Runtyshy: Part 3

Runtyshy: Part 3

	>You are a fluffy mommy!
	>You know that because you just had your babies today
	>Three earthies!
	>You can only count to three, so you’re lucky that those are all the foals you have
	>One of them is the color of your ball, the other is the color of grassies, and the other is the color of boo-boo juice
	>You never used to know what boo-boo juice looked like, but your babies were all covered in it when you first saw them
	>Silly babies, boo-boo juice stays on the inside!
	>You licked it all off so that the babies would look pretty
	>It was icky, but you wanted pretty babies
	>But you have another baby
	>A wingie
	>She’s the color of the sky ball in the drawings on the wall
	>The real skyball gives your eyes ouchies when you look at it
	>The baby is…funny
	>You don’t know what to think
	>It’s a baby
	>Your baby!
	>But it has a funny smell
	>Not an icky smell, or a yummy smell
	>Just not the same smell as the other babies
	>Her little wingies are very pretty
	>You wish you had pretty wingies
	>You’re so happy that your baby gets to have pretty wingies, even if you can’t!
	>But the baby isn’t really acting right
	>The other babies are fast asleep in your fluff, and they just drank your milkies
	>But wingie baby hasn’t done any of that
	>She just took sleepies right away
	>You licked some of the boo-boo juice off, but the baby had a funny taste and you stopped
	>You don’t know what you think of this baby
	>You love all your babies!
	>But maybe not this one
	>No, you love the baby
	>It would be okay if she went away, though
	>As soon as you start to take sleepies too, the nice man Teddy starts talking
	“Yeah, so over here, we have the breeding mares. One of the dams named Cherry just had foals about an hour ago.”
	>Cherry? That’s you!

“Shit, Ted. Looks like she’s got a runt.”

“No way, John.”

>Ted crouches down and looks in your cage
	>You smile at Teddy, but he doesn’t smile back
	>Your smile quickly turns into a frownie

“You’re right, man. What do I do with it?”

“You’re the fluffy doctor here, not me. Incubate it or something.”

“There’s not enough money in the budget for an incubator. I wouldn’t even be able to afford another nice blanket.”

“Shit, money’s that tight?”

“No, just the budget. Greedy bastards don’t think fluffies are a ‘worthwhile investment’ and give me $30 a week to get by. I have to take money out of my own wallet to be able to feed them all every single week.”

“That’s rough.”

“Damn straight.”

>The words make you shrink back in your cage a little bit, hugging your babies tightly
	>But not the wingie baby

	“I dunno, I guess I’m gonna have to put her in one of the empty cages.”

	“All alone?”

	“I don’t have a choice here, John. It’s either that or leave her to get beaten by the other fluffies because she’s a ‘bad babbeh’.”

	>Bad babbeh
	>That’s the word you’re looking for
	>Bad
	>Bad babies hurt everyone
	>Bad babies are icky, yucky, dummy fluffies who are meanies
	>All fluffies know that
	>You need to stop the bad baby before she turns into a bad fluffy
	>Or worse
	>A bad mommy
	>You raise your stumpy hoof
	>”Bad babbeh! Chewwy gif bigges’ ouchies!”

	“Ted!”

	>As soon as you go to squish the bad baby, Teddy quickly opens the cage door
	>You expect him to help you give it the longest sleep, but he doesn’t
	>He takes the bad baby!
	>At first, you’re angry
	>But then you realize that the bad baby is gone!
	>Teddy is so nice

	“Shit, John. That was close.”

	“I guess you have to put her in the empty cage now, huh?”

	“Yeah, I suppose.”

	>You hear Teddy walk across the room and open a cage, and then close it again

	“Don’t worry, Fluffyshy. Everything is gonna be fine.”

	>The words make you happy, even though they’re not directed at you
	>The bad baby is gone
	>Your good babies are still here
	>And you’re the best mommy in the world
	>Everything is going to be fine

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

	“Holy fucking shit. Holy fucking shit.”

