Tomorrow Never Comes

by Post Script

Deja Vu

I give Pinkie that long, confused stare I save for the special occasions where her strangeness has passed from ‘endearing’ to ‘maybe I should call the cops’ territory, and after a moment I decide to risk actually asking her what she’s talking about.

“Pinkie? This letter can’t be from me. I didn’t write it.”

“I know that, silly!” she giggles.

“Then you know I didn’t write this.”

“I know you didn’t write this, but-“ she pauses, her mane standing on end. Oh great, she’s having on of those weird ‘Pinkie Sense’ moments she does sometimes. The last time she had one of those, an entire shipment of bonbons ended up rolling into the sewers…

“Er, I gotta go plan Applejack’s Square Dance,” she says suddenly, grabbing her bag of sweets and running out of the shop before I have a chance to process what the heck just happened.

I stare at the letter for a few minutes, confused. I know you’re confused. Scared, even. But I need you to know that, whatever happens, you’ll be alright… was this one of Pinkie’s famous pranks? It sure doesn’t feel like it. She’s always been the playful slapstick sorta gal. This? This is weird, creepy even…

After awhile Cold Shoulder returns, moving a few heavy boxes of sweets into the room with his magic before noticing my expression and coming over.

“You okay, Sketch? You’re looking kinda pale,” he asks, sitting down next to me.

“I’ll be fine. Just had something weird happen, that’s all.”

At this, he breaks into a sly grin, “Lemme guess, the Pink Terror strikes again?”

I briefly consider showing him the letter, but decide against it. For some reason my gut’s telling me to never show it to anyone, though I don’t know why.

“Eh, Pinkie’s Pinkie,” I reply nonchalantly, “anyway, you mind if I go home early today? I’m feeling kinda ill.

“Well… yeah sure, alright,” he says cheerfully as I get my things together, “Oh, and Sketch?”

“Yeah?”

“You take care,” he says in that bored, casual tone that suggests he really doesn’t care either way.

“You too,” I smile, responding to his obligatory, meaningless farewell with my own. I admit, as refreshing as it is to be around a pony that isn’t particularly touchy-feely, sometimes I’d like for him to be a little more… well, like the rest. I want to know what that feeling would taste like, coming from him.

***

“Dad, I’m home,” I say, throwing my rucksack to the floor an searching around. He’s not here. Of course he’s not here, he has that… book club, or whatever it was. Some day I’m going to ask him just what the heck he does out there. Could be drinking his troubles away, for all I know…

I spy a note on the fridge as I walk into the kitchen, and casually glance over it.

“Out ‘til midnight. Left you some orange juice. Be good.~Dad”

“Nice try, Dad,” I roll my eyes and toss the empty carton of juice into the bin, Dad’s ‘hilarious’ attempt at revenge for my morning’s prank a total failure as always. Sketch one, Dad; nothing.

I sit at the table and take out the letter from before, scanning it for anything I might have missed, and notice that the handwriting is a perfect copy of my own. Way to go, Pinkie, you’ve reached stalker-levels of obsession here.

For a brief instant, I actually entertain the thought that this is real. That I wrote myself a letter, and that this isn’t some crappy joke. If I did write this thing, then why the heck is Princess Luna’s seal on the back? And what exactly am ‘I’ talking about? I’m not scared or confused… apparently ‘I’ don’t know myself very well at all.

After a few hours, I head upstairs to my bedroom. The walls were painted jet black a few years ago, with red curtains, and the place is plastered over with posters of Deadmane, a band I kinda had a little obsession over for awhile. I’ll admit I’m not as fond of the look as I used to be, but I’ll get around to changing it in time. My Dad was annoyingly supportive of my decision to change it, back when I asked. He only drew the line at a coffin bed, though in hindsight that would have been uncomfortable and stupid. Honestly, a part of me is starting the think the whole room looks stupid, though I’ll never tell him that.

I flop on my bed, and change. I have to admit, as much as my pony form is awesome, it feels good to be my ‘real’ self in the house. I can be as ugly and crazy and weird as I wanna be, and nobody will ever give a shit. It’s awesome.

But as I stare up at the ceiling fan in my room, I have one of those moments. Those stupid little moments of self doubt that buzz around my head like a fly. I wonder about Love. I know what it tastes like, but I’ve never felt it. I can’t.

