Tomorrow Never Comes

by Post Script

Rating: teen
Tags: Sad, Princess Luna, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Adventure, Pinkie Pie, Tragedy, Twilight Sparkle
Length: 10558

A young mare with a dark secret learns of something that will shatter her world forever- she is stuck, destined to repeat the same day for all eternity.

Ectha Sketch has a decent life; a steady job, a friend she can confide in, and a father that- bad jokes aside- is a pretty decent guy. Things may not always go well for her, but there's always tomorrow, right?
Except there isn't. For Etcha Sketch, the date will always be Tuesday 8th April... tomorrow never comes.

Published 2014-10-25 15:00:03 UTC
Last updated 2014-11-12 19:13:16 UTC

A Fateful Letter

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!”

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.

Inevitable as the Tides

Great. Pinkie’s gone, and now I have no more answers than before, though at least she didn’t give me the letter this time. That’s got to mean that things are getting back to normal, right? Or at least whatever passes for normal in Ponyville.

I try to stack the shelves, putting up a few jars of sweets, but it’s no good. My mind is elsewhere, and before I know it one of the jars falls to the ground, shattering. Worst still, it’s the strawberry laces. Why can’t it ever be the peppermint twists? I swear those things have been here for longer than time itself.

I take in a deep breath before using a brush and dustpan to scoop the broken glass and laces up and dump them into the trash. I can only dread to imagine Cold Shoulder’s reaction to knowing he can’t have his fix—he’ll be upset about this for minutes.

After the mess is dealt with I decide to head home early. I have a pounding headache, and I’m in no mood to deal with any more customers. I set the sign on the front door to ‘Closed’ and head outside, feeling the sun’s warmth on my skin at last.

It’s gonna sound really stupid, but a part of me likes living in this place. There’s more love than I can handle, for one – an hour in Sugarcube Corner is practically an all-you-can-eat-buffet – and people are more independent here than at the Hives. At least, Dad tellsme that’s the case. We left very shortly after I was born, and I have no memory of the place.

When I finally reach home I head upstairs. Dad’s not here, but I expect that much. I head for my bedroom and search for the letter. With every passing minute, every place I search, I feel a bit more relief. It doesn’t exist – it was just a figment of my imagination.

Pinkie… well, Pinkie was probably just being Pinkie. Half the time I have no idea what she’s talking about, so it’s hardly a stretch for this to just be one of those moments, right?

Yeah. This is just like all those other times. I’ll just fall asleep, and tomorrow will be another day.

I try lying out on the bed and staring at the ceiling, but there’s a nagging feeling in the back of my head, a creeping doubt that crawls around my stomach like a spider. After all, if I’m not experiencing the same day over and over but think I am, that might mean I’ve gone crazy.

Do people that have gone nuts realize they’ve lost their minds? Or do they just assume they’re the ones that are sane, and that everyone else are the crazy ones? The question floats around my brain, refusing to leave. I know what I have to do.

I pull the directory book in the closet out and flip through for a therapist, in the hopes that Ponyville has one of those. I mean, even these happy little fuckers get depressed sometimes, right?

I don’t care about the stigma, either. I just want to stop feeling like this week is going to last forever, even if it means pouring my heart out to a stranger. After a few minutes I’m about to give up when I spy a small advert I had missed.

Mind Mender

Therapist

26 Coltstone Way

Oh thank god. Now maybe I can finally get over whatever weird, trippy little experience this has been.

I look at the clock on the wall and sigh –it’s only three, and I’m not going to go back to work, so I decide to head to this guy instead. Even if I have to book a time in advance, at least I’ll have someone to talk to. I place my piggybank on the table, and for a moment I hesitate. It’s one of the few pretty things I keep in my room, shaped like a pegasus dancing on a cloud. Up until now, it’s been the last memento of a time since before I decided life was dark and grim and pointless (something I’m not even sure of anymore).

I sigh, bite my lip and take a hammer to it, my savings spilled forth as the porcelain shards fall to the floor. I hope this wasn’t sacrificed in vain.

