Wild woke up, blinked the grogginess from his eyes, and almost groaned as he realized that, this day, it was time for him to force himself to make choices. Anxiety skyrocketed within him, and he already felt jittery and tense despite barely a minute having passed. However, to some relief, there was still some time before he would need to do anything drastic, time that he could use to stave off difficult decisions for just a little while longer. He knew it would be useless in the end, but knowing it didn’t meant acknowledging it.

He slowly got up from his bed and took his time stretching to remove the last vestiges of sleep from his body. It was odd, he was certain he had only slept for perhaps five hours at best, but his body and mind both felt perfectly rested. He chalked it all up to the weirdness that concerned his ability to be separate from his body and left it at that, not knowing what else to consider. Had he the knowledge, he could perhaps spend some time thinking about it, drawing up theories, discussing it all within himself. All of that would provide some more time to use to delay doing what he desired to do yet didn’t want to do.

Wild, done with his stretched to the point when doing them further would only cause irritation, finally went out of his bedroom. Despite the paintings he got from Artful, his dorm still remained rather impersonal and empty in a way that made him feel a pang of loneliness. He was met by no one and nothing of note. There were no welcoming words from his family and neither were there any things that could possibly interest him. He had been ignoring for a long time, but he desired something more. This dorm was perhaps his home for now, yet there was something missing. However, he didn’t think it would make sense to add any personal touch to it beyond what he had already done, considering that he didn’t expect to live there for much longer anyway. Wild was an adult, he didn’t belong there, and it would undoubtedly be soon when he would have to leave in search for a place to call truly his own for as long as he could.

Wild dreamed of getting his own house, a place that he owned, a place where he belonged. He wouldn’t need anything large, he’d even settle for a house that is just large enough to include a bed, a bathroom, and a kitchen corner. In the past, he had dreamed of more, but now he would settle for whatever he could get as long as it truly did belong to him. His parents’ house didn’t belong to his family, he remembered, and it was gone as soon as Wild was unable to pay rent. His things thrown out, the entire interior remodeled, and nothing remained of his family there.

Wild sighed deeply - he knew he was just delaying having to actually do something about his situation. Thinking about it wouldn’t do anything, this much would be obvious even to a child. Thinking didn’t bring money, didn’t buy land, didn’t get materials for the house, didn’t pay for food. He knew he had to do something about it, but...

He wondered what was wrong with him. Many others went about their days just fine, yet he was stuck in this self-imposed limbo of anxiety. However, one thing that he didn’t need to think about was going to the bathroom. Such a visit soon after he woke up was just part of his regular routine, one that he did his best to keep to even in his worst days. As long as he had a sink and a relatively private place to be in, he would get himself clean.

Going through the motions was easy and familiar, especially now after he spent quite a bit of time at the Royal Orphanage. He would be eternally thankful for this, considering that it wasn’t like trying to get his entire body clean using only a public bathroom sink and toilet paper. He had the luxury of a private bathroom that belonged only to him, and he didn’t even have to share it with his own family. He hadn’t known what it was like before, but now it felt... good. He had his privacy and his own space. As much as it could be his own, considering that it was loaned to him on a time limit.

If he spent a bit longer on the toilet than he usually did, ruminating over his situation to the point of nausea, he ignored it. If he stood under the shower until he was far beyond the point of soaked through while wondering what he would do next, he ignored it as well. The anxiety yet remained, and the fact that making choices was inevitable made sure that the anxiety only grew as time passed. With every second he tried to squeeze out of the time between when he woke up and when he would have to decide, this gap only shrunk. Time was marching on, outside of his control, outside of anyone’s control, and he had to accept it or fail forever.

After drying himself off, he decided to apply the descarring ointment properly. The spot that he applied it to yesterday remained as it was, no troubling sensations at all, even if it wasn’t the full twenty-four hours later. However, what were the chances any sort of trouble would arise from now until then?

He got the tube of ointment and sat down in the bathroom. That was it, the first step towards removing the physical reminders of his past experiences. Aside from the tear in his ear, which he could live with. The first thing he liberally covered in the ointment was the distorted circular symbol on his belly. He was not a thing, he was not something that could be owned, and this mark, this brand would be gone. In the past, when he was still a human, he thought about cutting it out with a knife. Whatever mess that would result from this would have still been better than the brand itself. However, he was no fool - he knew it would likely kill him, either because of blood loss or infection. If he got himself to the hospital, uncomfortable questions would’ve been asked, police would’ve been called, and so he hadn’t done it. Now, thankfully, he had a far safer and also a permanent method of getting rid of this scar.

Having just applied it, he already felt a lot better. He didn’t know how much time it would take for the scar to be completely gone, but he was perfectly willing to wait. There was no need to resort to self-surgery or any surgery at all. The ointment would work, it simply had to.