	You rush across the kitchen to where Runtyshy now lays, and scoop her up into your arms. Without thinking, you rush to your car as fast as you can, fumbling with the keys. Time seems to be moving wrong, to say the least. One minute you’re moving as fast as lightning, and the next everything around you is doing just that. You’re on the street, driving past the grocery store, with Runtyshy sprawled across the passenger seat. Why? What are you doing?

	Reality snaps back like an elastic band, and everything that’s just built up as hit you full force.

	Runtyshy is dying.

	You whip out your phone without thinking, and begin to punch in the number that Ted gave you. 555-327-31…fuck, you hit the wrong button. 555-324…fuck! 552…fuck, fuck fuck. 555-348-1856. You hit “dial” and start praying to multiple gods that Ted picks up. After about thirty seconds, you’re ready to give up when you hear shuffling on the other end.

	“Ted?”

	“Anon? What is it? It’s…8:30 at night, what’s the problem?”

	“I need you at the Animal Hospital. Runtyshy is shitting blood and coughing up blood. A lot of it.”

	There’s a dead silence on the other end for a few seconds, before Ted decides to speak again.

	“Give me three minutes.”

	Stuffing the phone back in your pocket, you take a quick glance at Runtyshy. She’s at least breathing, thank the several gods you prayed to, but she’s not looking good. Her fluff is stained with shit, tears, and blood, and her breaths are coming in short, ragged gasps.

	You decide to drive a bit faster.

	Before you know it, you’re pulled up in front of the Emergency Animal Hospital, and you rush in, Runtyshy in your arms. The bell jingles above your head as Ted greets you at the front doors, and you hand her off to him.

	“Alright, I’ll see what I can do.”

	With that, Ted hurries down a long hall way to the operating and x-ray rooms, and you’re left sitting alone in the waiting room.

	You feel the adrenalin slowly leave your system, and your thoughts begin to fade back in, allowing you to focus properly, leaving the events before this in one massive blur. Giving your head a small shake, you very slowly begin to start taking in more elements of the waiting room. You never really noticed it before when it was full, which it almost always was, but now you can see that the floors are white-washed, almost bleached white. It seems off, considering that the rest of the room is more of a dull-white eggshell color. Looking closer at the floor, you see that it’s covered in scuffs and hoof markings; the reason for the bleaching is probably to try and wash them off, or at least make them less noticeable.

	Old pet magazines litter the tiny tables around you, and you decide to pick one up just to pass the time. You’re not really interested in what’s in it, but you might as well read up about fluffy ponies while you wait for your own to come back with a diagnosis. Man, are there a ton of fluffy magazines. Fluff Weekly, FP, Fluffy Pony National, the list goes on and on. You seem to have picked up a three-month old copy of ‘Fluffies’. You leaf through it, scanning the titles of the pages. ‘Disipline for Bad Poopies’, ‘Behind the Scenes of Babies!”, ‘Life with Runts: Tips and Tricks’-

	That last one catches your eye.

	From what you can tell, it’s a letter to the editor from some guy who seems to be the owner of a runt without a clue, not unlike yourself at the moment. He’s asking what he can do to keep his runt earth fluffy, Johnny, happy and, well alive. You mutter under your breath as you read through it.

	‘Well, Troubled Owner, caring for a runt is difficult work, I wouldn’t recommend getting one, blahdeblahdeblah…purchase Johnny a ball and other miscellaneous toys…make sure he gets a lot of contact with other fluffies…feed him foods he won’t choke on that are high in nutrients…sincerely, The Fluff Master.”

	It looks like you’ve managed to get most of those down, but there’s one that you obviously haven’t; contact with other fluffies. You bought her those two stuffy ponies, of course, but she hardly even got a chance to play with those before she needed to practice using the litterbox and then shit blood. It’s possible that your old poker buddy, Rob, might be willing to schedule a playdate or two with Runtyshy. The thought of that big bruiser earth fluffy, Rex, playing a game with Runtyshy almost makes you smile.

	You lean back in your chair and stretch your legs out, letting out a long, slow breath. Tossing the magazine back on to the small table, you point your chin down and try to relax.

	It doesn’t work, to say the least.