Big deal, I think, rolling onto my side and staring out the window, the moon staring back a big cold stranger in the sky, I can’t feel it, and I never will. It’s not like it matters, get over it Sketch.

My eyes grow heavy, and I finally bother to close them, letting my thoughts gradually fade into the gentle embrace of the night.

***

In my dreams, I’m one of them.

There’s nothing out here for miles around, just blue skies and endless rolling hills of green. The wind blows strong, and I gallop across it, feeling the wind in my mane.

I’m free. I’m happy. I’m alive.

I’m not some ugly bug living a lie, not here. I’m not bound by the same rules. In my dreams, my heart is full of something I could never understand as a Changeling. Something worth living for.

I can see another in the far distance, as I always do. I can’t make out any features, but I chase them anyway, laughing and smiling as we pass together through shady forests and dusty deserts, through icy peaks and bitter, wind-swept fields.

And all I can think of is that I never want it to end.

Why does it have to end?

Why can’t I remember? Why can’t I-

***

My alarm clock buzzes, and in that instant I decide it is the single most annoying sound in the universe. My glorious dreamscape is fading fast, and I sigh. Trying to hold on to it would be like trying to hold water in my hooves.

I get up, and notice that I forgot to tick off the date on my calendar yesterday. At least, I’m pretty sure I did. Wednesday… guess that means Cold Shoulder will have the new sweets in.

I look into the mirror as I get up and, as always, I feel some confliction in changing my form. I’ve never liked having to hide who I really am from people, but Dad tell me it’s easier this way. For all their kindness and acceptance I’m pretty sure my kind will never be welcome amongst them.

“Sweetie, it’s your turn!” my old man yells from downstairs as I brush my teeth. Wait again? I did it yesterday!

“Like Tartarus it is!” I yell back, spitting into the sink after I rinse my mouth. After having a quick shower I head downstairs, and, and see him wearing that stupid fake moustache and glasses again.

“What do you think?” he says in the exact same way he did yesterday.

“I think you’re going senile, you old fart,” I say, reaching into the fridge and taking out a carton of orange juice, “I already told you what I thought of that tacky thing yesterday.”

He stops smiling, giving me a confused frown, “What do you mean? I bought these this morning, thought I’d surprise you with them.”

I chuckle and roll my eyes, “Sure you did, Dad. I swear, your jokes get crappier by the day.”

“No really, I-“ he pauses for a moment, as if suddenly realizing the score, “oh, I see what’s going on here.”

“Oh really?” I ask, drinking the orange juice straight from the carton again.

“You’re trying one of your weird, overly-elaborate mind games on me,” he says. Oh Dad, when will you learn that I’d never play mind games with you. You’d need a mind for one of those to work.

“Sure, right, whatever,” I say, chucking the empty carton into the bin and grabbing my coat.

“Where do you think you’re going? It’s your turn to take out the garbage,” he tells me. As weirded out as he was a moment ago, Dad would sooner be dragged to the depths of Tartarus than let me forget when it’s my turn to take out the garbage.

“Dad, I took out the garbage yesterday,” I say, shooting him a withering look, “and besides, the garbage men won’t be coming back around ‘til next Tuesday. When it won’t be my turn,” I add firmly.

“…Sketch, Tuesday’s today,” he tells me.

“No, but I…” I begin, but then decide it’ll be faster to just take out the damn trash and be done with it.

As I take the garbage sack to the curb, I wonder for a moment if yesterday wasn’t all just some weird lucid dream. It’s certainly possible. My brain’s as fuzzy today as it was yesterday, as though I’ve barely slept, but that can’t be right… I went to bed at eight thirty, since there was so little to do without Dad around to annoy and nothing on TV either.

Whatever. I need to head to work anyway, maybe Cold Shoulder’s trademark world-weary attitude will cheer me up.

***

When I arrive at the store, I hear the familiar jingle of the bell as I pass through and smile. It’s such a cheerful little noise, like a little greeting from the place. Well hello to you too, little guy.

I can hear Cold Shoulder rustling around in the back room again, as he always does in the mornings. After a few minutes he walks back inside, pushing another big box of candy to the front desk.

“Morning Sketch,” he says in the exact same way as yesterday, ““You mind taking stock of what we brought in?”

