Sleep is for the innocent

Teatime42, December 10, 2013; 07:04 / FB 15287
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You are Smarty, and you are very, very tired.
Sometimes you wish that the rest of the fluffies had your memory.
Or that you had theirs. So that you could forget.
So you could sleep in innocence like them.
You would like nothing more to lie down, and sleep.
But you can't.
You limp along, doing your best to avoid putting too much weight on your hurt hooves.
Trying not to breath too deeply, so that you don't cry from your hurt ribs.
The toughie's that walk alongside you keep their eyes on you.
Ready to finish the beating they already gave you.
You'd keep an eye on them but you only have one available, the other swollen shut.
And considering how much you wobble and shudder back and forth, you need the one you still have looking down.
To keep you from falling into the mud and getting even colder.
You don't need to look up to see the fenceline that marks the end of the road.
The fenceline you investigated the other day with one of your Toughies.
The same Toughie who has brought you and the herd back.
The same one who had you beaten.
You left that fence, abandoned the riches on the other side.
You knew what dangers lay on the other side, you knew the risk was to great.
But the herd needs food.
And so here you are.
“Toughie fwiends! Bwing up dummeh not-smawty!”
The one on the right moves to hit you, but you put what extra speed you have into hurrying forward.
You make it to one of the many holes, and see the massive fields of long delicate blades of grass through it.
Your mouth waters, it's been so long so you've eaten.
Focus.
You look at the former toughie.
He looks more like a smarty than you ever did.
Big, strong, tough.
He was a great toughie friend.
You're small, weak.
You were smarty only because of the high turn-over rate.
And now you aren't.
Might have to go back to using your old name again.
Or not, likely no other fluffies in the herd remember it.
Oh, he's talking to you.
“...-awty nu want hewd to eat nummies! Dummeh not-smawty afwaid of hoomin munsta's! SMAWTY NU AM AFWAID OF HOOMIN MUNSTAS! SMAWTY AM STWONGEST AND BESTEST FWUFFY!”
There's a few halfhearted cheers.
He also acts more like a smarty than you ever did.
He wasted no time in making sure that the herd would do what he said.
Bribed some Toughies, threatened the rest.
He would likely have made a go at the mummah's if they hadn't all been in various stages of pregnancy.
Herd's pretty small, can't risk losing the babbehs.
Small favors.
You want to sleep so bad, it claws at you, darkening your sight.
But you blink it away.
Sleep is for the innocent and those who have done their duty.
You have not, and are not.
Your herd was starving, now there is a new Smarty.
They won't be starving for long, you know what happens next.
And you know there's nothing you could do to stop it.
And at this point, you aren't even sure you would stop it.
He marches you out onto the grass, forcing the herd to follow.
You look around, looking at the smarty, looking at the toughies.
Looking is important. So is listening.
He's looking at the herd, and nothing else.
He won't notice even you.
You try to sneak a bite.
Your head barely dips before one of the toughie's slams their hoof into your side.
Your injured side of course.
You're on the ground before you even realize, the smarty screaming into your face.
He rears up into the air, hooves up, and swings down with everything he has.
You close your eyes.
Finally, you can sleep.

----

Moving at a little over 850 feet per second.
The 20 feet it traveled wasn't enough for it slow by any perceivable amount.
And at that range, there was no need to adjust the aim in any way.
The Lead Pellet traveled through the air, it's path unimpeded by anything.
Except it's target.
The crack of the shot broke the air.
Two more followed.

----

Sleep never came.
The sounds make you flinch, and several of the herd shriek in fear.
But you sit still, and wait.
Instead, something huge lifts you up.
You open your eyes, but can't see much.
Too bright all of a sudden, too blurry.
But you can see a face.
It's a hoomin.
“Well there little Fella, what'd you do to make those three so hot and bothered?”
It hurts to speak, it hurts to hurt.
But you do, you have too.
“Fwuffy say nu go in yawd, nu eat gwassies. Hoomin wand, buh Smawty say he nu scawed. He huwt fwuffy, yeww at hewd, be meanie.”
Maybe that was too long, you don't seem to have enough air.
You begin panting, trying to force more down.
The edges of your vision are going black again, and you can't fight it off.
“It's alright, you and yourn are safe, yer 'Smarty' is gone.”
You hope he's right, because you're pretty sure you are about to pass ou-

----

You come to, and according to the hoomin, it's been almost a day.
You look around you, at the herd playing, laughing.
Looks like one of the Mummah's had her babbeh's.
The tiny foals greedily sucking down all they can.
And there's more than they can drink.
Everyone is well fed, and you can see why.
Not content to simply let you eat his grass, the hoomin has actually been feeding you from his own food.
No spaghetti, but that's for the best.
While it's delicious, fruits, vegetables and grains are far better for you in the long run.
One of the remaining Toughies comes up to you.
You sigh, you know what happens next.
“Old Smawty be Nyu Smawty?”
He smiles at you.
You want to say no.
“Otay.” You say.
He lets you stay for a few more days, the food doing wonder's for your herd.
The herd will last for days without food, weeks on minimal food.
But eventually you have to leave.
“Bein a Farmer jus don't pay as well as it used too. Govment subsidies for the large farms, but we small uns...”
You make sure all of the fluffies are bringing along some kind of food in their fluff.
You make a fuss about the new foals, making sure the Mummah has plenty of food.
The hoomin stops and looks at her, then you.
“Ya know, I can't take y'all, but... I could take this little lady in. Don feel right to send a Mother an her youngin's out into the wild.”
She of course, is ecstatic to have a New Daddy.
Her Babbeh's cheep louder, sensing their mother's joy.
“Don you lot have 'Special Friends'? Or somthin?”
She looks at you.
You look at the hoomin.
“Speciaw Fwiend... dewe nu speciaw fwiend.”
His face crinkles up, and a slight tear runs down one side of his face as he nods his head.
He see's you and your herd off.
Waving after you, with your former herd mate alongside him.

----

Your herd follows you back out into the brush and tree's.
Your remaining toughies forming a vanguard in front and behind.
The raid went fairly well.
Food for the entire herd, one of the Mummah's adopted, though you'll likely find yet another wandering around somewhere.
Just like all the rest.
You feel bad about the mutinous Toughie, but everything he did was his choice.
All you had to do was dangle the farm in front of him, and let his greed handle the rest.
The herd needed that food, that was the best way.
Just had to see when the hoomin normally walked around, and time it just right.
Just had to distract the Toughie at the right second, goad him into attacking you.
You look around at the remaining toughies.
One or two Smarty candidates, may need to find one from outside the herd.
Sometimes you wish that the rest of the fluffies had your memory.
So they would remember this.
So it wouldn't work anymore.
You're so tired.
You just want to lie down, to sleep.
To never wake up.
But you can't.
Sleep is for the innocent and those who have done their duty.
You have not, and are not.
There are still mouths to feed.
Fluffies to find homes for.
You stretch out the kinks in your side, you no longer need to hunch around your ribs.
Swollen eye opening.
Limp disappearing, stride lengthening.
Getting a beating hurts a bit, but you're small, and tough.
You know how to take a beating, you've gotten enough of them.
Even better, you know how to fake a worse one.
Your job is horrible, but you know there's nothing you could do to stop it.
You start humming as your herd of happy fluffies ventures back out into the wild.
And at this point, you aren't even sure you would stop it.