AJ Sleeps in
It was a cold, dark December morning. The brisk mountain air was punctuated by the frost that had formed on the large farmhouse, within the four walls the air bit with force. There were four occupants each within their respective rooms. The elderly green mare in the first room on the left, her youngest grand daughter across the hall from her. A thick, strong, brick red stallion in the back left room was softly snoring, an old ragged doll held between his forelegs. Finally in the back right room laid an orange mare, with a blond mane, thick quilts met her chin while her face lay exposed and vulnerable to the frigid, indifferent, still air outside. The quilts had been tucked in around her with no gaps to allow the cruel, cold around her to enter and nip at her body.
An alarm clock stood silent guard over young mare each and every night, hands silently ticking over many countless nights. The clock now read five fifteen and in a few minutes it would begin the arduous ritual it had been designed for. The metal cogs and springs that lay within had slowly been turning in accordance with the spring that powered it. The seconds hand was performing a quick lap around the face of the clock while being poorly mirrored by the minutes, and hours hands. Again and again the three hands continued this race until they now read five twenty-nine. New gears began to turn and fire while a bit of neglect impeded their progress. Stopping not, more and more struggled against their cruel, lazy brethren until finally their task was accomplished and bells were ringing in their victory.
An orange hoof shot out from beneath the quilts and quickly silenced the whining alarm clock. Immediately the leg that had preformed deed shot back in, the delicate equilibrium now shattered. The orange mare slowly attempted to creak an eye open, as her mouth quickly became aware of the of the repugnant taste in her mouth.
Her eye was open and bleary, senses becoming sharper shaking off the dullness that was drowsiness. She saw nothing. She could not see past the impassable blanket of darkness that had blocked her vision. Not the roof, not her quilt, not even the ancient clockwork contraption that had awoken her were visible, only the black that seemed to carry the cold, and the stillness of death embraced her in the still moonless night.
Blood now pumped more vigorously to her face, and she had now become aware of the biting cold assaulting her face. Instinctively she drew the covers up above her face, only to leave her feet exposed. The two extremes of her body became engaged in a quick tug-o-war as neither wished to be exposed to the cold. Before the indifferent nippyness could claim all of the warmth trapped within, the two extremities agreed upon a spot to both of their likings with only minimal loss of heat.
An orange eyelid lazily closed around a deep green iris and plunging the mare into the darkness that was her mind. Her eyes at rest. She was able to discern faint creaks in the distance, followed by low murmurs, and hoof steps coming down the hallway. Before her mind could register these new stimuli the desire for sleep suddenly took hold, and she was whisked away to an etheral plane lying on the delicate edge between sleep and consciousness.
She dreamt of simple things. Of warmer weather free from the chains of cold, and lazy picnics within the tepid rays of the sun. Images filled her mind of times past, time spent with family now long since passed from this world. Hope and sadness filled her in equal measure, as she thought of the reunion she would share with these specters. A tear fell onto her pillow with that thought.
Now her thoughts shifted to that of her friends, nothing but colorful blurs as the countryside raced by, and a field spread out before her. Orchards of apples, fields of corn, and every other piece of vegetation imaginable existed in this place. She felt at peace, her life's work was passed over with a glance. Instead her eyes fell upon a red and white checkered cloth spread out upon the grass. Now she spied familiar shapes emerging from the ether that was her mind. Distant family not seen nearly enough, members long since gone, and the ones she was lucky enough to see every day. Finally colors of purple, white, pink, yellow, and blue began to take shape.
The orange mare with the blond mane was vaguely aware of the sounds entering her her mind. Siblings fighting here, wooden creaks there none of them were enough to rouse her from her unconsciousness. The passage of time had gone ignored, and now her dreamlike state had been altered, she could feel warm rays brushing against her face, and the smell of warm butter and syrup wafted up to her nose.
Prying one heavy eyelid open she glanced around the room, gaze falling upon the clock she had silenced so long ago. Her heart sank. The face of the clock now read seven twenty-five, she had slept in. No matter today was Sunday, and regardless it had been her day off.
"Applebloom go wake up sleeping beauty would ya," echoed an ancient well worn voice from down stairs.
The orange mare heard several rapid hoofsteps up the stairs, and approach her door. The door swung open and in the doorway stood her younger sister Applebloom.
"Hey AJ, Granny says -"
"Ah'm up, Ah'm up just gimme a few minutes to get pretty and I'll be down."
Lazily, an orange hoof poked out from beneath the blankets and into the frigid air. Bracing herself the blond maned earth pony ripped the covers off of her body, and immediately regretted it. Her breath quickly condensed in the air around her shooting puffs of steam from her muzzle. With mounting caution she gently places a hoof upon the cold hardwood floor. Slowly she embraced the indifference around her, and made her way to the restroom. The aluminum faucet head proved to be difficult this morning, by spewing water, which miraculously didn't have chunks of ice in it.
After her morning ritual had been complete, her foot steps could be heard echoing down the hall, and into the kitchen. As she neared the dining room warmth filled the air alongside the familiar aromas of butter, and syrup. Before her sat two bickering siblings with half eaten stacks of pancakes in front of either. Between the two of them however waiting for her stood a stack of pancakes, a half melted pat of butter sitting on top, as golden brown syrup dripped off of the sides glistening in the light filtering through the kitchen window.
"Mornin' sleepy head have any good dreams last night." Asked the elderly green mare currently occupied with the stove.
"Ah sure did."