***

The therapist’s office is nothing like I expected it to be—it’s far emptier, for one… I guess I was wrong, most ponies don’t use this guy. A bored-looking receptionist files her hooves, apparently having not even noticed me walk in.

“Er, excuse me, but would it be possible to see Mind Mender? I can book an appointment if he’s too busy.”

“No, that’s fine,” she says, not even bothering to look up at me, “he’ll see you now.”

“I… wait, what? Shouldn’t I at least have to wait a few days?”

At last, she raises her eyes to meet mine, and I almost have to look away. She’s given me a look like I just woke her up from hibernation, the sort of contempt in her gaze that even I could only hope to muster. She turns to the door on her right and yells, “Mind Mender, you got a client!”

After a moment I hear a deep, intellectual voice from the room, the tone clinical and compassionless, and I almost jump. I was expecting his voice to be nasal and grimy, not commanding.

“Come in,” he says, and after a moment I cautiously enter his office.

The room is… well, it’s what I expected it to be. A number of shelves on the walls, full of books I probably couldn’t read if I wanted to, and a whole wall covered in certificates and newspaper clips. The only things of interest are the clocks.

This guy must have an obsession, because there are about twenty of the damn things from what I can count, maybe more. All ticking in perfect unison, so much so that the noise would be unbearable if it wasn’t so quiet.

And sitting at a desk is a tall stallion with broad shoulders and a heavy, muscular build. I’m not one to usually describe a pony like this, but he’s an impressive figure. He seems to be staring at a gold pocket watch, frowning. After a moment he looks up at me, flipping the pocketwatch shut and pointing towards a couch.

“Sit, child. Tell me what ails you,” he says, his tone comforting yet without warmth.

“Before we start, this is all the money I have,” I tell him, putting roughly two hundred bits on the desk. He gives me a look like I’ve just tried paying him with birdseed.

“I care nothing for the money, my payment is in the recovery of my clients,” he remarks coldly, pushing most of the bits back towards me, “and I can tell you are quite desperate. Tell me what is on your mind.”

I lean back on the leather sofa and stare up at the ceiling for a moment, trying to find the words. I hope he doesn’t tell Dad about this…

“Well, I feel like I’ve been living today over and over again.”

“Oh? So you do not feel you are progressing as an individual? That is quite common for someone of your age.”

“No, I mean literally. I… the last couple days it’s felt as though it’s always been Tuesday. I wake up, my dad calls me downstairs and I go to work, but everything’s the same.

“I see… tell me child, what do you think it means?” he asks me.

I scrunch up my face at the question. What does it mean? How the fuck am I supposed to know that?

“I… I don’t know,” I manage at last, “but I’m scared it’ll happen again tonight.”

Mind Mender leans forward, tenting his hooves, “Child—excuse me, what is your name?”

“Ectha Sketch.”

“Miss Sketch, have you ever considered that you want to be stuck? That perhaps being trapped in this moment means never having to move forward, to grow up? You are a child teetering on the edge of adulthood, about to face the challenges, opportunities and burdens that will bring. Perhaps if you feel you will never age beyond this point, you have an excuse to stay a child...”

In an instant the dam bursts, and I stand up, all the fear and anger I’d been bottling up since this all started bursting forth.

“Excuse me? You think I want to be stuck like this? That I’m such a scared little kid that I’d sooner reject reality than try to keep going? Who the fuck are you to tell me that I wanted this? I’m scared, and alone, and… and…”

I bury my head in my hooves, weeping openly. I don’t even feel ashamed, I’m just so upset, the relief of being able to talk to someone about this almost palpable.

Mind Mender never takes his eyes off of me for an instant, listening intently as I speak. I have to admit, this guy’s a pro. I’m getting no more love from him than I do from Cold Shoulder, and that’s saying something.

“Miss Sketch, I apologize for upsetting you. However, you need to understand that forcing clients to confront reality is a large part of my occupation. It was never intended as a personal attack.”