The stab wound scar received the treatment as well. He didn’t need a reminder of how close he had come to death then - he was far more familiar with the sensation now. He had died, and that needed no physical reminder to remain in his memory forever.

Other scars didn’t have nearly as much meaning and history to them as those to, fortunately. However, he applied the ointment to them just the same, making sure to properly cover each and every single one. He flicked his left ear in annoyance at the inability to do anything about it, but he supposed it gave him a certain air of danger, so it could remain. Of course, his torn ear was just a continuation of a jagged harsh scar on his head nearby, and that would receive treatment as well. It bothered him in that it was always catching his eye whenever he got a glance at the left side of his head in the mirror. Of course, his eyes would continue catching the tear in his ear, but there was no reason to exacerbate it.

Once he was done using the ointment, he just sat there for a moment, dreaming of a time when he would look at himself and see exactly one scar left. He wished he didn’t have to do it - why did his new body have to have the same scars that his old one did? Why couldn’t he have been given an entirely clean slate? Perhaps he wouldn’t have struggled as much as he did if his body wasn’t a constant reminder of both his new life and his old one.

There was no point thinking about it, he knew. He couldn’t change it. Although... a conversation he had with Lina came to mind - ponies were, apparently, were reasonably close to creating new bodies in a way that allowed others to exchange their birth bodies for it. He had no idea how they could even come close to it, but perhaps...

No. His body was good enough, and he had already put time and effort into it. Wanting to change it because of nothing but vanity would be extremely distasteful. A scar was a reminder, yes, but he could live with that, and he knew that, with time, it wouldn’t even be as noticeable to him. He remembered how often he had once been to crying every time he saw it when he was still young. Now? Seeing it just sent a small unpleasant twinge at him. In some years, it would likely not elicit much at all.

Even if he decided to look into this, he very much doubted he would ever be able to afford a new body for any other reason outside emergency or if he faced some condition that made his original body slowly but surely die. Without a doubt, no one would pay for a new body for him if he simply complained about a single scar.

As he exhausted the ways he could think about his scars, he finally went outside, unable to delay it any longer. Once the door to his dorm was closed behind him, he stood there for a moment, thinking of what he would get to eat that day. Maybe he would pack something extra to chew through, just to stretch the time a tiny bit longer. It wasn’t like he even had any real responsibilities to attend to. Of course, there was the training at the Martial Arts Club, but that hardly counted. He wouldn’t wish to ever truly avoid doing it. Fighting came easy to him, after all, and it brought him a measure of joy that nothing else could provide. It was not a matter of choice whether to attend the training or not - he simply had to be there.

He made his usual way through the same corridors he passed through on his way to the cafeteria he always passed on the way from his dorm. If he kept to the same time, he would likely see the same ponies on their own way to the cafeteria.

Wild entered the cafeteria and slowly made his way over to the food stall. He took his time picking just the perfect breakfast, although he wasn’t going to be picky. He did have the luxury to be picky now, but the habits he developed during the times when nothing was certain would remain with him for the rest of his life. When there was no guarantee there would be a meal waiting for him, he couldn’t afford to choose what to eat aside from very specific exceptions.

However, now he could, at the very least, have some preference again. Having fresh fruit for breakfast certainly beat a can of beans and a half-full can of soda.

He settled down near the radio and the newspapers once more. When he picked up the newspaper, he immediately noticed the topic on the first page.

THE CHANGELING DEBATE CONTINUES

“The changelings remain a danger to us all,” Blueblood of House Blueblood said in his introduction during the yesterday’s evening court, “How long will we continue being idle about their threat?”

For weeks, debate has raged around Equestria following the Changeling Invasion. Proposals and counter-proposals were introduced and rejected from all sides of the argument, and yet it seems like a conclusion is still a far way off.

Wild leaned forward slightly as he read further - this was something interesting, at least. He skipped some things that told him absolutely nothing of worth until there were direct quotations again.

“They can pretend to be your parents, siblings, friends, and lovers,” an argument was made, “They can be anyone, anywhere. If we are to stop this changeling threat, every changeling needs to be registered, and every crime they commit harshly punished. They are a threat to the security of our country and to the safety of our families. What more is there to be said?”

Some counter-arguments were covered as well.

“Impersonating someone maliciously is already a crime. Making the punishment harsher for the changelings specifically is clearly discriminatory and serves no purpose.”

Wild continued reading it for a while, but it was clear that, as the article stated, there was yet to be a conclusion. Wild... didn’t know what to think about the changelings. Their ability to turn into anyone was decidedly creepy, and he had his body stolen once already to know how wrong it feels to have someone look like him even if they didn’t try to pretend to be him. He decided to put it all out of his mind for now - it wasn’t like he could do anything about it anyway. Legislature, ever since he was a kid, was entirely unreachable to him. It was true that he had some access to Princess Luna, but he didn’t feel like discussing politics and law with her. It wasn’t like he knew much about any of those topics in the first place.

