The Little Match Fluff (Challenge No.06 sort-of-winner)

RiddleOfFluff, December 24, 2012; 00:28 / FB 7671
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The Little Match Fluff

>When you were a young girl, you used to dream of a white Christmas; you'd look out and see the beautiful snow falling on the empty city streets
>You'd wake the other kids to go out and play in a veritable winter wonderland; snowballs would be thrown, snowmen and angels would made, and at the end of it all, you'd go back inside to be greeted with big mugs of cocoa
>You shiver as a cold blast of wind blows more snow into your crumbling cardboard box
>Too bad life never works out that way
>You rub your hands to gather to try and keep feeling in them, wishing you'd grabbed a winter coat, or at least a pair of gloves, before you ran
>There wasn't any time, you had to leave before he-
>You stop the thought dead in its tracks, no point in remembering, no point in dwelling on the past; all that matters is staying warm until morning
"Huu huu huu…"
>Is that a child crying?
>You poke your head out of your box, trying to find the source of the noise
>Slowly trudging its way through the alley is a vaguely horse-shaped ball of fluff, no larger then a small dog; it's fluff is a soft yellow, with a small yellow horn emerging from its minty green mane as it blows wildly in the breeze
>You vaguely remember seeing one of these things before, what were they called? Fluffy ponies?
>Yeah, that was it; someone brought a few to the home once, thought they'd cheer you all up
>Then one of the boys shoved his hand up one's ass and used the corpse as a puppet; they were quickly confiscated and the home instituted a "No Pets" policy shortly thereafter
>The little ponies lime green eyes grow as large as dinner plates when it sees you; it runs forward as fast as it can, though due to the snow and wind, it's actually quite slow
"Hewwo, hoomin! Fwuffy hungwy, pwease gib fwuffy nummies?"
>There may be a thin line between optimism and stupidity; but you're pretty sure which side this thing is on
"Sorry, little guy-"
"Fwuffy am giwl fwuffy, nu boy fwuffy!"
"Little girl, whatever. Point is, I don't have any food."
>The mare's face goes into a pout for a moment, but then looks at you questioningly
"Fwiend cowd?"
>Give the genetic freak a prize
"Yeah, I'm freezing my goddamn ass off here."
>The fluffy runs up your legs and snuggles against you chest, trying to hug you for all its worth
"Fwuffy gib Mumma huggies, mek Mumma nice an' wawm!"
>Don't know when you became a mother, but you don't bother questioning it; all you care about is the promise of warmth
>You bury your hands into the mare's fluff; it's not much warmer then your hands, but beggars can't be choosers; the little pony shivers in your grip
"Brrr! Mumma su cowd! Fwuffy du magik, mek spawkies. Spawkies mek Mumma supah wawm!"
>The little fluffy makes a face that makes you fear she's going to take a shit on you until you notice her horn emitting a faint glow; a few sparks fly from the tip on to you, but they lack any warmth and fizzle out in less then a second
>Your tiny unicorn realizes your hands aren't getting any warmer and looks at you sadly
"Sowwy Mumma, Fwuffy spawkies nu guud enuff…"
>Whatever, you weren't expecting much anyway
>Your hands are beginning to get cold again, so you start moving them around the fluff, trying to find a new warm spot; your little pony seems to enjoy, cooing happily as you "pet" her
>You feel something hard in part of the unicorn's back fluff, something small and rectangular; you wrap a hand around it and pull it free of the fluff, curious what you've found
>Holy shit
>The fluffy giggles
"Mumma wan pway bwocks? Fwuffy wuv bwocks!"
>It's a pack of fucking matches! Water-proof even!
>Ignoring the fluffy's babbling about the virtues of playing with blocks, you slide open the box, revealing three matches inside
>Jackpot
"How 'bout I show you some human magic?"
>The mare watches with fascination as you strike one of the matches, creating a beautiful flame; it's small, but its small amount of warmth manages to give a faint glimmer of hope
>The mare is grinning ear to ear, babbling about how pretty human sparks are; she reaches her hoof out towards the open flame, which you quickly bat away
"Hey! Don't touch that, it'll burn you!"
"Buh is pwetty an wawm! If gib huggies, den fwuffy an Mumma wawm tuu."
"If you touch it, it'll kill- it'll give you biggest owwies, okay?! Then it won't matter how warm you are!"
>The fluffy backs away from the match and tries to hide behind her hooves, babbling apologies to the match for trying to hug it
>You silently watch the match burn, thinking of better times; back with your friends, before everything went so wrong
>You're pulled out of your reminiscence by a sharp pain in your fingers: the match has burnt down to the part your holding, burning you slightly; you curse and throw the remnants away
>The fluffy seems worried and starts hugging you again
"Mumma otay? Hooman spawkies gif big owwies? Nee' huggies?"
>You lick the burned spots on your fingers as you idly scratch the fluffy behind its ears
"I'm fine. Damn matches don't last very long though."
>The mare seems satisfied with that and continues hugging you, making satisfied sounding… coos? Or would it be purrs? Who really knows with these things
>With the match gone, the illusion of warmth it provided disappears, leaving you back in the freezing cold; the fluffy shivers in your
"Wish I had newspaper or something to burn. Could at least get a fire going"
>Your little fluffy companion perks up at this
"Mumma nee' papaws? Ge' papaws, mek mowe spawkies?"
"Yeah, matches- human sparks last longer if they have something to… hug."
>You wonder if everyone who tries to explain things to fluffies feels this retarded
>The fluffy bounds out of your lap back into the alley, giving a cute, little "Brr" as she hits the snow
"Fwuffy nuu wewe papaws awe! Shuw Mumma, den Mumma mek spawkies an' be wawm!"