I dry my eyes, my cheeks burning with embarrassment all of a sudden. Even if it’s his job, I just poured my heart out to a perfect stranger. I sit up after a few minutes and finally gain the courage to look him in the eye once more.

“I… alright, can you do me a favour, just for a moment? I’d like you consider that maybe I am caught in a time loop. If so, what should I do?”

Mind Mender takes off his spectacles, staring straight into my eyes, unsmiling.

“Time is a precious thing. Like water, it flows in every direction, an infinite sea of possibilities forever lost with each passing second as the timeline weaves itself, only for a fresh sea of potential to take it’s place. The ebbing and flowing of the tides,” he says with some fondness in his voice for once, “To be denied tomorrow would be a curse and a gift, for you alone would bear witness to a glimpse of eternity.”

“What if I don’t want eternity? What if I just want a normal life again?”

Mind Mender sighs, shaking his head, “I do not know. Perhaps in such a scenario there would be an answer, perhaps not. I only wish I could offer you more than that.”

“…Alright,” I shrug, defeated “but before I go, I’d like to know one last thing, if I may.”

“Of course.”

“Do you believe me?”

Mind Mender swivels in his chair, facing the window, the last few orange rays of the sunset streaming through the blinds. After a few minutes I realize he has nothing left to say to me, and I leave. I have no idea what I managed to accomplish today, but at least he gave me some food for thought.

***

When I get home I notice there’s no note on the fridge about the orange juice, which makes sense since I just chucked the carton away today rather than leaving it in the fridge. I head upstairs and fling my rucksack into the corner of the room, noting it making a heavy thud as it hits the wall.

After a minute, I walk over to it and look inside, noticing my journal’s in there. I forgot I like to keep it close by me at all times. I sigh and smile—this thing’s been my best friend for as long as I can remember, my most trusted confidant and oh my god that is so pathetic I could cry.

I decide to open her up and write down the event’s of the day, but as I do so something catches my eye—the date of yesterday’s piece.

Tuesday 7th April.

Dear Diary, today—

I feel a sliver of ice slip down my spine, and I begin to manically flip back through the previous pages, my heart pounding in my chest.

Tuesday 7th April.

Tuesday 7th April.

Tuesday 7th April…

It never ends, it never stops.

Oh.

Oh my God.

Under the Stars

This isn’t possible… this is a bad dream, that’s all. This is a bad dream and soon I’ll wake up and everything will be back to normal and oh god.

I drop the diary to the floor as if it were a hot potato, and stare at it for a few minutes as though it was the most terrifying thing in the universe. When I finally summon up the nerve to flip through it again, I read every page, from the beginning.

Every entry is identical.

Tuesday 7th April

Dear Diary, today I visited Cold Shoulder, argued with dad, did the usual. I have to admit, for as much as I enjoy living here sometimes it feels as though every day I’m doing the same old thing. I want something new, something exciting in my life right now it feels like tomorrow will never come.

I can feel the tears burning down my cheeks as I read, every words a little harder than the last. By the end, I’m trudging through a swamp, every step heavier than the last. When I close the damn thing, I feel so sick, so sad.

Why is this happening to me?

It’s late. Almost midnight, even. My head is pounding and I’m so scared, I can’t even cry anymore. I just get into bed, pull the sheets over my head and whimper softly, cocooned in a warm, dark embrace. I don’t know when I fall asleep… but I’m sure the alarm clock will greet me in the morning.

***

This dream… it’s wrong. It’s the same as before, but it’s wrong.

There’s a thing following me. I don’t dare turn my head to feel it, but I know it’s there. I can feel it. I can hear its footsteps, however distant. When I walk, it walks. When I stop, it stops.

When I run, it runs.

I head through the same comforting places as before. The green, rolling hills, the desert, even the surface of the ocean, the cold salt air in my lungs as I run.

But even though the sun is shining, and I feel alive, everything is wrong. Because there’s a monster on my tail, and I don’t know what it wants.

***

I hear the alarm clock, and decide to ignore it. I’m still sleepy. I don’t care what day it is. The house could be on fire and I wouldn’t give a shit right now.