	As soon as you shift your weight to try and find a bit more of a comfortable position and try to ease your thoughts a bit, Ted walks out with Runtyshy in his arms, still knocked out.

	Or worse.
	“Anon, come with me.”

	You decide not to ask any questions, and just follow Ted down the hallway in silence. A scent of ammonia, bleach, and other cleaning products flood your nostrils, giving you that eerie hospital vibe. Well, you are technically in a hospital, but being reminded of the fact doesn’t help matters.

	Ted leads you into a small room, with a large metal machine tucked away in one corner. Perched on the furthest back wall is a brightly-lit panel with a few x-rays on it. Runtyshy’s, from what you can tell. Ted clears his throat, and begins to speak.

	“Good news, or bad news?”

	“Bad news first.”

	Ted points a finger at the x-ray, landing on the outer fluff. He traces an imaginary line only about an inch in, and taps it.

	“Can you see that?”

	You squint, but you can’t make out a single thing.

	“I mean, all around. Look.”

	Ted moves his finger all the way around the outline of Runtyshy’s skeletal frame, staying on the inside of the ribcage, fully inscribing a pattern of her innards.

	“Sorry, Ted. I’m not seeing it.”

	He pulls his hand away, a combination of anger and gloom on his face, and motions for you to sit down in a chair to your left. You do as he asks, and Ted does the same.

	“Anon, her vitals are outgrowing her.”

	You blankly stare at Ted, and open your mouth to say something, but he strides over to you, placing Runtyshy in your hands, and continues before you can get a word out.

	“Let me explain: everything inside of her is growing, except for her bones and muscles. Her internal organs are, with time, going to be much too large for her body, and the odds of her surviving it are slim and none.”

	As you begin to speak, the words catch in your throat. You cough, and give it another try.

	“Then what’s the good news?”

	“It might be fixable.”

	Ted walks over to a wall-mounted cabinet, rummaging about inside of it for a brief moment. He pulls out a decently-sized bottle of a translucent blue liquid, and a plastic tub with several hypodermic needles inside of it, placing both objects on a nearby table.

	“What’s that blue stuff?”

	“This, my friend, is an experimental growth hormone, made especially for fluffy ponies. We were trying to create something to help pregnant dams with litters that were too large for their bodies by expanding and relaxing muscle tissue, as well as the epidermis.”

	“Ted, that sounds like something from a bad science-fiction movie.”

	“Oh? And the idea of colorful, talking, fluffy horses freely wandering the earth doesn’t?”

	Damn, he’s got you there.

	“So this is gonna help her?”

	“In theory, yes. In practice, I’m not so certain. The dams that we tried it on were fine with only a few adverse side effects, and it worked out exactly as we planned, but your little fluffy there is a runt. I don’t know if what works for other fluffies is going to work for her.”

	“Adverse side effects? What kind of side effects?”

	“Nothing terrible, really. A bit of nausea, some loss of appetite, and tiredness were the only symptoms we saw in the test subjects, so I’m going to assume that things might be a tad bit harsher for her: maybe diarrhea, some vomiting. It won’t be deadly or anything like that as long as she’s properly cared for, but it I can guarantee that it won’t exactly be pleasant.”

	“How long is this going to take, then?”

	“Hopefully, only a couple weeks. Realistically, though, it might take about a month and a half.”

	“Damn.”

	“You’re telling me. Anyways, it’s not complicated at all. Just give her a single CC of the hormone once every three days, and we can only hope that it’ll get better from there.”

	“Wait, you want me to inject her myself?”

	“Anon, it’s simple. Wash your hands, grab a needle, and stick it in the area between her leg and her body, essentially her armpit.”

	Ted plops the box into your lap, and grabs his coat before beginning to walk out of the door.

	“And just in case this doesn’t work…don’t make any changes to your daily schedule. Keep her happy.”

	With that, Ted strolls out of the room, leaving you all alone in the empty hospital. You turn your gaze down to Runtyshy, expecting for her to already be awake, but, sure enough, she’s still out cold. Deciding not to administer the shot right here and now, you tuck her into your sweater pocket, and carry the box out into the snowy parking lot.

