TextDownloadGoing NBK: Broken You are Dylan Harris, and you're bored out of your mind. All you're doing today is playing with your lighter, snapping it open and shut again over and over, while some movie about the Vietnam War plays on the television. You've seen it a million time by now. You snap the lighter shut for the last time. Ugh. Your medication is supposed to be getting your mind to STOP racing. Whatever. Your idiot psychiatrist probably gave you the wrong kind of medication, or maybe he's giving you the wrong dosage. The point is, it's not working. You lie down on your back against the bed, stare at the ceiling, stare at the walls, stare out the window where a small group of fluffies are camped in your backyard, then stare back at the - wait what? You leap off the bed and put your face only inches from the glass. Yes, there they are. Three or four of them you think. No, three, definitely three. One's much bigger than the rest, an obvious adult. The other two are small, but not quite small enough to wrap your hand around. They're certainly not newborns or infants, because they can walk and talk. You gather as many implements and tools as possible, running across the house and grabbing anything that looks useful. You are going to make something of this opportunity. The tools go into a backpack, and you're off. Exiting out the back door, you can hear the conversation between the adults and foals. "Huu huu, babbeh hab tummeh owies. Daddeh, am hoomin mistah gon be nice, gib babbehs miwkies?" a dark green foal bitches. "Daddeh nu know...bu' am gonna twy babbeh, nu wowwy." the crimson and brown adult responds back. "Hey!" you shout, startling the trio, and causing a yellow unicorn in the group to shit itself. Fucking fluffies. "You're on private property assholes! This is what we humans like to call 'trespassing'!" "Huu huu huu! Pwease mistah hoomin! Babbehs nee' miwkies, bu dewe mummah take foweva sweepies! Daddeh nu can gib babbehs miwkies!" That last setntance makes you blink. Does he really think you're stupid enough to not understand that? He goes on: "Nu mean tu twesspass, jus' nee miwkies fow babbehs, an den fwuffies weave!" You give him an icy stare. "Do you really think it moves me?" "Huu huu! Pwease mistah! Nu wan babbehs take foweva sweepies 'cause daddeh nu can gib miwk! Pwease!" You pretend to consider it. "You know what, I might have something that can help." You set down the backpack and take hold of your first tool. "Let me see your children, would you?" The fluffy family gallops up to you, chorusing about getting their lucky break, that they're going to get fed, maybe even adopted. You pull out a metal box, one you used to use for storing homemade bombs until you found a better one. Quick as you can, you grab the three foals and toss the squeaking fucks in, then shut the box, close the latch, and presto, the foals are right where you want them. "Huu huu! It nu am dawky times yet!" "Whewe am miwkies? Mistah pwomise miwkies!" "Wet fwuffy out! Nu wike sowwy bawks!" "Hewp! Hewp!" They cry, and fumble about in the box. The father looks horrified. "Wha hoomin doin'? Sowwy bawks nu fow babbehs, dey am gud babbehs!" "Don't worry my friend, we're just getting started." You smack him roughly, so that he's lying on his back, then quickly duck tape him to the ground while he's still reeling from the pain of the blow. "Huu! Wai fwuffy nu move nu mowe?" he says to the open sky, as his limbs flail upwards. You take out a cloth, and put it over his face. He tries shaking it off. "Huu huu! Nu wan bwankie on face! Pwease wet fwuffy gu, mistah! Fwuffy pwomise nu bodda mistah eba 'gain!" "You really should let that cloth stay where it is. Things are going to get a lot worse for you if you don't. Like, break your limbs kind of worse." The fluffy stops trying to wrestle the cloth off its face, but steadily cries at its predicament. You unzip your pants and piss on the cloth. The fluffy's limbs spasm, and it makes a gurgling sound as it fights to stay conscious. When you finish, and zip your pants back up, you can hear the fluffy moaning "yewwow wawa bad fow fwuffy". You peel the cloth off the fluffy's face. "Now doesn't it make ya feel better?" you say, with a sinister smirk. The fluffy coughs a couple times, before it starts to talk again. "Huu, wai hoomin gib fwuffy wawa owies? Am dis fow twesspass on hoomin wand? Fwuffy am sowwy, weawwy