I rest, until the gentle embrace of my bed starts to feel uncomfortable. Dad calls me a few times, but I can’t be bothered. If time itself isn’t going to get off it’s lazy butt, why should I?

Gradually, my breathing slows, the frantic chorus of thoughts in my head becoming a mere handful. I close my eyes. Focus my breathing, and calm myself. Thank god I used to practice yoga frequently a few years back, or I’d have been a wreck for goodness-knows how long. I breathe, and every intake of air brings me a little closer to normality- as close as I can get, at least.

After an hour I hear Dad come thundering up the stairs, and he knocks on my door.

“Sketch? You’re going to be late for work,” he says calmly, but there’s a hint of frustration in his voice.

“Fuck off.”

He pauses for a moment. I can almost hear him changing gears in his head, as he always does when I’m not cooperating.

“Young lady, you will not speak to me that way. I am your father, and you will open this door at once,” he says. Aww, isn’t that cute, he thinks he can intimidate me.

“Whatever, Dad. Why don’t you go fuck yourself? I’m sure there’s another guy like you in town, donkey’s aren’t that rare.”

“Why, you-“ he says. He bucks the door a few times, and for a moment I’m scared he’ll actually break it in. Thankfully, he curses at me instead, heads downstairs and slams the front door, going to wherever the heck it is he works. Well, that’s him out of my hair for the day.

Hmm… I guess ‘day’ isn’t the right words anymore, is it? No. I’ll need to think of a new word for the passing of time… ‘cycle’? Yeah, that should do it.

I sit down at my desk and write up a plan of action. First, I should try discovering the limits of this time looping business. I need to figure out what’s causing it, if it can be broken, stuff like that. But before I do, I want to play around a little first.

Right. I’ve got a bucket list all written up and ready to go:

· Get to know Cold Shoulder better

· Use my knowledge of the timeline to mess with Dad

· Find out what Dad’s job is, and why he’s out so late (Drinking? Gambling?)

· Get Pinkie Pie to tell me what she knows

· Fix this

I sigh, leaning back in my chair. Granted, I’ll need to rewrite this list every cycle, but that’s just how it is. Heheh, I can’t believe it took this much to get me to start organizing my life.

After all, if this thing never ends, I can try stuff I’d never think of trying otherwise. I could ask Cold Shoulder about his past, something I’ve wanted to do for ages. I could prank Dad, I could…

I could live forever.

The idea is an interesting one, that’s for sure. Eternal life, at the cost of never really moving forward… I can’t say I’d have chosen this, but-

“Hey Sketch, you there?” A voice calls from outside.

Oh thank god, it’s Cold Shoulder. I head to the window and smile down at him, and for once he returns the gesture.

“You there, colt, tell me what day is it?” I say in my best attempt at an old stallion’s voice. He gives me a confused glance for a moment before he recognizes what I’m going for and grins.

“To-day?” he responds in a horrible attempt at a chimney sweep’s accent, “Why, tis’ Hearth’s Warming Eve.” he says, bowing.

Yeah, we’re weird, I know.

“Seriously though, it’s Tuesday. What’s the matter, you sick or something?”

“Kinda,” I say casually, searching through my mind for a lie that’ll stick, “Hey Cold. you mind if we have a ‘Break Day’ again?”

He smiles at me, understanding instantly. Every so often when he or I aren’t feeling up to it, he’ll close up shop for the day and we’ll go somewhere to relax, just chill out and talk. I normally feel bad for costing him a whole day’s worth of business from it, but it hardly seems to matter now. I just want to get to know him a little better… after all why not? It’s not like I’ll have to worry about it tomorrow.

“You sure your old man won’t mind?” I dare to ask him, as if the question won’t bring out the worst in him like it always does.

“My old man can go jump off Canterlot Castle,” he says bitterly, turning away in disgust, “It’s practically my store anyway. He only cares about the profits, that’s all he ever cares about.”

I decide not to press the matter, and instead think of where to go… the beach, maybe?

