There’s too much boo-boo juice coming from your mouth, too many bends in your legs and too many dark spots in your vision.

“Buh-babbeh gu foweva sweepies, Bwudda. Wun. Nu stay wif Mummah.” Your voice is getting weaker and weaker. It hurts to talk now.

“Nu!” He tackles your body, squeezing. It hurts so badly but you don’t complain.

This is the last huggie you will ever have.

You’re happy it’s from Brother.

“Nu weave babbeh! Pwease! PWEASE! BABBEH SCAWED!”

“Fuh-Find nyu mummah.” You pause, coughing. “...Nyu… Nyu famiwy…”

“Nu wan’ nyu famiwy!” wails Brother. “Wan’ Bwudda! Wan’ SISSIE!”

“Mummah dummeh munsta…”

Brother sniffed, looking to your eyes, his face grim.

“‘Member, Bwudda? Buh-bwah.” The giggle that the phrase brings makes you howl in pain.

Brother laughs but it’s a hollow sound.

“Bwah. Wuv yoo, Bwudda. Wuh-Wiww find nyu, good, smawty Mummah.”

“Bwudda…”

“Yah?” Brother is trying to wipe off his overflowing tears.

“Yuh-yoo see tings in yoo sweep-times?” Your voice is leaving you. The hurt is leaving you too.

Brother nods. “Sweepies-time picshas.”

“Dat…” So dark. Warm. The pain… it’s gone…

“Dat wawe babbeh gon gu. See’d.... See’d Sissie dewe… Gun… Gun go see Suh… Sissie…”

The world is light and dark and loud and quiet but soon the warmth crushes and embraces you and…

…

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Your brother and sister are gone. You’re not smart like Brother. Not sweet like Sister. You’ve only ever been a dummy.

But for them, you will try. You give Brother one last huggie and grabbing the boxie part that had hidden the ball days before. Hopefully, Mummah would never find him.

Before you leave, you stop at the boxie-house and stop Mummah’s (dummeh) nummies. You try it yourself and it doesn’t taste bad. Not good, but not bad.

You eat what you can stomach. You don’t know where to find a new mummah but you’ll give it your best.

As a last message to your munsta-mummah, you make the worstest, baddest poopies and peepees you can all over her nummies and boxie.

You would love to see her face when she saw all that.

Steeling your nerve, you scurried out of the alley and down the sidewalk, making sure to go the opposite way of Mummah.

Even a dummy like you knows you’re not likely to find a new family.

But that hardly matters.

You’ll see Sister and Brother in your sleepy-time pictures.

And maybe, if you sleep forever, you’ll be lucky enough to go where they have gone.

Then, you’ll all play in the wonderous forever-fields of sleep.

Together.