Nakazaniye

I woke up to a stinging pain in my head, a burning hatred for myself, and the irrevocable urge to puke. A short glimpse at the time told me it was already two in the afternoon, and that I messed up tremendously. When I started getting up on my wobbly legs, I already thought it couldn't get any worse. However, a sour pulp would rise up in my throat, thus instantly proving me wrong. In a sense of panic, I leaped off the bed, and raced clear across the room. Crashing through the bathroom door, I bowed my head over the toilet just in time to empty the contents of my stomach into it.

At least it didn't go onto the carpet, I told myself. The whole place didn't look very well insured, and I probably couldn't afford paying for the damage.

As soon as I was done, I turned back around and awkwardly shuffled back towards my bed. Once there, I climbed on top and fell to my side almost immediately. My head and neck felt like somepony would shove a screwdriver through either of them, and I honestly wanted someone to bulge in right then and just shoot me or something. I wouldn't have been mad at them. Well actually, I probably couldn't have.

It was moments like these that I came to hate myself. Not that I didn't hate myself on any other day as well, but waking up with an aching skull like this one increased the feeling about tenfold. Even more so when the direction that last night's thoughts had taken slowly returned to my memory. None of it surprised me, but it didn't exactly contribute to my self-esteem, either. Stuff like that always wanders through my skull when I drink too much. Which is also why I prefer getting drunk all by myself over doing so in public. That way, at least I won't embarrass myself.

Drunk me can get a bit misleading, I suppose. I'm not usually this desperate. True, I don't really hesitate to get my natural desires fulfilled whenever I feel like doing so and when presented with the proper opportunity. And even those occasions have gotten more and more rare over the past years. I think. The first time I ever did it was ages ago, already. At the age of thirteen...or fourteen, or something like that. With some random kid during or after some random school dance, I think. I can't recall his name, though. Or what he looked like. Only that he wasn't the most favorable option I might have gotten. Oh well. Twenty-twenty vision, and all that.

By the time I was able to grasp any sort of useful thought, time had processed to four-thirty in the afternoon. Which meant my shift would have been almost over, and there was nothing I could do about it, now. I don't know. Some workplaces allow their employees to call in sick a couple days late, even. All I needed was a good excuse. Mr Dodger didn't seem like the smart kind, anyway.

For now, I was left alone with my own miserable feelings. That wasn't so good. I really didn't have anything else to do, and a sense of gnawing hunger already made itself noticeable around my stomach. Now, I would have headed out for some sightseeing, then grabbed some junk food along the way, but there were several problems with that. First, I was still broke. Second, I didn't give a damn about any famous places or something of the like, no matter how amazing any of them were said to be. It's just not my field of interest.

Realizing there wasn't anything for me to do in my room except maybe drown in self-pity, I decided to grab my keys and head out, nevertheless. I didn't know where I'd be going, but neither did I see any other choice. When I came trotting out of the hotel's backyard and out onto the street, I spontaneously decided to head south. For no particular reason, that was. I just felt like going there.

For a long time then, I was alone with my thoughts. Apart from avoiding other pedestrians, I didn't really have to watch out for my environment. There weren't any turns for me to take, either. Apparently, these roads never took any turns, except if you wanted to turn around a corner. Manehattan was one of those cities where the streets all just form a homogeneous, boring grid. The broad, grayish sidewalk goes on and on for miles, with no end ever in sight. Eventually, I lost track of the time. But it must have been a good two hours until the street finally stopped continuing on ahead.

The sun was setting in the west by now, drowning the entire peninsula in some weird kind of semi-twilight made up from the long shadows of buildings and a few, narrow lanes of sun rays made possible by the streets in between. When gazing out onto the water, I thought I could spot the Statue of Friendship in the distance. That at least gave me an approximate idea where in the city I ended up. Because that's where Friendship Island lay, south of mainland Manehattan. For once, there was a fact from grade school I could actually recall.

For a while then, I pondered my options. I didn't really know where to go from here, and a bad hunch told me that I might easily get lost in the city's maze, despite the rather simple way it was structured. It's not like I cared all that much, but I would prefer to sleep in my own bed tonight rather than...pretty much wherever. I didn't want to head straight back, either. Not right now, anyway. That would be kind of a bummer. And depressing, too. I really didn't need that.

I decided to take a look at a nearby tourist stand, instead. My interest wasn't so much about the souvenirs, but they also offered boat trips over to the island, apparently. I don't know what I'd do over there, either. Except for looking at a giant copper statue, of course. Maybe I just wanted to take a peek below her tunic, see what I could get out of it. I don't know, probably not. The thought still made me snicker for a moment or so.