sowwy! Wiww jus' take babbehs an weave, pwomise!" He stares up at you with pleading eyes. "Ha! As if! Who in their right minds would pass up an opportunity like this?" You take out a shovel and dig two small holes. You open up the box, and pull the two foals out. "Yay! Nu mowe sowwy bawks time!" "Nice mistah gon gif miwkies nao?" You stick one in each hole. The holes are just deep enough to be at waist height for them. You start packing them in, immobilizing them. "Mistah, fwuffy nu wike dis game! Nu can move!" "Huu huu, nu wan be stuck in sowwy howe!" What really makes you feel pumped up though, is their father's protests. "Nu! Wet babbehs gu mistah! Dey too widdwe! Dey nu know wha twesspass am!" "Hey thanks for reminding me about your kids. I would've forgotten all about them if you hadn't said anything." He cries harder than ever before, smacking his head against the ground and telling himself "Fwuffy am dummeh! Am stoopie dummeh fwuffy! huu huu..." What's next in the pain parade, you wonder? You light up a cigarette and look through your bag of tricks. Hammer. Nail. Yes, this will do. You tape the left front leg of the father down. Wouldn't want the damn thing squirming around, making things difficult. Nail in position. And... *WHAM* "SCREEEEEEEEEE!" Blood is trickling out of the wound where the nail is. It didn't manage to go through all the way on this strike, so the nail is at an angle, since the fluffy's struggle to get his leg free is making it move around the muscle and bone it's now surrounded by. You grab the nail and twist it around quite a bit, rooting it around his damaged limb. The foals are screaming their heads off, shouting "WAI HUWT DADDEH?" "NU! WET DADDEH GU!" and variations thereof. You straighten the nail, then pound it again, and again. It's jammed into the ground now, pinning the fluffy's leg in place. You remove the tape. You savor the moment, as the fluffy futily struggles against the nail, trying and failing to move his leg against the rusted iron. After he all but gives up and starts to "huu huu", you oblige him and remove the nail. He cradles the injured limb, rubbing it gently with his undamaged leg. You pull a strand of piano wire from your pack. You grab the fluffy's leg, stick the strand through the hole, and grab the other end. Then you pull both ends. "SCREEEEEE! HUU HUU, WET WEGGIE GU MISTAH!" Give him some slack. Then pull again, this time in a different direction. Ease, then pull. Ease, then pull. You do this for a little bit, widening the open wound. Eventually, the wound is rendered so severe that the bottom half of the leg is only hanging on by a few strands of muscle tissue on either end. You remove the piano wire. The bottom half of the leg hangs limply, the fluffy sobbing to himself, crying about how "weggie no wowk nu mowe." That changes when you put your cigarette out in his left eye, where it makes a satisfying sizzling noise. "SCREEEEEEEEEE! SEE-PWACE NU WOWK! EEEEEEEE! EEEEEEEEEE!" Hie eye's charcoal black now, a light stream of yellowish liquid and blood running down the side of his face as he fitfully chokes on his own sobbing. "PWEASE STAHP HUWTIN' DADDEH!" one of the foals shrieks. "What the fuck was that?" you snarl. The yellow unicorn foal stares up at you with teary eyes. "Fwuffy s-say, s-stahp huwting daddeh!" it says, with far less certainty in its voice than before. "Oh? And what are you going to do about it?" The fluffy pushes its front hooves against the ground, and then tries to drag itself out of the hole you stuck him in. Failure clouds his efforts, upon which it bellows out more tears. "That's about what I thought." You retrieve your lighter. "Since you so rudely interrupted me, I think it's high time I gave you a little of what I'm giving to your old man." Turn the lighter on. The little unicorn foal realizes that something horrible is about to happen to it, and paws desperately at the ground in front of it while chanting "nu! nu! nu!". Apply the lighter to the back of the foal. The fluff on its body doesn't light right away, the hair getting burned to ash, the skin peeling back and reddening, the foal screaming at the "BUWNIE HUWTIES" that are now causing its skin to pop and fizzle like a steak on a grill, and then, as if by chance, the fire takes and starts to spread on the foal's skin. "SCREEEEEEEEEEEE! BUWNIES BUWNIES BUWNIES BUWNIES HEWP FWUFFY HEWP FWUFFY PWEASE