“You wanna go to The Everfree Forest?” I ask fearlessly.

“You… erm, sure,” he responds, snapping out of his anger at the mere mention of the place. Even Cold Shoulder is a little afraid of that forest, it seems all ponies are.

“Great! Pack up some food and a tent, we’ll be staying the whole night.”

“...Sketch, that place isn’t safe at night,” he warns me.

I laugh, pleased that I can mess with him for once. I’ll admit that being like this will have it’s advantages, even if ultimately I’m looking for a way to fix it.

“Oh c’mon, it’s gotta be better than dealing with your Dad when he gets home,” I respond.

He gives me that little eye twitch that let’s me know when I’ve pushed him just a little too far, “Sketch, drop it. We’ll head to the forest, whatever, sure.”

He turns and heads back to his place, and I grab everything I can from the closet that we’ll need to go camping. I know I should really be looking for a way to fix this, but right now I have an opportunity to ask him questions I might never have again. Questions that have been eating away at me forever.

As I stuff whatever supplies I can fit into my rucksack, I notice a little black book full of names drop from the shelf nearby. I sift through it for a moment and notice it’s full of names and addresses I don’t recognize… I’ll have to ask Dad about it sometime.

Right now, it’s getting dark, and I need a chance to talk to Cold Shoulder.

***

As we sit by the crackling campfire, our tents poorly assembled and our belly’s groaning, I stare at Cold Shoulder and smile.

“We really should have brought real food, yknow,” he mutter as we finish the last of the marshmallows, “why the heck didn’t you bring anything?”

“Well, I er…” I begin, struggling to find the words. What do I tell him? What excuse would work? If I’m just gonna relive today, do I even need an excuse?

“I forgot,” I state quietly. Sometimes the simple lies really are the best.

“Well at least you remembered the tent,” he concedes, stoking the campfire with a branch, “so you mind telling me why you needed a Break Day today?”

“I just… I was feeling really stressed, y’know? Trapped. Like the whole world was against me.”

Maybe it is, I think sadly.

“So you took us to camp out in the scariest place in Equestria?” he chuckles, “I gotta admit Sketch, you are one of a kind,” he says. I swear I can taste that wonderful something on my tongue again for a moment, but it leaves just as quickly as it did the first time.

After about an hour the sky starts to turn that beautiful cocktail blend of pink and orange, and I watch as the dying light streams through the trees for a moment.

"Cold, do you ever feel like you don’t have a future?” I ask all of a sudden.

“Who knows? Life is uncertain,” he muses, as he always tends to when we’re alone, “we might not get tomorrow, so enjoy today, I say.”

“Yeah… hey, if you were stuck in a time loop that lasted one day, what would you do?”

At this, he turns towards me, curious, “Well that was a weird question…”

“C’mon Cold, humour me. Please?” I say, giving him that puppy dog expression he openly hates but secretly loves.

He sighs for a moment, shrugging before answering “Well, I guess the answer I’d give is that I’d do whatever the hell I want. After all, no tomorrow means no consequences. Why do you ask?”

“N-no reason,” I respond, “Hey… what do you think about changelings?”

“Those shapeshifters that invaded the Crystal Empire awhile back?” he asks, getting up. There’s a hint of suspicion on his face now, I think he’s sensing a pattern.

“Well… most folks don’t like them, but I guess you and I aren’t like most folks,” he says, lying on the ground and staring up at the cloudless sky as it begins to fade to a dark blue colour.

“Oh?” I say, feeling myself a little shocked by his response, “and why’s that?”

“Just because they have a bitch leader doesn’t mean they must be all bad,” he reasons, “I mean, it depends, doesn’t it? If they have a hive mind then maybe they could all be evil, but if they’re like you and me they might not always be such jerks.”

“Maybe it’s a bit of both,” I counter, “maybe, with a few exceptions, the closer they are to the Hive, the less individualism they have.”

“Do you think they can feel Love?” he asks casually, so casually that be doesn’t even notice I’m giving him a look like he’s stabbed me in the heart. I feel a lump in my throat as I continue.