It didn't matter, either way. When approaching, I also noticed them charging two bits per passenger. So there went those plans of mine.

It was no use. None of it ever was. I turned back around without further comment, then headed back down the street I came from. I can't recall its name, I really can't. But it probably didn't even have one. None of the streets or addresses in this town had any names, just numbers. That, and the slight distinction between streets and avenues. In all honesty, I was surprised to see that at least the ponies in this place still had actual names to themselves, instead of assigned numbers. Or maybe they hadn't, and I just didn't realize that. Maybe they didn't realize it.

I don't know. I really don't.

By the time I arrived back at the hotel it was a little past nine in the evening. For some reason, the streets were still crowded, even now. In most places around Equestria, this would be the time where most ponies either go to sleep, or turn on their radios for the evening report or something. Around nine or ten, a city would generally turn itself over to the soft, velvet blanket of night. The one that Celestia's long lost sister once created for all of us to enjoy, I think that was. She had a name, too. I'm pretty sure she did.

Manehattan didn't go to sleep, it seemed. Then again, Manehattan wasn't truly a city either. It was more like a grotesquely carnivorous metropolis; one that equally supplied and devoured everyone and everything within it. Places like these didn't sleep. And I hated them.

I turned the lights on when stepping back inside my room. It certainly wasn't something I enjoyed, given the bright light blinded me for a second, and sent another aching arrow of pain searing through my skull. But I didn't want to stumble across anything my clumsy self might break in the process. Never sleeping surroundings or not, the street lights sure didn't reach up all eight floors.

But flicking that little switch was pretty much the only productive thing I could think of, right now. Clueless on how to waste the rest of my evening, I kept pointlessly fooling around the place for another hour or so. Eventually though, I got tired. Literally. And driven by that, I quickly killed my second bottle of wine and went to sleep.

The next morning, I woke up at about eleven. It was a Friday, too. And only about six hours to my first weekend in Manehattan. I had no idea on how I was supposed to spend it, but at least those two days might give me some time to think. About what, I didn't know. Before heading out for work, I rounded up a few leftovers from breakfast, altogether avoiding the coffee. At about twelve, I arrived at the company grounds. Mr Dodger immediately called me into his office when I got there.

"May I know where you've been these past two days, Miss Punch?" he asked. Of course he did. "You seemed like somepony who could manage quite well in our industry when first coming into my office on Monday. But success requires some basic consistency. Surely, there is a reasonable explanation behind your absence."

All of a sudden, he sounded all business-like. Serious, too. I already didn't like his approach on Monday, but I think I disliked it even more, now. Probably. Even worse, I now had to talk to him, and spent more time in his stinky office. I had wanted to come up with an excuse on my way here, but I couldn't think of anything. Well, actually I wanted to do all that yesterday night. But then I sort of forgot and drank a whole bottle of white wine. Naturally, I didn't come up with anything useful after that. In short, I figured I might as well tell the truth, and hope for the best.

"There is. I got drunk and overslept," I thus replied in a monotone voice.

Judging from Mr Dodger's reaction, the best wasn't going to be so good. Not for me, anyway. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling heavily. I don't even want to start describing the smell that came streaming out of his muzzle. Chances are, I'd lack the vocabulary to do so, in any case.

"That's not how it works, girl. You should know that." He shook his head. "I tend to let some minor inconsistencies slide with ponies whom I've known for a longer time. Ponies I can trust. But this? I'm sorry, but I don't see myself employing someone acting this way right from the start."

I scowled. "So, I won't have to call in on Monday, then?"

"You really, really don't," he replied in a slightly annoyed tone. His eyes narrowed, while both rows of yellowish teeth kept munching on his cigar. It was a disgusting sight, but I still needed his money.

"What would be my pay for the five days I've worked here, then?"

"Five days?" he snorted. "I think what you meant to say is three days. And your pay for those adds up to precisely eighty-five bits. That's all. No more, no less. I don't see why I should pay you for days on which you don't even show up at your workplace."

Having said so, he slammed an envelope onto the desk between us, then leaned back in his chair, again. I peeked inside, checked for its ingredients, and was happy to find four green paper slips resting next to each other. That was something. I would have made an argument about getting a bonus for the time I had to endure his presence today, but my better conscience decided against that. I also really didn't want to push my luck. Instead, I took the envelope between my teeth, then trotted out. I tried to mumble some sort of goodbyes in between the paper, but it probably didn't sound very convincing. In any case, Mr Dodger briefly raised a hoof to reply, then went back to his paperwork.

He might as well, I thought. In a way, I was more of a lucky mare never having to set a single hoof into his slimy office ever again.