HEWP FWUFFY!" it wails, legs shooting up and down in the air as the fire spreads there as well. You watch the skin on their entire backside crumple itself into black ash or boil under the inferno. You throw a shovel of dirt against its back, putting the fire out. Don't want him dying too soon. "No don't make another sound, or else I'm going to burn your face off next." You direct your attention to their sibling as the unicorn whines about the horrible stinging grazing its entire backside. The green earthie is covering its head with its hooves, tears escaping its eyes as it mutters to itself, repeating over and over "jus' wan'ned miwkies, jus' wan'ed miwkies". You tap it on the head, and it shakily gazes upwards at you. "Pwease nu gif mowe huwties mistah..." it weakly says. "Let me see your leg." The foal looks confused at the request. "Wha mistah-" You cut them off with a slap across the face. "HUU! Pwease nu huwt fwuffy! Pwease!" "Look at them!" you scream, pointing to the father and sibling. They're looking back, the yellow one not daring not to say anything, the father softly pleading "pwease nu huwt babbehs, jus' huwt daddeh...weave babbehs awone mistah...". You point to yourself. "Now look at me! Do you want to end up like those two?" the fluffy shook its head vigorously. "Then do as I tell you and give me your FUCKING LEG!" The foal's leg shot outwards. Heh. You still have your trusty hammer. You bring it to bear against the soft bones of the fluffy's leg. Instant compound fracture. For a moment and a moment only, the foal just looks at the broken leg, almost confused at what happened. Then the pain signals must have made their way to their brain, because once the moment passes the screaming starts. "SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! MUNSTAH TWICK FWUFFY! HUU HUU HUU! WEGGIE! WEGGIE AM BWOKEN!" You press your finger against the exposed bone. "SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" erupts from its throat once more, as it pounds its other leg against the ground over and over. You twist the bone back and forth like you did with the nail earlier. When you stop the foal flops on the ground in front of it, taking in heavy breaths. Perfection. You go back to facing the father. As you start taking more tools of torture out of your bag, he starts trying to reason with you. "Pwease wet fwuffies gu...wiww gu an neba come back...pwomise." he implores. In one hand you have pliers. In the other, a power drill. You clamp the pliers on the fluffy's penis... "Huuuu, nu touch no-no stick mistah!" ...and then you twist. When the fluffy opens its mouth to holler a high pitched wail, you turn on the drill and cram it into his mouth, aiming for his teeth. Pressing his head against the ground, the drill shreds his teeth, splitting them open and shattering them. The fluffy's screams of pain are garbled by all the saliva and blood welling up in his throat. You relent, letting him reel from the agony. "Is it safe?" you ask him. "Wha? NU! IT NU SAFE!" it answers back. You sigh. Okay. Maybe you watch too many movies. You put most of your tools away, keeping only the drill. "Am mistah hoomin done? Fwuffies can gu nao?" the father asks. "We're not finished yet." His hopes dashed, the fluffy stares off into the distance, crying from his good eye. You head into the garden shed, and grab the weed whacker. You rev it up. Oh yes. What a wonderful whirring sound it makes. The fluffies are panicking as you approach with the machine in tow, the unicorn foal trying to wrench its way out of the hole again, the earthie covering its head with its one good leg and screaming its head off, the father fighting the duck tape restraints with everything he's got, and you just get closer, and closer, and closer. You nudge the unicorn with your foot. "Hey fuckface!" you shout, getting it to turn its attention to you and to the weed whacker, its face contorting into an expression of pure terror and despair as it closes its eyes, tries to shield itself with its legs, and lets out howls of fear. The wires of the weed whacker collide with the angry, crusted flesh of the unicorn's burned backside, ripping the skin open, fracturing the spine, mutilating the lungs and blood vessels inside its delicate body, sending blood and chunks of the once living fluffy in all directions, getting it on you, on their sibling, on their father, until you finally turn