Urgh. My alarm clock. My greatest foe.
I hear that shrill buzzing sound that reminds me that today is a new day, and my eyes snap open, my daily ritual begun. I blink them a few times, rubbing them until the soreness is mostly gone, then immediately jump out of bed.
Well, immediately after about twenty minutes.
I stare briefly into the mirror in the corner of my room, the same mirror that, quite frankly, used to scare the crap out of me as a kid, so much so that my parents had to move it so it no longer faced me in the mornings. Probably bad feng shui, but I don’t care.
I walk up to it and change, shivering a little in the cold morning air. Dad’s probably forgot to pay the heating bill again, lazy bum. You’d think being one of the Equestrian Royal Guard would pay the bills, but apparently not. At this rate he’ll make me get another part time job.
“Sweetie, it’s your turn!” I hear from downstairs. Crap, again already?
“Whatever Dad,” I mumble, walking downstairs like I’m on death row… I wish. Garbage day sucks. You’d think we wouldn’t have so much rotten stuff to throw away, since-
Oh God. Dad’s wearing something stupid again.
“What do you think? I really think I nailed the look this time,” he says proudly, wearing that horrible fake moustache from yesterday… except now he’s also got these milk bottle glasses to go with it.
“Nice Dad. Real subtle,” I mutter, sitting down at the table and helping myself to a carton of orange juice.
“Someone’s grouchy today,” he grins teasingly before frowning at me, “young lady, we do not drink straight from the carton in this house.”
“…sure,” I manage after I drain the carton dry. I’ll leave it I the fridge before I leave, that’ll teach him.
“So how’s your boyfriend doing?” he asks sneakily, catching me off guard.
“Cold Shoulder is not my boyfriend,” I respond, shooting daggers at him. Damnit, I hate the way he knows how to push my buttons like that…
“Oh? How strange. It seems to me he’s all you ever talk about…”
“Maybe because you only ever listen when you know it’s something you can tease me about later,” I reply. I stare at the clock on the wall, and for once I hope I’ll have an excuse to leave early. Dad’s ruthless when it comes to teasing me, I swear that’s the secret function of Dadkind- to frustrate and humiliate their kids at every opportunity. Maybe that’s what the club he’s always going to is all about, heh.
“Oh crap, I’m gonna be late for work!” I say, grabbing my coat and rushing out the front door, conveniently ‘forgetting’ to take the garbage out before he can remind me.
***
Heading out of the house always weirds me out a little. It feels like I’m stepping into a different world, almost. I’ve been here since I was ten, but a part of me still longs for the comfort of home… things were nice and simple back there. Life was neat, organized. You got given a role and you fulfilled it to your dying day… at least, that’s what Dad tells me.
Around here, things are- well, complicated. I must admit, when we first moved here I found the place nauseating. The ponies around the town are so… sincere, so upfront with their thoughts and feelings. They call you friend when you’re only a stranger, it’s weird.
I guess that’s why I grew so fond of the pony that works at the same shop I do. He’s quiet, and doesn’t radiate friendship like a love starved puppy the way the rest of them do. It’s nice to talk to someone more like me for a change...
I arrive at the Sweet Tooth, the candy store Dad insisted I get a job at. The bell on the door jingles every time I walk inside, and it’s a noise I never get tired of. Cold Shoulder is rustling around in the back, probably sorting through the latest shipment for the strawberry laces. he’ll never admit it, but he’s addicted to the damn things. I’ve seen him make sandwiches with the things, just so he can eat them without anyone noticing, it’s this weird blend of cute and pathetic that sums him up in a nutshell.
“Morning Sketch,” he mutters, lifting a large box onto the counter, “You mind taking stock of what we brought in?”
“Sure,” I say, bored. I take the box and slice the top open, removing box after box of chocolates, toffees and hard boiled sweets. I suppose any other girl would at least look for their favorites, but I guess I’m not like most other girls, and especially most other ponies.
“We need more pink sherbert,” I mention casually, hoping to strike up a conversation with him.
“Lemme guess, the Pink Terror strikes again?” he asks, leaning against the counter, grinning wryly.
“Yep,” I return the smile, more out of courtesy than affection. The ‘Pink Terror’ is the nickname we’ve given to our best customer, a pink earth pony that visits so often I’m half convinced she’s a sugar-based lifeform from another world.
“Might wanna get some more marzipan too. I swear that girl eats enough sweets to feed a small country.”
“Yeah… I’m impressed she manages to keep her figure so well,” he says, grinning at me, “Come to think of it, I never see you eat anything.”
“Yeah well, a girl needs to watch her weight, y’know? Besides, I hate sweets, you know that,” I counter. Truthfully, I don’t enjoy any food, but I can’t exactly explain that to him, can I?
“Well, I’m going to go contact Maple, see if we can’t get in some more marzipan, sherbert and… anything else?”
“Well, we’re running low on jawbreakers.”
“Got it. See you soon, Sketch,” he says, turning to leave.
I sigh as soon as he’s gone, turning sadly to the box and pouring the contents into jar after jar, then placing them on the shelves. I have to admit, the place looks beautiful when I take the time to look at it; wall after wall of sweets of every size, shape and colour imaginable. It’s almost the opposite of my bedroom, which is dark and brooding. Truth be told, I mostly have it like that as an image thing. Image is very important to me.
After a few hours pass, I’ve dealt with a handful of customers, my eyes transfixed on the clock on the wall. It’s a novelty clock, an image of a cat clutching a clothesline set into the background, with the words, “Hang in there!” underneath.
I’ve worked here for four years, and that clock’s hands have never moved, not once. I’m sure there’s some kind of irony in that, but my head is far too full of cottonballs right now to figure out exactly what.
“Hey there Sketchy!” I hear a familiar voice squeak at me from the door.
“Hey there Pinkie,” I manage, yawning silently as she trots over to the counter, seeming a little merrier than usual, somehow.
“So, you want the usual?” I ask. I don’t know why I even bother asking anymore.
“Yep yep yep!” she says, dancing in place, her voice sweet as treacle. I recoil slightly, the sickly taste of her affection dancing on my tongue. I needed breakfast, but at this rate I’m going to choke. This mare needs a filter. Badly.
I reach under the counter, and hand her a single bag laden with goodies, much the same as I have every day since time began.
“Thanks!” she says, handing me a small sack of bits. I have no idea where she gets them, but I’ve heard she’s a party planner. I can kinda see it, though I think she’d make a better entertainer than an organizer, personally.
“Oh! I almost forgot,” she says, turning back just as she reaches the door. She hands me a small envelope with a seal on the back. A… Royal seal? I notice the insignia, a crescent moon. This is unmistakable.
I hesitate for a moment. Does this mean she knows? No, impossible. If she did, I’d be long gone by now. The Sisters have no love for me… well, I guess I should open it. I take a deep breath, and break the seal, take out the letter and read it slowly.
Dear Ectha Sketch,
I know you’re confused. Scared, even. But I need you to know that, whatever happens, you’ll be alright. You’re about to wake up, and realize something that will change your life forever. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry… you’ll feel. But no matter how bleak things may become, I promise you that we’ll be okay. Tomorrow may never come, but you will have a future.
Don’t worry. We’ll meet where the wild plains can’t hold us, where the winds blow strong, where we’ll truly be free.
See you in time.
~Sketch.
“Pinkie, who gave you this?” I ask, confused.
Pinkie giggles, as though the answer is obvious.
“You did, silly!”