	“Let’s go home, Fluffyshy.”

	You know she can’t hear you, but it makes you feel better to just say it out loud.

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

	It’s been nearly a week and a half since Ted gave you the growth hormones for Runtyshy. You’ve injected her about four times now, and, while you think it’s just your mind playing tricks on you, you could swear that she’s grown by at least a half inch.

	Of course, she’s not completely cured yet. She’s still crapping blood, and the medication seems to have only worsened her vomiting, but her life trumps a bit of illness. It seems almost selfish to think this way, but in the end, you’re doing this for her sake.

	Today, however, is the day that Rob and his fluffy pony, Rex, are going to be coming over for a playdate.

	Sure enough, you managed to convince Rob to come over to your house and bring his fluffy, but he wasn’t exactly reluctant to begin with. He was eager, as were you, you catch up on old times and share a few drinks. Between the two of you, you bought a case of cheap beer. For the fluffies, you bought some spaghetti and an extra ball.

	“Fluffyshy!”

	Runtyshy looks up at you from inside her cage, snuggled up against Tangy and Coal, the two stuffy fluffies, a term that turns out to be incredibly fun to say out loud.
	“Rob and Rex are coming over today!”

	Runtyshy chirps up at you, clearly confused.

	“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll know when they come over.”

	Runtyshy chirps a second time, and you pluck her out of her cage and place her onto the carpeted floor, giving her a few pats on the head. She giggles, but cowers a bit. Ever since the diagnosis, she’s been a bit sensitive to contact, probably from all of the internal swelling. As soon as you pull away, the doorbell rings. Good timing.

	As you open the door, you see Rob standing there, a massive grin spread across his face, and a massive fluffy pony, Rex, in his arms.

	“It’s been a while, Anon!”

	“Damn straight, Rob.”

	Rob places Rex on the floor, and he follows you into the kitchen for a drink.