“...No. No I don’t,” I say, lying down next to him and turning my head so he won’t see my face.

“I envy them.”

“At this I turn my head towards him, shocked.

“What? Why?” I say, not bothering to maintain my cool, distanced attitude any longer.

“Well, think about it. Love and sadness are a package deal. If you can’t feel one, you can’t feel the other, either. So they’ll never have to worry about losing a loved one, or anything like that. Because it just won’t matter to them.”

I don’t even know what I feel at that moment. It’s a churning feeling, like I’ve eaten someone’s love, and it was toxic, but… it’s not in my stomach, it’s higher up, in my chest. I feel that comforting warmth roll down my cheeks as I stare up at the night sky next to him.

“Yeah… you’re right,” I say, before closing my tear-stained eyes, and letting myself fall asleep next to him, under the stars.

At least, I wish you were.

The First Answers

“Get out of here!”

I don’t know where I am, but it’s dark, and alien. I’m surrounded by other Changelings, and one of them in the distance is fighting off several others. For some reason I feel I’m off the ground, like someone’s lifting me. I can see the lone changeling being overcome by the others.

“Tani, no!” I can hear my dad scream. I turn my head and see that I’m lying on his back. He’s running and crying and I’m scared, terrified for some reason.

We leave whatever place we were in, and the world is a blur beneath my feet. The last thing I see is the tears in his eyes.

***

I awake with a jolt, and gaze wild-eyed around my room. Wait, my room? I fell asleep in the Everfree... I guess this might mean that no matter what happens, I’ll always end up here at the start of each new cycle.

I get up immediately and switch off the alarm clock, not needing it for a change. That nightmare was nothing like the ones I’ve been having recently... it felt worse, somehow.

Maybe today I can use my knowledge of the timeline to have some fun, and more importantly, get some answers. I think it’s time I paid a certain pink pony a visit...

“Sweetie, it’s your turn!” I hear from downstairs after a few minutes. I think today I’ll play along, see if he’ll tell me about that little black book of his if I try being nice first.

“Sure Dad, be right down!”

Just before I leave my bedroom I notice something warm is running down my cheeks. I check the mirror, and... yep, I’m crying. What the heck is that all about?

I head downstairs, pour a little orange juice into a glass and leave the rest for him before heading outside and dealing with the garbage.

“Wow, you’re being unusually cooperative today,” he says with a smile before pointing to his stupid wig, “What do you thi-“

“It looks great,” I say dismissively, not even bothering to turn to him before answering.

For a moment he seems shocked. In this house, compliments are practically forbidden as part of Father-Daughter law. I grin, and wait for him to respond to this curveball.

“I-It does?!” he says, and I grin even harder as I hear the surprise in his voice. If I play my cards right, today will be fun.

“Yeah. Hey Dad, I have a question... do you know anyone called Tani?”

Dad looks like I just killed someone in front of his eyes. He steps away from his chair, taking off his stupid wig and glasses, and in an instant the goofy idiot I had spent the last seventeen years with is gone.

“W-what’s the matter?” I ask, genuinely concerned. The look in Dad’s eyes right now is actually scaring me.

Without a word he runs out of the house, and I try to take after him, but once you’ve lost a shapeshifter in a crowd you’ll never find them.

Damnit, stupid stupid stupid! I got careless again... looks like now I have one more big question that I need answering.

I drain the orange juice carton dry, and toss it in the bin, racking my brains for my next move. After a few minutes I hatch a plan to finally get some answers, and check my rucksack for my diary. If I’m gonna do this, I’m gonna need proof.

Pinkie, I’m coming for you.

***

“You’re kinda late,” Cold Shoulder says when I finally make my way to the sweet store. I’m glad I took my time getting here this cycle. I wasn’t in the mood to discuss the inventory for the upteempth time anyway.

“Has Pinkie shown up yet?” I ask, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

“Nope, no Pink Terror today,” he smiles, “why?”

