To Sleep, Or To Wake?

“Spike!” called out Twilight, her voice travelling up the stairs faster than she descended.

A lengthy, displeased groan came from a basket that sat at the foot of Twilight’s bed, and the bump under the thin sheet shifted. Rubbing his eyes with a clenched claw, Spike yawned and curled up into a ball, wrapping his tail around his legs and caressing it with his leftover arm. His thoughts were still in disarray, but no matter how reluctant he was, he couldn’t stop them from arranging themselves. He was already awake, and as such he had no say in how messy his mind would be.

But was fully awake? Sure, his conscious thoughts had come back to him, and his senses were gradually tuning in to the world around him, but he was still in his bed. How do you even qualify whether or not someone is fully awake to begin with? Do they have to be able to move around freely? If so then are paralysed ponies, “forever asleep?” Does being awake mean that you have to be able to think, talk and perform the menial, basic tasks that anyone should be able to pull off? Then what about animals that can’t relate to ponies or dragons in any way? Illiterate animals with no external limbs with which to move, are they not awake because they don’t fit within our standards?

Sighing, Spike slid his claws underneath his drool-drenched pillow and curled it up so that it blocked his ears. Sadly, it didn’t silence his thoughts and he could still hear the mumbles, whispers and questions circling through his head non-stop. Finally opening his eyes, he saw nothing but the orange tinge that seeped through his incredibly thin sheet, no doubt originating from the sun outside Twilight’s window. It’s summer, and sadly that means there’s less time to enjoy sleeping before you, “wake up.”

Even if he was awake, there was nothing that prevented Spike from going back to sleep. Twilight may have just yelled his name from downstairs, but he could always play the fool and pretend he didn’t hear her whilst he drifts off back to sleep for those precious moments before Twilight comes in and drags him out of his basket. However, he had his doubts as to whether or not that could even qualify as sleep. Even if it did, it wouldn’t be satisfying; it would just tease him by giving him a second taste of what he’s missing out on in the world of awareness and conscious thought.

There wasn’t even anything for him in that world. What would he do with his day when he woke up? It’s a Monday, so he’s just going to have to buy groceries, reorganise the library for the umpteenth time and follow Twilight’s every demand, like a puppy obeying its owner. It’s not that he didn’t enjoy being in Twilight’s company, because he did like that to an extent, but he just hated having to do all that work. To make matters worse, Princess Celestia would sometimes send a letter that he would then have to cough up -- because for some reason, royalty hates the post office. On days where there were more than a few letters, his stomach would start to scold him and punish him, much like how it did when Princess Celestia sent all those letters during the Discord incident.

It wasn’t just the work that awaited him though, there was the fatigue that pounced on him whenever he started to climb that ladder to reach the higher shelves, and there was also the lethargy that he’d have to overcome throughout the entire day. That very same lethargy was what prevented him from peeling away the dyed sheet and exposing himself to fresh air that didn’t smell like the inside of his mouth. Fresh air wasn’t enough though, and he wasn’t ready to leave his basket for a few mouthfuls of nothing.

On the other hand, there are drawbacks to spending the entire day in bed, as Spike is already very well aware of. He had once spent over eighteen hours in bed because Twilight wasn’t there and so there was no one to order him around. Seizing the opportunity, he slept and slept, realising finally why no one slept for that long and woke up happy. His back ached, his legs were numb and his cheek was irritated, probably because it had spent a considerable amount of time swimming in his drool. On top of that, there was the growing inability to maintain sleep for more than a few minutes. In the end, he was wide awake under his sheet just waiting for the night to come, hoping that it would make him fall asleep again.

Thinking about it, Spike realised that sleeping too long didn’t have that many drawbacks, and a grin crawled across his face as he contemplated what it would be like to have his own little marathon in his basket again. “Spike’s Second Annual Snore-Off,” just thinking about the name made him giddy and excited, but then he noticed a big problem. His stash of turquoises was downstairs in the store room of Golden Oaks Library, and if his stomach were to growl with hunger, he’d have no way of satisfying it. Spike’s stomach was capable of causing pains that Spike never thought were possible, and he knew that it wasn’t a good idea to make it angry.

On one hand, there was the work that had to be done which would no doubt leave him in an exasperated heap on the floor, but on the other hand there was a very good chance of aches all over his body, as well as the sensation of starving. Pursing his lips, Spike wondered what he should do, now that he realised they both seemed equally bad. Sighing, he shook his head and slapped his claws onto his face.

