Loss

Loss

I had hesitated writing this because it takes us to a dark place I had only tread in once before.
someone on my Tumblr asked if a fluffy had every killed a baby before.
there was the story where the guy’s crazy wife used their fluffy to smother their daughter (loosely inspired by part of The Sixth Sense) but this would be something different.

I’m still not sure if I laid this out the right way. But you can’t please everyone.

So, if you want, take a walk with me to a dark place…


>be a fluffy owner.
>you’ve owned Natasha for two years.
>as it turned out, it was the biggest mistake you ever made.
>her papers were fine. when all your friends got fluffies you decided to fit in. went to a breeder. a legit one.
>Natasha’s parents were both intelligent but not “smarty friends”. healthy, friendy.
>Natasha was a beautiful emerald green with a white and green mane and tail
>she was so much happier and more energetic than her brothers and sisters
>when you bought her, she fit in the palm of your hand.
>she’d curl up in a ball next to you on the couch as you watched movies and cooed to you. it was incredibly soothing.
>six months later you met an amazing woman and after a couple of months you were married.
>nine months later she died during childbirth but left you with a sweet, handsome son. a smart boy, not a whiner.
>just like his dad, you’d think to yourself. nothing wrong with a little self-stroking of the ego.
>you cared for your boy the best you could. got maternity leave from the office, then got a job working from home
>there have been some sleepless nights but for the most part things have gone well
>Natasha seemed to love Andy at first. she’d lick his face, curl up with him so he could fall asleep on her fluff
>but something happened.
>this sweet little animal you raised from a foal… turned.
>it couldn’t have been anything more than jealousy. you figured they would be capable of such things but not like this.
>not like this.
>Natasha would see you holding Andy on your leg, bottle feeding him
>”dada natasha wan pway!”
>”Not right now, honey… I’m feeding Andy.”
>”buh natasha wan pway NAOW!”
>”Soon. As soon as we’re done we’ll play.”
>and she would sulk away. then when you called her to come play, she would stay in her bed or play with her blocks
>you didn’t think much of it at first.
>what happened next should have been the indicator there was going to be a problem.
>you’d fallen asleep with Andy on your lap. you’d worked late and awoke for a particularly brutal 5am feeding.
>Andy was asleep, too. even if he wasn’t, he couldn’t have known to warn you.
>you’re not sure how long Natasha was sitting next to you on the couch
>you awoke to a screech and crying. not Natasha… your son.
>she had grabbed a hold of his ear and bit it hard. actually broke the skin.
>if her teeth were any sharper she might have mangled his ear. as it was, it was like having a clothespin snap shut on his ear
>you whacked Natasha in the face, knocking her to the floor. you were half-asleep, barely aware of what was happening
>”What the hell was that? Don’t you DARE hurt Andy!”
>”natasha dunn wike andy.”
>that pissed you off. a lot. you raised her from a foal and now she was jealous of your son?
>you smack her rearend a few times. maintain your control. no need to go apeshit. just a whipping to knock a little sense into her.
>she howled and cried but said she was sorry and waddled off to bed.
>you thought that was the end of it.
>you thought wrong.
>you still curse yourself for not doing more. not taking steps to separate them.
>the cops said it wasn’t your fault. the therapist says its not your fault.
>but it’s your fault.
>you had put Andy in his playpen in the living room, a Spongebob DVD on the TV.
>you’d forgotten about Natasha because she’d gone upstairs to play with her blocks. you’d basically converted the third bedroom into her playroom
>you were cooking dinner… taking a little extra time to make something nice for yourself. you hardly ever cooked any more.
>spaghetti for Natasha as a treat.
>Andy had already been fed, burped and put down for a nap. he should sleep for a couple of hours.
>finish making dinner. call Natasha.
>call her again.
>being stubborn. “Natasha! Spaghetti!”
>weird… she always came running with the mention of the “S” word.
>”Tasha! Spaghetti!”
>this time you hear her hurrying in from the living room.
>”spasgettis fo natasha?”
>”Yep! special treat for my special girl!”
>”tankoo dada!”
>you both eat silently for a few minutes, you enjoying a steak, her gobbling up her spaghetti.
>then she says it
>”Daddy wuv Natasha foevah wight?”
>”Of course. I’ll always love you.”
>”dada wuv natasha mo dan andy?”
>”Uh, no… I love you equally.”
>”wut if andy nu hewe any mo?”
>”What?”
>”dada wuv natasha mo if andy nu hewe?”
>”I…”
>her eyes. you see it in her eyes. they dart back and forth from the doorway to the living room, to you, and back
>she’s nervous about something. scared.
>”What did you do.”
>”natasha nu do nuffin.”
>you give her a weird look and get out of your chair.