“I need to ask her something.”

“What, how she keeps her figure when she eats half her weight in sugar every day?” he grins. Normally I’d find this small talk charming, but I’m in no mood for it right now.

“I’m gonna serve at the till. You go bother Maple Leaf about all the sweets we need ordering,” I tell him, more a command than a suggestion. I’m gonna need to be alone for this...

“What? How did you know we neede-“ he begins before freezing. I’m giving him that look he gives me sometimes, that ‘stop asking questions’ look that we have a mutual understanding to always respect. He nods, and takes off.

Within minutes I’m alone, nothing but that stupid broken clock on the wall, taunting me. I’m tempted to break it even more. After all, what’s the harm? It’s not like anyone would be hurt even if I did go on a rampage.

I close my eyes after an hour of turning away customers, and think of that strange dream I had. Tani... who is Tani? And why did Dad get so upset just hearing her nam-

There’s that wonderful jingling noise at the front door, and the Pink Terror herself steps in, happy as ever. I start feeling my heart beat faster in my chest, and focus my breathing.

This is it. Answer time.

“Hey there Sketchy!” she says, practically bursting with enthusiasm, “Why weren’t you here yesterday?”

“You mean tod-“ I stop myself. Better to play dumb until I know she’s trapped.

“Pinkie, I’m sorry but your sweets are in the back room, I’ll need to go get them,” I lie to her, trying my hardest not to smirk as I do so.

“Oh, sure!”

I move out from behind the counter, and walk behind Pinkie, quietly locking the front door from the inside before heading to the back off the shop and doing the same.

I admit, this is a wonderful feeling. Suddenly I’m about to get the truth behind this madness from the one pony in Equestria that seems to be unaffected.

“Pinkie...” I turn to her, no longer bothering to hide my wide eyed, mad smile, “I have a few questions for you...”

“Oh, you mean about whether I can pay? You know I always d-“

Before she can finish I throw my open diary at her feet, the book spread open, showing the endless series of identical entries.

“Pinkie, what is this? What does it mean?”

The smile falls off her face, and her pupils become pinpricks. She turns to the door and crashes into it.

“Oh no, I’m afraid that won’t work anymore. You’ve got some explaining to do. What does it mean?” I repeat my question, adding a hint of a threat to my voice.

“T-that you’ve got a poor memory for dates?” she offers, grinning sheepishly as I back her into a corner.

“Pinkie Pie, what’s going on? WHY AM I TRAPPED IN TIME?” I scream at her, my demand so loud ponies outside the window turn to look at us.

Pinkie starts trembling, and in an instant the sick high I was getting from bullying her into telling me the truth is gone. I have to admit, if I want answers I’m going about this all wrong.

“Pinkie,” I say in a gentler tone, “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Y-yeah...” she says hesitantly after a moment, “But she told me not to tell you anything.”

Bingo. First mistake down.

“She?” I reply, “Who is ‘She’, Pinkie?”

Pinkie whimpers, realizing her blunder. “She told me not to tell you anything, it could make things even worse for you!”

Pinkie may seem like an airhead sometimes, but she is far, far craftier than she looks. I’m starting to think these ‘accidental’ answers she’s giving me aren’t slips of the tongue at all.

“Pinkie, if we don’t get into specifics, can you give me yes or no answers to a few questions of mine?”

She considers this for a few minutes before slowly, slowly nodding her head.

“Are you the only person that is unaffected by whatever’s happening?”

She nods, then thinks about it for a few seconds. Her eyes cross for a moment, and she ultimately shrugs. A strange answer for a strange question, I guess.

“Pinkie, this mare you were mentioning, is she the one that gave you this letter?”

She nods.

“Alright, one last question for today and I’ll give you all the sweets in the shop if you want,” I say, thinking hard. It can’t be too specific, but I still need answers...

“Pinkie Pie, the letter said that in the end, everything would be fine for me. This letter was written by me... so am I being honest? Will everything be fine?”