>You try to get up but your legs refuse to work; you've been running for days and now they're too stiff and cold to move
"Dammit…"
>The mare seems to pick up on your frustration
"Mumma weggies tuu sweepy? Dat otay, fwuffy bwing papaws tu Mumma!"
>Before you can stop her, the fluffy runs off into the alley; you doubt she'll be able to find her way back, which means you just lost what little warmth you had
>You don't know how long you wait, too concerned of wasting a match to warm yourself up, but also too convinced of the fluffy's demise to be hopeful; you remember hearing that you start feel warm as you freeze to death, taking some small comfort in the fact that you're still freezing
>As you once again consider lighting a second match, you hear tiny grunting noises coming from further down the alley
>Straining your neck to look out of the box, you see your fluffy pony, dragging a sheet of newspaper in it's mouth as it carries several more on it's back, slowly struggling her way back towards your box
>You can barely fucking believe it
>After an agonizing wait as the pony finally arrives at your box, she plops the papers down in front of you and climbs back into your lap, panting and shivering as she huddles against you for warmth
"M-mumma mek s-spwakies now?"
>You go through the pile of newspaper: most of the pieces are completely soaked thanks to the snow, but some of them might be dry enough to burn
>You fumble with the matchbox a bit, your fingers are becoming numb, and pull out a match
>Silently praying for life to give you a break and light the match, quickly shoving the flame into paper
>It doesn't light
>You desperately try moving the flame all over, then holding it one place; it's fucking paper, why won't it goddamn BURN?!!
>The mare seems to catch your desperation and starts talking to the match: at first promising it love and food if it hugs the paper, but moving towards threats of owwies and poop as the flame dwindles
>Ignoring your silent pleads and your fluffy's threats, the match extinguishes
>You have only one match left and nothing to fuel it; you feel like you're going to cry
>The mare just hugs you, mumbling into your chest something about keeping you warm; you idly stroke her as you try to think of what to do next
>The paper was too wet, you need something drier, but you can't move to go look for anything
>As you run your hand through the fluffy's mane, a dark thought occurs to you
>Her fluff might be dry enough
>Despite running around in the snow earlier, the mare has stayed relatively dry; you could set fire to her for warmth, maybe even use her burning body to dry out the newspaper for added fuel
"Hey."
"Yes, Mumma?"
"Do you love me?"
"Fwuffy wuv Mumma! Mumma best mumma evah, gif huggies an' spawkies an'-"
"And you'd do anything for me?"
"Fwuffy du anyting mek Mumma happeh! Gif huggies an' spawkies fo' wawm, buh Fwuffy nu wawm enuff…"
>The fluffy seems sad at its own inability to help you; well, maybe you can fix that
"Would you something for me even if it meant you'd be ki- get biggest owwies?"
>The fluffy stays silent for a moment, shivering against you as it stares off into nothing
>Ha! Selfish, little bastard! Just like everyone else, say that they'll love you, promise to keep you safe, but when the goddamn chips are down-
"Fwuffy ge' biggest owwies fo' Mumma. Fwuffy wuv Mumma"
>You silently pull out the last match and hold it next to the striker
>The mare isn't looking at you, she just silently stares out into the alley
>Just one small fire
>You drop the match
>You don't do it for the fluffy, It's not out of love or a sense of morality; your reason is far more simple then that
>You're tired
>Tired of struggling, tired of trying so hard to keep going when all that awaits you is more heartache and strife
>You hug the pony, who begins to coo once again; even holding its fluff against you, your body still feels so cold
>It won't matter soon, though
>As you feel your consciousness beginning to fade, you have a strange thought
"You know, I never got your name."
>The cute ball of yellow and mint looks up at you with her pretty lime green eyes
"Fwuffy nu hab name. Mumma gif Fwuffy name?"
"Sure, I'll call you… Sparkle."
"Fwuffy name Spawkle? Spawkle wuv name! Spawkle wuv Mumma!"
>Everything grows darker
"Mommy loves Sparkle."
>You fall asleep
---
>You dream
>In your dream, you are with Sparkle, though she is now much larger; she's even bigger then you now, and holds you gently agains her belly
>You snuggle into her soft fluff, held in her marshmallow-like hooves as she softly speaks to you
"Mumma bestest mumma, Spawkle du anyting fo' Mumma."
>It feels nice to be cared for, even if it's impossible for her to do anything for you
"Spawkle mek Mumma wawm…"
>You don't feel very warm, but you don't hold it against her; she's just a fluffy after all
"Spawkle wuv Mumma."
>You feel warm
---
"I think it was over here, I can smell the smoke."
"I can too. If those little assholes have been setting fires again..."
"Yeah, here we are. Looks like they were burning- holy shit!"
"What is it?"
"There's a girl here! A teenage girl!"
"What, seriously?! The fuck is she doing out it in a goddamn alley?!"
"I don't know, maybe she's homeless or something. Hey kid, are you- shit, she's goddamn freezing!"
"Dammit. Alright, I'll call an ambulance. Give her your coat, try to keep her warm."
"Come on kid, stay with me here. You got this far, don't give up now!"
---
>The sun slowly rises on a snow covered city
>In one alley, a middle-aged couple follows a teenage girl into an ambulance, concerned only for her well-being
>The vehicle pulls away, its siren blaring as it begins its trek back to the hospital through the treacherous streets
>The alley is now empty, save for two things
>A damp, crumbling cardboard box and the smoldering remains of a fluffy pony, a burnt match held in its mouth