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Foal Fables

The Foal in the Box

Daffodil was a foal who was quite down on her luck. She'd been born a runt, which wasn’t quite up to the high standards of her herd’s smarty. At first, her situation hadn’t been so bad. She'd been an only foal, and cherished regardless of her condition by her mother. Whenever the herd’s smarty had harsh words to say, Daffodil could simply run to her mother and slide between her legs to cuddle the warm fluff of her underbelly. It hadn’t mattered if the outside world was cruel, so long as she had her mother to comfort her. But one day, everything changed. Her mother had ventured beyond their herd's grassy meadow home in search of delicious human food to eat, and had never returned.

Without Daffodil’s mother there to shield her from harm, the wicked smarty quickly revealed her true nature. Every day she’d send her toughies to rough up the little foal while she watched from afar with a sadistic smile on her face. They’d all gather around her and bop her with their hooves or yank at her tail or kick dirt in her face, all the while calling her names and laughing down at her. And when they were finished, the smarty herself would have a go. Her punishments hurt the worst of all.

There was no one to provide protection from their assaults, and no one to provide comfort when they were through. The rest of the herd either watched in shameful silence with their heads down, unwilling to upset the fearsome smarty, or frolicked off in the distance, entirely oblivious to the atrocities taking place.

Daffodil’s existence was miserable and lonely. When not suffering through the smarty’s cruel games, she spent her time alone, weeping, in the patch of soft grass that she and her mother used to lie in together. For a long time, the memory of her mother was the only thing she had left to hold on to.

While escaping from the abuse of the smarty one day, Daffodil ventured far further from her grassy meadow home than she’d ever been…right to the edge of town. There was a strange, crooked old wooden house in front of her with a foal sized hole in the wall, so naturally, she squeezed inside to find a place to hide.

The old house turned out to be an antique shop, and there were all sorts of intricately detailed dressers, droors, mirrors, rugs, and toys crammed inside.

Daffodil spent several minutes weaving in between the legs of the mysterious furniture, staring upwards with silent wonder and awe.

As she made her way through the labyrinth of antiques, she soon came upon the strangest object of all. Resting on the ground a few feet in front of her was a small wooden sorry box about the height of a Fluffy foal. As Daffodil neared the box, she could see that there was a foal inside about her size.

The tiny foal was staring back at her with large, teary eyes and a quivering bottom lip. She was scruffy, skinny, and had the marks of sorry hoofsies all over her body. And from the looks of it, the pitiful little runt had even soiled herself in her distress.

It was such a pathetic sight that as soon as she'd caught a glimpse of the hapless foal in the box, Daffodil doubled over laughing.

“Siwwy widdwe babbeh, whewe’s ‘ouw mummah?” Daffodil taunted, approaching the sorry box with a smug smirk. “I know! I bet mummah weft ‘ou hewe aww awone, ‘cause ‘ou a dummeh! Widdwe dummeh fwuffy!” It filled up the void in Daffodil’s heart to see the tears streaming down the foal’s face after she’d spat out these last words. She stayed in front of the sorry box for hours after, flinging insults at the sniffling little lump of fluff inside.

Daffodil continued to visit the foal in the sorry box every day just to ridicule her condition. She'd spend hours at a time giving her sorry hoofsies, blowing raspberries, and shaking her rump derisively. The harassment of this unfortunate foal soon became the only thing Daffodil had left to enjoy, because the foal seemed to be the only creature more pathetic than Daffodil herself. As soon as she'd endured the pitiless mockery of the smarty and her goons, she could just come waddling back to the antique shop to inflict the same agonizing pain on another foal. In the face of this helpless creature, she could be just as smug, cruel, and powerful as the smarty, and she loved every moment of it.

“Widdwe dummeh fwuffy! Wun home to mummah! Oh, wait! ‘Ou nu have mummah! An’ ‘ou stuck inside ‘ouw widdwe sowwy box!” she’d tease. “Siwwy widdwe babbeh!”

This cycle continued for weeks until the smarty finally became curious as to where the little foal kept disappearing to every day. After a particularly long session of sorry hoofsies one morning, Daffodil set off towards the antique shop again with bitter tears streaming down her chubby cheeks. Unbeknownst to her, she was being followed.

Daffodil slipped through the hole in the wall and approached the sorry box, ready to let the little foal inside really have it. She gave her the works: sorry hoofsies, raspberries, rump wiggles…she even gave her a few sorry kicks for good measure. She was at the height of her thrill, when suddenly, something moving in the back of the box made her recoil in horror.

It was…the smarty?

“Siwwy widdwe Daffy Diw,” came a voice from behind her.

Daffodil whipped around to see the evil smarty approaching with a wicked grin on her face. Panicked and confused, the foal glanced back and forth between the sorry box smarty and the smarty looming up from behind, unable to comprehend what was happening.

There were two smarties?

“Widdwe Daffy Diw aww awone, making tawkies to hewsewf,” the smarty sneered. “Dummeh widdwe babbeh. Don’ chu know ‘ou wookin at ‘ousewf?”

All at once, the weight of realization crushed Daffodil’s fragile spirit. Her heart sank to her hooves, and with dread she turned back to face the reality of what was in front of her.

The sorry box was a mirror. She’d been making fun of her own reflection.

Moral:

Be careful what you laugh at, because you see yourself in everything.
Uploader Pom,
Tags fable foal foal-abuse foal-fables moral
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Comments

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dirkdickler: I'm da foaw in da box,
berried in ma poopies...

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BinBarbarian: Maybe next time, describe what the fluffies look like, and the surroundings a bit more. Great work though.
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bigfootRULES: reminds me of the short story The Outsider by H.P.Lovecraft.
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Vanguard: A female smarty?

I guess that's one way to stop the story having a sudden end through the MC becoming an enfie babbeh...
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