She stares at me in silence for a few minutes, tears rolling silently down her cheeks. Pinkie crying is one of the saddest images I can think of, and I wince, turning my head away for a moment. I never even see whether she nods or not, but I do hear her voice.

“Visit Twilight.”

I hear the latch of the front door open suddenly, and Cold Shoulder walks in as Pinkie runs, sobbing from the store.

“What the heck happened in here?” he demands crossly.

“I was just-“

“Just what, exactly? Upsetting our best customer, locking her in here? What the hell is wrong with you?” he says, scowling.

“I just needed to ask her something!”

“Ask her what, Sketch?”

I search my head for lie, and realize that ultimately I don’t need one. The only pony that’s going to remember this just ran out the door crying, after all... I’m going to need to apologize to her next cycle.

“I’m stuck, Cold. Stuck in a time loop. She is the only one that isn’t affected.”

“...you’re joking at a time like this?” he snarls, even angrier than when I brought up his father, “you go out there and apologize, or you are fired.”

Suddenly, I snap. I’m tired of this anyway, might as well vent my rage.

“You know what, you bitter, angsty ‘leave me alone’ loser? You can keep your job.”

“And what, you’re just going to walk away? You barely knew how to work that damn cash register, you stupid bitch!”

I decide to break out the big guns. There’s no reason not to anymore.

“...No wonder your father never wants to come ho-“

In an instant, Cold Shoulder gives me a strong, sharp slap across the face. I reel from it, and for a moment the world seems to go silent. No matter how badly my days used to go, Cold Shoulder was always there for me. It was us against the world, two crazy, mixed up weirdoes laughing at the rest of them. And suddenly it feels like that one bit of stability in my life is gone.

His jaw drops, horrified, backing away slowly.

“Sketch, I-“

I don’t even bother to let him finish, running out of the store and towards Twilight’s Castle.

***

I’m not wearing my false form as I run through the streets. I can hear ponies turning and running, screaming and crying and I don't even care anymore. The guards near her castle are so shocked at my appearance that they barely have time to react as I burst through the doors.

“Twilight!” I scream to the heavens, every pony in her castle turning to face me, “Twilight Sparkle, I need your help!”

I have no plan. I’m too angry to think, and within moments her blue Pegasus friend barrels into me, knocking me into the wall and laying into me with punch after punch. I think I can hear someone yelling for her to stop after a few minutes, but my vision is blurry and I think I’m about to pass out. I try to focus on what’s being said, my body falling limp to the floor as a group of ponies surround me.

“...a lone Changeling? Could it be a spy?”

“I can’t tell for certain, but I ain’t gonna act surprised if ol’ Holehooves wants another bite at the apple...”

“Oh my goodness, are you alright Twilight?”

I close my eyes, groaning, the bitter taste of blood in my mouth as I feel the sharp tips of cold steel spears pointed at my throat. One of them rises me to my feet, and Twilight Sparkle herself stares at me, horning glowing in warning.

“Are you a spy?” she asks coldly, “An assassin?”

“No, my name is Sketch, I need your he-“

I feel the blunt end of a spear smack into my face. This is far from the Princess Twilight I’ve heard about.

“That’s enough,” she says to the guard, though not with the urgency I’d expect from her reacting to one of her subjects being beaten, “take them to the dungeons.”

“Er, Twi? This place doesn’t have any dungeons,” Rainbow Dash corrects her.

“Fine, then take her to the spare bedrooms, and make sure you use a password to recognize each other when changing shifts. If she gets out and shapeshifts, we could all be in grave danger... I’m going to contact Cadence.”

“A-are you gonna kill me...?” I ask, terrified. I’m in no position to hide my feelings right now.

Twilight sighs, and turns away in disgust. After a moment I’m escorted to a small bedroom, and the door is locked behind me.

Today has been hell. Had a nightmare, slapped by my best friend, and left my other friend in tears...

I stare out the window until the moon hangs high in the sky, moonlight streaming through the little window above my bed, and I sigh, my itchy eyes sore from all my tears.

For once, I’m glad I don’t have to face tomorrow.