Wind

The Insistent ringing of the alarm echoed through the flat, breaking the veil of silence.

Sunlight was streaming in through the vermilion curtains, baking the worn-out leather on the couch. A chocolate wrapper dotted the dingy grey carpet here and there, and that special house smell we all know was stronger than usual.

In the tiny bedroom, a delicate hoof touched the "snooze" button. Eyes closed, and seemed to immediately reopen. "Ten minutes already?" thought the half asleep lump.

The creature let loose a gentle sigh.

Measure hit the "off" button and sat up slowly.

For Measure, morning was one of the worst times to think.

Everything bad about his day that he knew was inevitable seemed worse when the pony thought about it in the morning. The tasks to complete and places to go flooded his mind until he wanted nothing more than to sink farther into the mattress.

He often wondered if this kind of thinking was normal; he had never asked anypony. It certainly wasn't harmful, per say, but that was why he tried not to think at all.

Surprisingly enough, it usually worked.

Out of bed. Open curtains. Shield eyes. Bathroom, toilet, mirror.

Measure believed you could tell a lot about the type of day you were going to have by how you looked in the morning. Something about the curve of your mane or if one of your eyes was still half closed. He stared at the disheveled face in front of him.

Measure was a blue-green earth pony with a dark, dirty blond mane that he always combed neatly, but never too neatly. His cutie mark was a plain-looking screwdriver. When it had appeared (rather late too), he had pondered what this could possibly symbolize.

He was, in fact, very analytical, somewhat introverted, and unnaturally good at reading and drawing maps; unique traits, but not that corresponded to the image in question.

However, contrary to the mark, he was not at all adept at repairing anything with screws, much less any object at all.

Blame it on fate.

He was also better at figuring things out slow and logically than making a decision on the spot. But Measure had discovered long ago that cutie marks were almost never direct in their meaning.

Measure grumbled something to himself about an image on your flank controlling your life as he trudged out of the tiny room.

Kitchen, fridge, milk, food.

By this time, Measure was usually awake enough to take on the day. Not that he had that much to worry about in the first place; Measure loved his job. In fact, it was his dream job: Data and record handling at the local clinic. It was just so simple, yet enjoyable for him. It didn't require any creativity or imagination, just plain old concentration and patience. Nothing changed except the names and numbers. Same process, no surprises, and decent pay as well.

Measure was oftentimes happily skeptical as to how he had achieved his career goal so easily. Of course, a job like this was anything except uncommon, but he had been used to condescending parent-talk of how he would have to work hard to get the life he wanted. But, one newspaper clipping later, he was hired into the perfect "behind the scenes" job where he wouldn't have to argue with angry ponies all day; Measure had never been the social type.

He was quite capable of it, but oftentimes he saw no need for it.

For example, If a random pony on the street called hello, he would simply mutter a hushed greeting or half-raise a hoof. He found it annoying if somepony simply said hello with no other purpose in mind. Measure wasn't unfriendly, but he often seemed it since he was the type to not speak unless spoken to.

He was deep in thought when he realized he had his elbow in his cereal.

Measure tossed his bowl scornfully into the sink, put on his scarf ("Stallions can wear them too" he grumbled), and pushed himself outside, locking the door tightly behind him.

"At least Celestia is in a good mood", he thought optimistically, as he scanned the benign morning setting before him.

The grass was glistening with just the right amount of dew, and Celestia's golden rays made the thatched hay on the roofs of the other buildings glow.

There weren't many ponies about on his street, as they would all be in the market until late morning, shopping themselves dry.

He chuckled at the thought as he shuffled silently down the weathered steps of his flat and went on his way. But once again, his ever-questioning mind would not cease to pressure him.

He criticized his methods and constantly morphing personality. Why was he bitter and cold one moment and the next, all smiles? Why was he so plainly discontented with everything around him? Why didn't he find himself a special somepony and... no. Not today. "It's much too early for such things", he scolded himself. He had all he needed, right? A stable job, a roof over his head, and a quiet town to accompany it.

Maybe if he tried... what? Oh, yes, hello to you too Cheerilee. Why yes, he had heard about the hoedown at the Apple Farm next Friday. Maybe so, maybe not. Yes, you too, goodbye for now.

"Where was I?" he muttered, earning a couple of glances. "Right. Attitudes". The pony's brow was furrowed as he walked steadily through the bustling marketplace.

Measure had reached the clinic. It wasn't the worst place to work, situated near the edge of town in a quiet neighborhood where ponies didn't bother you if you didn't bother them.

The building was coated with white stucco, was relatively small and had only three stories, since it was just a county-wide clinic.

A bland sign was stuck into the ground in the front garden that read in blue letters on a white background: "Township of Ponyville Medical Clinic. Family run for 34 years."

The "3" was sagging slightly, as if it had been there for far too long.

Measure pushed open the door and entered the small lobby/waiting room.

It wasn't busy this time of morning, and only one doctor on duty, most likely already swamped with the morning routines.

In the lobby, there was only an exhausted-looking Berry Punch in a chair with her foal beside her, who was coughing unrelentingly. Measure gave them a wide berth.

"Morning, Red" he said neutrally to the mare at the counter as he sauntered in.

Nurse Redheart, with her perfectly straight nurse's cap and orderly but kind manner, gave him a knowing nod in reply and went back to filing.

Five years, Measure thought.

"Five years in this place, and I've barely talked to her besides some small chats about the news or where the extra staples are..."

"Pathetic."

"Hell, I barely even see the other employees..." he thought worriedly.

"Staying in that office all day, they must think I'm a cold-hearted jerk."

"Too cautious, that's what I am". The pony shook his head in an attempt to wash away the irksome thoughts.

Indeed, Measure was extremely careful about the types of ponies he associated himself with, due to certain experiences that he didn't much care to remember.

Of course, there wasn't anything wrong with Redheart, or for hardly anypony in town for that matter, but he made a silent pact to get to know her better... and immediately forgot about it.

Measure entered his humbly sized office and flicked on the light. On the distracting hardwood walls were a few cheap paintings that had already been in the office when it had been assigned to him, the kind that are just warm colors splashed onto a 30x30 canvas. A single, sad-looking "Employee of the Month" award from two years ago hung as well.

There were no personal pictures on his desk, only the usual office supplies in a neat row, and a small tin of peppermints that hadn't been touched. Measure opened the drapes only an inch, since his office faced the east and the sun wouldn't be gone until  around noon. He sat down at his desk and tried to fill in the infinitely small lines of some patient's dismissal papers with respectable mouthwriting, but it happened.

That one tiny thought in the smallest crevice of his brain that just wouldn't leave him alone. You see, Measure had a dream of sorts. But not just any dream, it was the worst kind; an impossible daydream that kept telling him it was possible. It distracted him, poked and prodded his sensitive nerves, taunted him, and then came back for more. He had promised himself not to let it in but...

"Buck."

Measure put down his fountain pen, pushed the mound of papers aside, and gave a long sigh.

It was going to be one of those days.