It was your second day of owning a fluffy family you so graciously removed from the streets. You hardly slept the night before, having been giddy with excitement to continue the desecration of their souls today. You open the closet door, right where you left them. They don't hear you come in.
"Mummah?" the blue, legless foal eeks out, in a low hushed tone. "Mummah, pwease gif babbeh miwkies? Pwease? Babbeh wan mummah to wuv babbeh, pwease nu hate babbeh..."
The pink unicorn known as the foal's mother still refused to speak. You don't think she's moved at all since you left the room yesterday. She definitely hasn't eaten, since the food bowl you filled yesterday remains untouched. You're pretty sure she hasn't slept either, considering she was struggling to keep her eyelids from shutting completely. The other foal was taking careful, shaky steps in the middle of the room, trying to get its bearings without the sense of sight. Picture perfect in your opinion.
You knock on the wall with your fist, and declare "Daddy's back!" to announce your pressence. The trio take it about as well as you expect.
"MUNSTAH! MUNSTAH DADDEH BACK! MUMMAH, BWUDDAH, HEWP FWUFFY WUN WAY!" the blue foal shouts out in a blind panic, waving his amputee stumps around as if his legs would reappear and carry him away from the confines of the closet. The eyeless, pink foal goes into hysterics as well at your mention.
"WHEWE MUNSTAH?! WHEWE MUNSTAH!? NU HUWT! AM GUD BABBEH!" it shrieks out, running in the opposite direction of his brother's cries, ramming himself straight into a wall and giving himself a bloody nose. "OWIES! Uhuu huu...sniffy pwace haf huwties...huu huu...babbeh onwy smeww boo boo juice..." it says, still facing the wall, covering its face with its legs, oblivious to your actual location. This is on the fast track to being another great day.
The mother's eyes open a bit wider now that you've made yourself known. She looks up with eyes stained red with veins, dried husks from the excessive crying from yesterday. She still says nothing. You stand over her and the blue foal now, and calm the cripple with false assurances.
"Relax kid. I'm not here to put you through the wringer, not yet. You haven't broken the rules."
You turn to face the mother. "Your kid is hungry. Why haven't you fed it?" The mother just stares back at you with that gaze of total hopelessness and despair for a long minute, before croaking out a single sentence, drawn out and void of emotion.
Her gaze falls back to the floor. You continue to prod.
"Don't you at least want to let your children keep living? Why kill them too? It's very selfish of you, you know."
She locks eyes with you again. Her expression has transformed; her features change into one of hatred and contempt as her eyes narrow at you. She keeps a low tone as she speaks, but it's obvious in how it drips with contempt.
"Munstah just wan keep babbehs awive fow huwties. Mummah nu dummeh. Mummah wet babbehs die wif mummah, den munstah nu gif huwties to babbehs nu mowe."
"Mummah...mummah gon wet babbehs die?" the blue foal asks, having overheard. "Mummah nu wuv babbehs nu mowe! Huu huu! Babbeh haf wowstest hewt huwties eba! HUUUUU huu huu..."
The mother's features soften as breaks its gaze with you, turning to her child, trying to sooth its brood. "Mummah stiww wuv ou babbeh, it bettah dis way, nu mean tu gif babbeh heawt huwties."
You smile. This is what your ace in the hole is for. "Well you pink piece of shit, as a matter of fact, no, I didn't think you were stupid. But you must've thought I was, because I figured you might pull something like this." You pull out the bottles filled with artificial fluffy milk. After some hesitation, the blue foal suckles on the nozzle lightly, before drinking greedily. You walk over to the eyeless foal and tap it on its shoulder.
"EEP! NU HUWT! NU HUWT!"
After a few gentle pats on the back, you hand the bottle over to the foal. After missing the nozzle a few times and getting confused as to why the "miwkies wunnin way fwom fwuffy", it finally worked the end of the bottle into its mouth and gingerly sucked. You looked back at the mother and were thoroughly pleased at the sight. Her mouth was agape, her eyes betraying equal parts confusion and horror.
