I awoke in a cold sweat. My naturally black eyes snapped open to be met by the simple peach coloring of my bedroom's ceiling. The bedsheet that covered my chest rose and fell at a quickened pace as my breating slowly but certainly attempted to return to its normal rhythm. I closed my eyes and counted down from ten in an effort to calm myself. I didn't need to feel my pillow to know that the alabaster sheet was likely drenched in sweat, and quite honestly I did not want to feel such a disgusting texture with my hooves.
With a gentle sigh, I pulled myself up. I could feel parts of my mane sticking up in awkward mess, no thanks to the nightmare which I had been forced to endure for the umpteenth time. What nightmare, you may be wondering? I honestly couldn't tell you. Every night is a pictureless, blackened void. Perhaps such a perpetual darkness is what drives me into such a sorry state, or perhaps it is simply so frightening that my body naturally puts every effort forward to ensure that such a travesty is never recollected consciously. Whatever it may be, I suppose I should be thankful to my body if the ladder is the truth.
I take in a heavy yawn and turn my gaze towards the teal curtains that shielded my bedroom from the full brightness of the morning's light. Growing curious, I turned my eyes next to the amaranth alarm clock that resided upon my nightstand just to the left of my bed.
I say amaranth because it is too dark to be red yet too bright to be crimson. I like the color. For some reason or another, I have always been a little better at distinguishing colors from one another. A trait I likely recieved from my mother's side.
Where was I? Ah, yes. Alarm clock.
I almost never awoke before my alarm went off. I only say "almost" because, well, this is the first time it has ever happened. Actually, correction: This is the first time it has ever happened while I was not ill. It can be expected to awake early via a coughing fit or sudden urge to vomit when one isn't feeling their best, but I am certainly not ill in any way. Granted you ignore my previous episode from when I had initially awoke, of course.
I contemplated simply requesting that the warm embrace of my bed take me back to sleep once again until the time came for my alarm to alert me that the day must begin, but I ultimately decided against it. After all, plenty could be done with an extra seventeen minutes added to one's day.
I began by tossing the sheets off of my form and setting myself down on the hardwood floor. One by one I began stretching my four legs. Next I pulled my body back while keeping my hind legs in place, stretching not too differently than that of a cat, before then pushing myself forward and doing the same but this time locking my forelegs in place. With a happy exhale and allowing myself a moment to relax. I could feel my heart beating at a faster rate as my blood began to flow.
Take it from me, if you don't do a stretch or two every morning then you need to do yourself a favor and start. It really helps get your blood flowing and gets some oxygen to your brain to help maintain a clear head.
After a few moments of rolling my joints and ensuring that everything was comfortably loosened up, I opened the door and was immediately met by the sweet scent of breakfast being made. I inhaled sharply to bask in the savory smell of what I could easily identify as hay bacon, and I swear I could smell eggs alongside it.
I may not like to admit it, but sometimes I think that the entire reason I go along with the whole "stretch every morning and stay healthy" lifestyle is so that I can eat bacon and not feel as bad about it. Can you really blame me?
Knowing that my mother's routine coincided with my own, I assumed that breakfast probably wouldn't be ready for a little while longer. I figured I would use my spare time to freshen myself up a bit in the bathroom just down the hall.
Entering and closing the door behind me, I made it my first order of business to deal with my business. I sincerely doubt any of you would like me to linger on the subject, so I'll move on.
Upon turning on the sink, I thoroughly cleaned my hooves before pooling some water and splashing my face with it. I did so a second time, only this time taking some effort to massage my temples and forehead and ensure that they were properly moisturized. There is no such thing as being too careful when it comes to being a young adult and going through that horrible acne phase.
Next, my eyes turned to the purple comb that sat next to the sink's knobs.
You can do this, I thought to myself. I closed my eyes and began to concentrate. Past my covered eyes, I could feel my horn begin to heat up. Slowly I began to raise my eyelids and watch as the comb became enveloped in a brilliant amber glow. Gently and carefully it began to rise up and slowly glide towards my head.
Carefully, the plastic needles began working their way down my messy mane, massaging my scalp softly as they went. I could feel my lips curve to a smile at the sight of myself in the mirror. Some may have laughed at seeing a colt with an absolute bedhead hairdo, save for a single straightened patch, but what I saw was an accomplishment.
However, much to my dismay, the plastic piece fell into the sink with a clatter. Harmless sparks flew from my horn as it went out like a dying light bulb. A gentle sigh past by my lips for the second time today as I deadpanned at the mane styling accessory. With a quiet roll of my eyes, I retrieved it from the porcelain bowl and simply used my hoof to continue making myself look more presentable.
Nearly two minutes later I exited the bathroom and descended the stairs and entered the kitchen, where I found my mother just finishing up on creating what was always a masterpiece of a meal.
An absolutely gorgeous mare, there was not a pony alive who could deny it. She wore a light yellow coat and her mane was of a light greyish cerulean, complete with moderate cyan highlights. Printed on her flank was a cutie mark depicting three brilliant-cut diamonds, for she was a jeweler by trade. When she wasn't trading, buying, and selling priceless gems, she was staying at home and spending time with her one and only son. A colt couldn't have been more proud to be able to call such a wonderful mare his mother.
Upon hearing my coming down the stairs, she turned away from the meal she was preparing to give me a pleasent smile.
"Oh, good morning sweetie! I didn't know you were awake already."
That smile never leaving her face for even a moment, she slid two of the eggs and a couple slices of hay bacon onto a plate and set it down before me as I pulled myself into a chair by the table. She then used her magic to simultaneously open a cabinet and levitate an empty glass to the table and open the refrigerator and set down a carton of orange juice to fill said glass with. With a small sigh, she continued to speak as she worked her magic. "Sadly, your father won't be joining us this morning. He got called in to work early about an hour ago, something about 'just the worst possible thing' happening." She chuckled a little light heartily as she recalled my father likely exaggerating about something or another.
I gave my mother an appreciative smile as she poured my drink. I quickly began digging in to the meal in front of me, involuntary blissful moans arising as I tasted the savory strips.
"Enjoying it that much, hmm?" She said with a light twinkle in her cerulean eyes.
"I like potatoes!"
My mother replied with a genuine laugh. "I know you do, Snails. I know you do."
Oh, where are my manners? This entire time, you've been following me around and I haven't even had the courtesy to give my name. My name is Claveringi, but many of you may know me as my nickname: Snails. Surely you've heard of me. And, you are?
Author's Note
Been wanting to write this forever