it off, allowing the carcass of the fluffy to go limp. The earthie foal is still screaming after you turn the weed whacker. The father appears to have vomited on the ground, coughing up puke. Man, you really made a mess. Cleaning all this shit up is going to be hard. Oh well. That's the price of having a little fun. You set the weed whacker aside, and dig into your pack again. You can hear the father fluffy calling out to you. "Pwease nu huwt wastest babbeh mistah...jus' gib daddeh foweva sweepies, nu huwt babbeh nu mowe..." "Oh I won't be hurting your kid anymore." You let that statement hang in the air just long enough for the father fluffy to wheeze out a "tank 'ou", and the green foal to utter a "Weawwy?", before you dash their hopes once more. "I'm going to have my dog finish him off instead." You pull out what you were looking for: a can of wet dog food. "NUUUUUUHUUHUU! WET WASTEST BABBEH GU MISTAH! NU WET BAWKIE MUNSTAH HUWT WASTEST BABBEH! WET BAWKY MUNSTAH HUWT DADDEH I'STEAD!" the father bellows out. "No can do, sir, Sparky only eats foals." you lie. You crack open the can as the father sobs his hardest thus far, screaming indistinctly at the sky. Pour the mushy stuff all over the foal. It complains about how it smells funny, and how cold the food is. You whistle with two fingers in your mouth. "Sparky! C'mere boy!" The German Shepherd dashes up to you, and you give him a nice couple of pats on the head as he pants with anticipation. "See it Sparky? See the fluffy? Go get it! Go boy, go!" And off the canine goes. His teeth sink into the fluffy's flesh, tearing away huge portions as the foal screams, its bad leg, a good portion of its face and body ripped away as the dog attacks. The dog keeps going, biting the head off and tossing it aside like a baby throwing a ragdoll, biting and chewing further at the remainder of the body. The fluffy father can't even bear to look at the unfolding scene, just saying "sowwy babbeh...am wowstest daddeh eba...", while you cheer the spectacle on. With that finished, there's only one thing left to do. You take your knife out of the pack. You drag it across the last fluffy's chest, just enough to break his skin. He breathes in and out quickly through clenched teeth as you do so. Then you jab the knife into his side, and he gasps and bites his lips in response. You remove the knife, and insert the drill. "SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEE! SCREEEEEEEEEE!" He tries to push the drill away with his good legs. Blood is erupting out of the wound like a volcano. The drill starts to get noticeably slower. You abruptly stop, not willing to break your father's drill over a fluffy. There's pink flesh attached to the drill bit. Is that his liver? That would be pretty cool. You turn your attention back to him. You remove the tape, this fluffy's long ordeal finally coming to a close. You pick him up, and carry the slow breathing sack of shit to the cooler. "I think we're just about done here pal. Thanks for giving me a little something to do when I was bored. Now it's time you met some other fluffy friends I've made over time." You open up the cooler. Inside, are the decaying corpses of dozens, perhaps hundreds of fluffies, their once brightly colored fluff having been drained, replaced with a dull brown, gray, or black. The stench of the putrid bodies is overwhelming. You're glad you have a strong stomach. "Nu! nu!" You toss the fluffy in roughly. "Say goodnight, asshole." And with that, you slam the lid shut, trapping him in, leaving him alone amongst the bodies of those who came before him, never to exit. Uploader BranF1akes, April 20, 2019; 08:38 Tags abuse author:branf1akes because_fuck_you_that's_why dog drill explicit fire rage rotting_corpses weed_whacker Source Unknown Locked No Parent None Rating Unknown Comments April 20, 2019; 18:57 - Reply Anonymous1: Confirmed: this author has daddy issues lol. April 21, 2019; 02:02 - Reply Anonymous2: based & redpilled April 21, 2019; 08:54 - Reply Anonymous3: MC got fucking issues. April 21, 2019; 16:41 - Reply Anonymous4: I'm certainly enjoying April 26, 2019; 09:39 - Reply Anonymous5: fuckface April 26, 2019; 23:05 - Reply Anonymous6: Hoh that was like satan having an orgy with hitler stalin and tsieries and having a mystery child in here May 2, 2019; 03:50 - Reply Anonymous7: *fap* ooo sweet murder porn. Loved all 3 vignettes thanks!