"Wha...? Nu...NU NU NU NU NU!" Her eyes are wide. She runs straight towards the blue foal and raises her hoof above his head. It collides with his skull, and his head hits the floor with a *WHACK!* sound. Before she can get another hit in, you've grabbed her leg and lift her far above the foal, out of her reach. She's screaming the whole time.
"NU! WET MUMMAH GU! PWEASE! NU WAN MUNSTAH GIF MIWKIES TO BABBEHS!"
Ignoring her for now, you inspect the damage done to the blue foal. It's moaning about "wowstest head huwties" and is agonizing over "wai mummah huwt babbeh?", and some nasty brusing looks like it's already developing, but it'll likely survive. When you turn to the still struggling mother, who's kicking and biting at your arm, your grin is so wide it almost hurts.
"Thought you could outwit me did you? Lucky for me, your whole species is still. Fucking. Worthless." On that last word your grip on her leg tightens, and her resistance ceases as she winces from the pain. "You are SO gonna get it for that little stunt, missy."
Walking out of the closet, you move into the basement, as the mother kicks and screams invective against you, cursing your existence and wishing you harm in-between biting your hand. You wish you could watch this struggle forever. You take her to the workbench and pin her down rough. Still clutching its leg, you retrieve a box cutter from your tool box.
"I see you still haven't taken my lesson from yesterday to heart you little cunt. I'm going to have to take a more direct approach with you if you're ever going to understand what a pathetic failure of life you are."
You're not sure she heard you, since she's still been shouting "DUMMEH STUPIE MUNSTAH DADDEH! FWUFFY WAN OU GET FOWEVA SWEEPIES!" or some variant thereof. Gripping your blade, you cut deeply into the mother's hoof, crimson trickling from the wound.
You make several more cuts into the hoof, like slicing a tomato on a kitchen counter, as the mother's free limbs are failing to pull her away from your death grip. You slice the bottom skin of the hoof still remaining, and set your bladed tool away. As you get your power drill next, the mother smacks her head against the table and cries tearless sobs while croaking out "pwease kiww mummah". You can barely contain your excitement as you heat up the drill head with a lighter. By the time you've heated it to your satisfaction, the mother is suckling on her free front leg as a newborn foal would. When you power up the drill and stick it into the exposed flesh of the pinned hoof, shredding muscle tissue and cracking bones, she bites down so hard that you can see blood trickling down the side of her mouth as she shrieks "MMMMMMMMMMFFFF!". The drilled leg looks hallowed out now that you've finished with it. But you've got more work to do. The hammer is your next weapon of choice.
"Wai...?" is what you hear before you're ready to bring the hammer down.
"Wai munstah gif huwties?" the mother says, staring at you. You smile, then smash the claw end of the hammer into one of her back legs. You messily tear the leg off the mother, whose cries of pains are painfully high pitched squeals, likely due to strained vocal cords. Her breathing is shallow as you face her and reply back "Because I can."
Either due to the pain or confusion at your response, she does nothing but lie her head on the table sideways under labored breathing. The hammer is put back where it belongs. You look around the room, not content with your construction tools any longer. You need something else. A mousetrap, parked in the corner with a couple of dust bunnies, catches your eyes. You pick it up, and wonder if, in its advanced age, it'll work as you steer the mother's second back leg into the trap. One quick motion and snapping sound later, your hope are confirmed. This seems to bring the mother back to reality for a while, as she starts pounding her head against the table under cries of duress again, this time with such intensity that the horn on her head seems to crack under the strain, as her lower leg spasms, wildly trying to get the mouse trap off to no avail. She looks directly ahead, then uses her last remaining, functioning leg, the right front leg, to pull herself forward, closer and closer to the edge of the table. Just as she gets her front leg over the edge and looks ready to topple over onto the hard ground, you grab the scruff of her neck roughly.