>”uhhhhh dada finish dindin wiff natasha?”
>you don’t answer. you slowly walk towards the living room. Natasha hops down from her fluffy high chair and gets in your way
>”nu dada! dun go in dere! fwuffy sowwy! fwuffy sowwy!”
>you easily push her out of the way with your foot
>you peer over the side of the playpen…
>Andy isn’t moving.
>your blood gets a chill through it.
>you reach down and open his mouth. parting his blue lips.
>a few strands of green fluff on his tongue
>a couple of his blankets and stuffed toys piled up in one corner… the escape route
>you don’t want to believe she did it
>you can’t believe she did it
>”fwuffy sowwy!”
>she did it.
>you collapse to the floor, sobbing. Natasha tries to climb into your arms. you smack her in the face, knocking her across the room
>”Wah! dada mean!”
>you explode.
>leaping off the floor, you jump on the fluffy pony. she gasps, not expecting you to launch yourself at her.
>you start smacking her… her rearend, her back, her sides, her face… then you take to beating on her with your fist
>”wahhhhhhhhhhh! dada stawp huwty! fwuffy sowwy! fwuffy jus wan dada to wuv mo!”
>you don’t even respond, just keep beating the shit out of her until your arm tires
>she lays in a pile on the floor, panting. she’s bruised, sore, sobbing. you’re weeping, too.
>you give her a hard kick in the ribs, hear at least one crack.
>call the cops. call the paramedics, not that they can do any good.
>it’s a major to-do. it’s not the first time a fluffy has caused a human’s death, but it’s the first time they’ve killed an infant
>the first cop on the scene tells you about a gang of fluffies that were tripping people carrying grocery bags. one of them hit her head and died
>you barely respond. you’re in shock at this point.
>a detective takes pictures, hair samples, records everything.
>no one says a word about the thoroughly-beaten pony hiding in the corner, weeping, with a nosebleed and an obvious limp
>these cops know the score. and they would have done the same thing. probably been more harsh, if anything.
>they take Natasha and put her in a carrier. she’ll go to a shelter until they make a determination.
>she howls the entire time, scrambling to get out of the cop’s arms, trying to force her way out of the carrier.
>the cop takes a taser gun from his belt and looks at you. you nod.
>he zaps the almighty christ out of her. she screeches and collapses in a smoking mess on the floor of the carrier.
>you spend most of the next 48 hours in bed. don’t eat, just sleep or use the bathroom.
>the detective calls you on the third day. death by smothering. Natasha laid on top of his face until he couldn’t breathe.
>they usually just give a lethal injection to dangerous animals that need to be put down
>the cops give you a couple of minutes with Natasha before she’s put to sleep.
>”Are you sorry you killed Andy.”
>”fwuffy sowwy.”
>you’ve already read up on this behavior. a fluffy that is genuinely sorry will use its name. if it doesn’t feel remorse, it calls itself fluffy.
>”YOU LIAR!”
>Natasha’s eyes well up with tears and she shrinks away from you.
>”Natasha jus wan dada wuv her!”
>”I DID! I LOVED YOU! I RAISED YOU! AND YOU TOOK. MY. SON!”
>she looks away from you.
>”fwuffy sowwy.”
>you smack her in the face. she starts sobbing again
>a cop taps on the door. another few smacks like that and they might have to think about stepping in. don’t want her dead before her execution.
>”You’re NOT sorry!”
>”fwuffy am.”
>you smack her again.
>”okay! natasha nu sowwy! natasha nu wike babeh! jus wann dada!”
>”I hope you die screaming.”
>you walk out of the room. she calls after you.
>”dada! dun weave natasha! nuuu! dun weave! take natasha wiff!”
>she starts sobbing and howling. the steel door cuts her voice off.
>the papers make a big deal about the “execution”. you watch in silence from the corner of the room as the vet administers the injection
>”dada! dada! pwease hewp fwuffy!”
>you stare daggers into her.
>”dada! pwease! natasha sowwy! sowwy!”
>”Too late.”
>she barely has a chance to react to that. she gasps in pain, then falls to the table, convulsing.
>whoops. seems the vet “forgot” to actually knock her out.
>you watch as she convulses grotesquely from the chemical cocktail racing through her veins.
>finally, she stops moving. vet confirms time of death.
>you go home, not feeling any better at all.
>for now you’re known as the man whose baby was killed by a fluffy.
>bunch of goddam ambulance chaser lawyers want you to sue. sue the company that made them, sue Hasbro, sue The Hub, sue your own mother.
>tell them all to fuck off.
>you never own a pet again.
>eventually you meet a nice woman. after a time you share the story with her.
>pity sex. you don’t even give a shit.
>she’s nice enough, pretty… too pretty for you, really, but she feels sorry for you
>every time you walk down the street and see a fluffy you give it a death stare.
>when you’re alone and by yourself, if you see a feral waddling by, you kick the son of a bitch with all your might.
>nothing brings back Andy.
>nothing will.