“Sure,” I say, slicing open the box and looking inside. After a few minutes I frown, noticing we have the exact same sweets as yesterday.

“Darn, looks like we double-ordered,” I say, pushing the box back towards him. It’s no big deal, this sorta thing happens from time to time.

“Really?” he asks, inspecting the contents with confusion, “Because I took stock of our inventory yesterday, and we were definitely running low on all of these,” he says.

Wow. Guess yesterday really was just a dream… I need to get more sleep, I think to myself as I shrug.

“Er… I think we need pink sherbet, marzipan and jawbreakers,” I say, not sure if I’m right but curious nonetheless.

After a few minutes he checks the shelves and returns, grinning.

“Wow, nice guess! You’re really getting into the swing of things, huh?” he says with unusual enthusiasm. I don’t think he’s complimented me before, either. For a moment I get a taste of something wonderful, but it leaves almost immediately.

“Yeah, guess I must be psychic or something,” I chuckle nervously. I have to admit, this is getting just a little weird.

“Right, I’m off to see Maple Syrup,” he says, “you handle the customers.”

I sigh and nod, the fog in my head slowly beginning to dissipate.

***

With each passing minute, I grow a little more tense. Every customer is exactly the same as I remember from my dream, and each says the same things, asks for the same products. The tall one forgets his change. The fat one makes an off- colour joke and then immediately apologizes. The old guy asks for directions over and over until a younger mare takes him away, apologizing profusely.

All exactly the same.

At long last, the Pink Terror trots through the door, merrily as always.

“What’s up, Sketch?” she asks, giving me a confused look.

Oh Pinkie Pie, I could almost kiss you, I think to myself, beaming up at her. Trust the most random pony in the town to be unpredictable no matter what.

“Hey Pinkie,” I begin, “I’ve just had the weirdest day.”

I expect a sympathetic ear, or at least for her to ask me what I’m talking about. Perhaps one of her weird, rambly anecdotes about the time she had a weird day- those are always fun to hear- but no. Instead, Pinkie decides to be Pinkie.

“Well duh!” she smiles happily, “Of course you did! You got the letter. You’re waking up.”

Suddenly it’s as if I had been standing under a snow-covered tree all day, and this strange pink mare had just kicked it, sending all the fears I had been able to shake off until now straight onto my back, chills running along my spine.

“W…w…what are you talking about, Pinkie Pie?” I ask. I hope this isn’t one of her jokes, because it isn’t funny.

She gives me an innocent frown, almost seeming hurt that I’d forgotten.

“Don’t you remember? I gave you a letter today.”

“Pinkie, you gave me a letter yesterday,” I correct her.

“Nope! I gave you that letter today, but it wasn’t the today that’s today, it was the today that was yesterday but still today! Or wait, was it the tomorrow that came before…?”

I grit my teeth and breath slowly, trying to remain calm. When I finally speak, I do so slowly, as if talking to a child.

“Pinkie Pie, you gave that letter to me on Tuesday,” I say, putting careful emphasis on the day.

“Yeah, I did. But it’s Tuesday now too, silly!” she giggles.

“It can’t be Tuesday again today,” I snarl, “time doesn’t work like that.”

“Well yeah but-“ she freezes, her eyes widening like they did yesterday. She grabs her bag of sweets from the counter, throws a sack of bits at the wall and runs.

`“Pinkie, come back!” I yell angrily at the mare, no more answers than before. I sigh, and decide to head home before Cold Shoulder comes back. I can’t deal with him right now. Only one thing is certain.

Something is very wrong.

Comments

[The Orange Nebula]

Tommorow....... Nice job there.

[Post Script]

5184839 What do you mea-

...

Well, I'm an idiot.

[Post Script]

5184973 All shall be revealed... once the site stops dying constantly.

[meepify]

5184979 your name is related to a game by elephant games, in which tomorrow never comes. Lost city post scriptum or something. Did you do that on purpose?

[Post Script]

5185106 I'm afraid not, I'm nowhere near that smart!

[meepify]

5185116

[Some random Rapidash]

What the actual fucking fuck is going fucking on here?!?!

[Post Script]

5185142 Like I said, I plan on releasing more chapters once the site is stable. Sorry to keep you in suspense, but I'll have another chapter written by the end of the weekend. Hopefully the site will be fully back to normal.