"Nu faiw! Nu faiw!" she blurts out, as you set her on the ground gently. You pick up a brick and place her lower leg under it. She's wheezing and coughing right up until you stomp on the brick as hard as you can under foot. Her eyes bulge and tongue sticks out, whatever scream she wanted to utter dying in her throat, and her eyes droop down as her head faces the floor. At first you fear your last action might've finally killed her, but you put your hand under her mouth and still feel breathing. Shallow, low breathing, but breathing nonetheless. You lift the brick up and couldn’t be happier with the result: the leg is crushed thin like a pancake, broken bones are exposed in six different places, and the bruising is so severe that the whole leg looks like a big splotch of purple through the mother's pink fluff. Still, you lack contentment. Fluffy in hand, you march to the target you use when you practice shoot with your pellet gun. You strap the mother into the center with duct tape, and she hangs her head low.
"Ah, I'd advise you to keep your chin up missy. My aim is a bit rusty, I wouldn't want to end up shooting you in the face." The mother looks back at you, then returns to staring down.
"Mummah nu cawe." comes out of her lips, barely audible. You take a seat on the other side of the room, check your ammo count, then take aim. Steady. Deep breath. Squeeze the trigger. The pellet smacks the mother in the stomach. She wheezes, then dry heaves. She looks up in time for you to get another shot off that hits her in the ribs. Shot after shot goes off, as welts spread across the mother's chest. In a desperation move she starts struggling against the duck tape. You can tell this is a conscious decision instead of a seizure because you can faintly hear her say "pwease munstah, wet gu ob mummah, pwease wet gu! Pwease hewp mummah! Pwease!". With your last shot, the pellet connects with the already damaged horn on the mother's head and shatters it like glass. After that, you tear the tape off the mother, pulling hair from her body and causing her to elicit a hoarse yelp. You can't escape the feeling that you're missing something from your parade of violence. Then, the most wonderful thought springs to mind.
Your last destination is the kitchen. You set the mother down on the counter and run the faucet on cold. You douse your washcloth with the chilly water, then lightly coat the back of the mother's skin with the water.
"Cowd. Cowd! Cowd wawa! Cowd wawa! Mummah cowd!"
As the washcloth touches her skin she starts to go into a panic, flailing her broken and mutilated limbs all around and whipping her head from side to side, baying on and on about how cold she is. You surmise that she's going into psychological shock. You pull an icy pack from the freezer - these keep your lunches cold. You tape the mother to the icy pack, pushing the pack against her back.
"Cowd! Cowd! Sabe fwuffy fwom cowdies!" she continues to squeak as you place her and the icy pack into the freezer. "Pwease sabe mummah..." are the last words you hear before you shut the freezer door. You've got some time on your hands before you're ready to continue now. You think of what you should do to kill the time, and decide upon a movie. After some rummaging around, you settle on Friday the 13th, Part IV, The Final Chapter. Seven more sequels and a reboot would suggest otherwise, but you're not one to nitpick. You put it in, lay down on the couch, and relax.
After an hour and a half runtime later, you return to the kitchen to check on how your fluffcicle is doing, and open up the freezer door. Its breath creating visible fog in the chill of the freezer, its body shivering as if it was a single leaf in a thunderstorm, and with teeth that were chattering like the pounding of a jackhammer, it was nothing short of a miracle that the fluffy had survived this long. Hasbio knew what they were doing when they made these things. You take the mother out of the freezer, still taped to the icy pack, and remove her bindings. You turn the icy pack/mother combo and turned it upside down, so that the mother was belly side down over the counter. Slowly, and with a few shakes by you, the mother is peeled from the icy pack. When she flops down onto the counter, the skin of her back doesn't come with her, instead staying on the icy pack, leaving her muscles, blood vessels, and spine exposed. The mother starts convulsing rapidly, taking in huge gulps of air, fish out of water style. After about a minute or two of this, she slows, then stops. No breath. No heartbeat. Dead as a doornail. A shame, really. You wish you could've kept this going forever. You've still got two more to play with though. You dispose of the mother's corpse before making your way back to the closet.