He then idly browsed the rest of the newspaper, but there was nothing else that jumped at him. There were some talks of the coming winter, gossip about celebrities and nobility, various advertisements, and other things that he could safely ignore. He couldn’t even read any of that without being utterly bored within seconds. He didn’t care that someone called Fleur something or other was seen in a place he didn’t know about, he didn’t give a thought about a new music album of DJ Pon-3, and he certainly didn’t want anything to do with trying to figure out the dresses nobility would wear for any sort of ball.

Frustrated for no real reason that he could think of, he got to his food. He could just ignore all those news, he didn’t have to get so worked up over them. They weren’t for him, now were they? He knew very well that his mindset was unlike what others had. Many things in either world were simply not for him. He wasn’t under an impression that he actually mattered on the large scale of things, after all. He was just one of millions. No planet spun around him, and he certainly was perfectly aware that he wasn’t the center of the universe. Unless the said universe wanted him to suffer, and even then his own suffering paled in comparison to many things he had heard of.

“Oh hey,” he heard Swingblade say as the young pegasus sat down not far from him, “Don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”

Wild simply nodded, not saying anything about how Swingblade likely never knew what true hunger was. He was perfectly willing to let the pegasus remain ignorant of that.

Naturally, with Swingblade around, it wasn’t long before Precision joined them. Wild found it not an unwelcome part of his routine... as long as no one spoke of anything that would make him uncomfortable. At least Swingblade seemed to have learned not to speak before he thought, so that had to count for something.

“Hey Wild,” Precision called him, “Would you be interested in playing paintball?”

“Ugh, you’re still on about it?” Swingblade complained.

“Shooting things is fun,” she declared, “You just don’t get it.”

“Getting paint all over my fur and getting bruised all over? Nah, I’ll pass.”

“Don’t be such a baby,” she rolled her eyes, “And anyway, I got that you don’t want it. I’m asking Wild here.”

Wild signed a question, asking what paintball was. It sounded familiar to him, and that was a thought he didn’t sign.

“It’s a game where people shoot each other,” Precision grinned, “But with a slingshot and not a bow or a cannon. But I heard someone did it with a cannon once. Anyway, you have a slingshot, you have balls of paint, and you shoot them at people. The paint’s not really paint - really easy to wash off if you care about that, and you can even eat the stuff if you want to. So, you in?”

Wild thought about it. It would be easy to refuse, and he would go about his day as usual. He hadn’t really played anything like that game before, and he certainly didn’t know how to shoot using a slingshot. He would definitely not come out as a winner in something like this. However... it certainly sounded like fun. It would be like dodgeball a bit, and he remembered enjoying it, especially when he got to throw balls at other people. Though, paintball would certainly be a lot different compared to that.

However, what would he even do if he didn’t take this opportunity to possibly have some fun?

He was reminded that it was time to make choices. Perhaps it would be good to make this easy one. And so, he gave Precision a nod.

“Awesome!” she said, “It’s like a couple hours before the training, where are you gonna be?”

Wild shrugged, then signed he would be around, maybe in the library. Privately, he thought that killing some time mindlessly browsing the books or reading whatever caught his fancy would be good.

“A’ight, I’m gonna get you then.”

“Bet you’re gonna regret it, Wild,” Swingblade said, “Those balls hurt like a bitch.”

“It’s not that bad,” Precision protested, “You’ve not had one shot at you from a crossbow, now that would be painful.”

“From a crossbow?”

“Oh yeah, some special bolts. Heard they use them at the Royal Guard Academy.”

Wild tuned it all out as he continued eating. This was certainly a relatively easy choice to make. Some of his anxiety was now, if not gone, then noticeably lessened. He didn’t mind the pain, and the prospect of causing it to others while everyone had fun was definitely inviting. He was fairly certain Swingblade was exaggerating things - he didn’t think he had a particularly strong pain tolerance. With the enchanted training blades, getting bruises was simply not a concern at all, so it was no surprise Swingblade continued training with the Martial Arts Club. In fact, Wild was missing the solid thwack of a proper training sword, although being able to actually use physical force compensated for it somewhat. He idly wondered why Swingblade didn’t complain about that.

In the end, Wild was glad he didn’t have to face anything more difficult than an invitation to a game. He didn’t even need any of the fidget toys for it, which was quite welcome - he didn’t want to face any sort of questions about it even if he could make people lay off him.

This was, as far as he was concerned, a good beginning to a nice day.

Author's Note

I am very familiar with anxiety of actually doing stuff. Doing just anything else is definitely more appealing at the time even though having to actually do important stuff doesn't go away.