On the bright side though, if he were to get out of his basket and get his work done quickly, he’d have some time to himself. He’d be able to wander around Ponyville and see the sights again, or he could drop by Sugarcube Corner to buy a cupcake or two. In fact, he could do a lot of things that he never had a chance to do. Then again, why is it that he never had a chance to do those things? Isn’t it because he’s always so worn out by the work he has to do in the earlier hours of the day that he loses all his energy and effectively becomes a potato, unable to move and reluctant to be rolled around due to its non-uniform shape?

That thought seems dreadful in comparison to the dreams he’d experience should he choose to spend as much time as he can sleeping. Every dream is special and although there are rare times where dreams are continued, it’s still not the same dream because it doesn’t have the same beginning. On top of that, dreams are something that can never be shared. No one in the rest of the world will ever have the same dream as Spike, and only he would know what he dreamed about. That is unless, it’s been more than ten minutes since he woke up. They also let him escape from the real world, showing him a world without limitations, one so surreal that drinking coffee out of a mug made from water is the norm. The best thing about dreams, and possibly the worst, is that when you have a dream and you wake up, you start to forget all about that dream as if it never really happened, leaving you only the most vibrant and thought-provoking scenes from the private movie that you watched in your sleep. It doesn’t waste your memory and it lets you keep the important frames without having to remember the mundane, realistic parts of your dream.

Dreams almost definitely seemed better than reality, but isn’t that just another problem? Reality can’t compare to the images that we imagine and dream about, but isn’t that because they are impossible structures and feats that have almost no foundation in the physical world that obeys a certain set of rules? Dreams just show you what you want, only to let you realise later on that what you want is impossible and you’re wasting your time thinking about it. Dreams seem great when you’re having them, but deep down they’re just sadistic predators, waiting for their gullible prey to come close enough to them so that they can fill your head with wonderful, life-changing lies and contrariety.

The decision became even harder, but in a way, Spike’s inability to decide with path he should take forced him to go one way. The longer he thought about it, the more time he spent lying in his bed, meaning it would only be a matter of time before his eyes started to blur and his thoughts started to scatter as they welcomed another cruel yet alluring dream. As Spike maintained his gaze at the sheets that covered his face, he noticed that it got slightly brighter as time passed. The sun was probably completely over the horizon now, and everyone else in Ponyville was hard at work.

“Spike!” cried Twilight again, loud enough to shake the windows.

“What?” moaned Spike, slamming his claws against his ears. In an instant he sat up and gravity pulled his sheet away from his face, revealing him to the gentle sun. Squinting, he turned away from it and yawned, rubbing his sore forehead. He was out of time and Twilight was going to make his decision for him. With a frown and a sigh, Spike started to climb out of the small basket, wondering if it was possible to be reunited with his beloved before Luna’s night came.

“I just wanted to tell you that I have to go to Canterlot for today,” continued Twilight, opening the front door. “Make sure you remember to put the books on the desk downstairs away, and remember to buy some apples! I've left some money on the table, and there's a bowl of turquoises next to it! Don't forget to lock the front door behind you!”

At first his face was blank, and then confusion set in. After hearing the click of the entrance however, an enormous grin appeared and his expression went from bemusement to ecstatic elation. Without wasting a single moment, Spike jumped back into his basket and pulled the sheet over his head again. Turning the pillow over so that the cooler, fresher side was on top, he shut his eyes and stretched his smile as he waited for the dreams that sleep promised him.

Dreams may fill his head with wild thoughts that have no real grounding, but he doesn’t dream for the ideas that he might have. Spike dreams for the shock and awe of seeing the impossible right before his very eyes. Laughing silently, Spike tried his best to settle down and drift off, and he started to experience the initial stages of sleep again. His mind started to wander, his hearing faded slowly and he could see the flashes of lights in his head. Spike knew he was in for an entire day’s worth of excitement, and he wouldn’t even have to move an inch from where he was. Of course, he might feel a slight amount of pain afterwards, but surely that’s a small price to pay to see the unexplainable and the impossible unfolding before your very eyes, for you and only you.

Spike was determined to have the time of his life in his sleep, in his dream and in his basket, and he thought that nothing was going to stop him. His bladder on the other hand, had different plans