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

	>You are Rex, a toughie earth fluffy
	>At least, you were a toughie until you met daddy Rob
	>You were in a herd with a meanie smarty, who was really just a dummy
	>One day, dummy smarty took you into daddy Rob’s backyard
	>Daddy Rob was scary that day
	>He gave the biggest ouchies to the smarty, and two of the other toughies
	>He let the special friends go, and everyone that didn’t try to give him ouchies
	>But daddy Rob didn’t say you could go
	>You still remember what he said
	>”A toughie who disobeys the smarty, huh? Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”
	>You don’t really know what he meant by that, but he became your new daddy and gave you all sorts of stuff like balls and sketties
	>Daddy Rob says that you’re really big for a toughie, since you’re a ‘foot and a half tall’
	>Silly daddy, feet are on humans, not fluffy ponies!
	>But it doesn’t matter today
	>Today, you’re at one of daddy’s friend’s housie
	>It’s hard to say it, so you try not to
	>Daddy Rob left you all alone, but you don’t mind
	>You’re a toughie, nothing scares you
	>Besides, Daddy Rob said there was another fluffy here
	>You go exploring, and head into the a room with a magic box and a big cage
	>Wait, a big cage?
	>Sometimes, fluffies are in cages!
	>You feel like such a smart fluffy for knowing that
	>The door to the cage is open, and you can see a baby fluffy inside
	>You walk up to the baby fluffy, and poke it with one of your hoofsies
	>”Babbeh? Hewwo?”
	>The baby fluffy was sleeping, and you woke her up
	>She smells funny, though
	>Not like a baby, but as a normal girl fluffy
	>It’s confusing
	>You take another sniff, but she yelps and tries to run away from you
	>This isn’t new; a lot of fluffies were afraid of you whenever you met them for the first time
	>”Nu scawy, babbeh! Wexie fwend!”
	>It doesn’t work, and she starts crying
	>Seeing the baby cry makes you sad, too
	>You think as hard as you can about what makes you happy
	>Daddy Rob
	>Sketties
	>Your ball
	>Huggies
	>Huggies!
	>”Sowwy, babbeh. Wexie gif huggies.”
	>You give the sad baby huggies, and she slowly stops crying, but still tries to pull away
	>A fluffy that doesn’t like huggies?
	>You’re surprised
	>”Babbeh nee’ baww?”
	>The baby suddenly jumps up, her eyes get big, and you almost get scared by it
	>”Nee!”
	>The baby chirps a few times, and looks at you like she wants something
	>”…Wha’ babbeh nee’?”
	>”Nee! Nee!”
	>She chirps a few more times, and you don’t have a clue what to do
	>”Babbeh nee’ naym. Yuu naym…”
	>You eyeball the baby, and try to think up a good name for the baby fluffy
	>”Wingie.”
	>Wingie chirps again, but she doesn’t seem excited anymore
	>You’ll just have to fix that yourself!
	>”Wingie!”
	>She looks up at you, and you pick her up in your mouth and sling her on to your back
	>You think she may have made some scaredy poopies on accident, but she’s only a baby, and you’re a big toughie, so you don’t get angry at her
	>Instead, you go trotting around the room, and head off into a different one, with nummies
	>Wingie starts chirping, loudly and quickly, but she slowly starts to giggle and snuggle up in your fluff
	>It reminds you of back when you and your special friend had a baby with pretty wingies
	>The baby had sickies
	>He made sicky wa-was all the time, so he couldn’t eat nummies
	>You couldn’t fix it
	>The baby took forever sleepies before you could find Daddy Rob
	>You don’t like to think about it, because it makes you cry, and no amount of huggies or sketties fix it for a very long time
	>But thinking of your baby doesn’t make you sad right now, for some reason
	>With Wingie on your back, giving you huggies and laughing, you almost feel really happy again
	>You even ignore her funny smell, and the things that seem funny about her
	>”Wingie gud babbeh. Wuv Wingie.”
	>Wingie chirps back at you, and you hear Daddy Rob from above you
	>”Seems like they’re getting along well, huh, Anon?”
	>”Yeah. Yeah, they are.”
	>Anon has a really big smile on his face, and he heads over to the magic nummies box, and puts a dish in front of you
	>”I think Rex and Fluffyshy deserve some spaghetti.”
	>Sketties!
	>You love sketties!
	>And you’re sure that Wingie would love spaghetti, too!
	>You put Wingie down on the ground, next to the sketties, that are all squished
	>Sketties are sketties, though
	>The two of you enjoy the sketties, and you give Wingie a pat on the head
	>”Gud babbeh.”
	>”Goo!”
	>Wingie chirps up at you, and snuggles up into your fluff
	>The two of you finish up your sketties, and you lie down next to Wingie and the two of you take nappies
	>You’re sleepy
	>But happy

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

	“You know, Rob, maybe Rex could come over another time. You can come with him, if you want.”

	Rob laughs, places his empty bottle on your counter, and picks up Rex.

	“Yeah, Anon. I think he’d be up for that. What do you think, Rex?”

	“Wingie gud babbeh!”

	It’s pretty funny to see Rex refer to Runtyshy as a baby. It’s adorable seeing the two of them get along so well, in any case.

	“Are you good to drive, Rob?”

	“Nah, I already asked my girlfriend if you could get me a drive back. It’s kinda emasculating, but it’s better than being dead as shit, you know?”

	A car’s horn beeping resounds from outside, snapping the two of you out of the conversation, and making Rex perk his ears up.

	“Mummeh Awwy?”

	“Yep, that’s our cue, buddy. I’ll see you later, Anon.”

	“Alright, man. See you then.”

	You raise your still half-filled bottle to Rob as he heads out of your kitchen and out the front door. You take a long, slow drink, and scoop up Runtyshy.

	“Now, that went pretty well, didn’t it?”

	“Goo!”

	“Sure, I suppose it was pretty ‘goo’.”

	“Goo.”

	Runtyshy goes a bit limp in your arms, sighs, and falls asleep a second time. Only, this time, it’s not from blood loss or shock, but from a long, tiring day. A good day. You stroke her mane, and take another, final drink.

	“You know what, Fluffyshy? I think everything is gonna be alright.”