To Dream of Mail and Muffins

        Hello there. Do you know who you are? I guess not, how embarrassing. I suppose you would like an introduction to your person, or in this case, pony.

        You are a pegasus mare named Derpy Hooves. Your light grey coat fits well with your blond mane, and your cutie mark resembles your quite bubbly personality accurately. Your eyes, which match your mane, are obviously a yellow color, and you seem to have an odd alignment of said ocular orbs.

        You are a bit of a scatterbrain, always seeming to forget even the most important of things, that is, except for your profession, but more on that later. As inattentive as you are, you always remember that which is closest in proximity to your heart, and you are a compassionate soul. Your passion for muffins is only overridden by the love of your daughter, your little muffin.

        Also notable is the fact that you are quite intellectually advanced, yet with your lack of cranial organization, that attribute rarely shows. However, it is put to good use here, narrating your very thoughts and actions in such a way that it may be comprehended properly by others via reading said narration.

        And with that we return to the subject of your occupation. You are a distinguished postal carrier who exuberantly labors over bringing letters and other stamped things to those in which the items are addressed. You assure the safety and deliverance of each and every piece of mail that is gathered at the Ponyville Post Office.

        Now that you have an acceptable understanding of who you are, I suppose you have every right to go out and be that pony. So go on, have fun.

Observe your surroundings.

        Oh, it appears the voice is back. It’s compelling manner always has a way of getting the best of you. As such, you heed its wise words and inspect your current location.

        You instantly notice that the air is frigid, and you begin to wonder how you never noticed. Perhaps you were just too wrapped up in the narrative. It is fairly dark, but there is sufficient light for proper viewing of your surroundings. The floor, as well as the walls and ceiling, are all constructed of cobblestone, oddly enough. Moonlight pours in through a minute fissure located high above you. This happens to be the only source of light, but it is adequate to say the least.

        The room in which you stand in is moderately small, and thus holds few objects. A decorative rug which you were sure wasn’t there moments ago covers a great deal of the floor. It’s intricate designs are woven into the crimson background with a dull wheat color. Each little depiction appeares to be separate from the others. You examine each different scenario, admiring the pure craftsmanship of the piece. This one here even has a little-

Ignore the rug. Examine the rest of the room.

        Right. I suppose you were a bit too off track.

        In a far corner stands a suit of armor fit for a battle-trained stallion, one that would stand a good foot over your head. To the right of the metal outfit lies a wooden door, which is something to keep in mind.  In another part of the room a workbench is shoved up against the wall. Several items rest on it, but they are unidentifiable from this distance. Several conglomerations of rubble all varying in degrees of volume litter the floor, yet the origin of the debris is nowhere to be found, considering there is no damage to the walls, floor, or ceiling.

Put on the armor.

        As previously mentioned, the suit is notably too big for you, yet you attempt it nonetheless. However, Just one touch of your hoof and the entire outfit collapses, sending you scurrying across the room in alarm. You peer warily over at the newly created pile of metal from behind a heap of rubble, unsure of it’s intentions. Seeing that it has none other than spilling onto the floor, you cautiously venture back to the center of the room.

Identify the items on the workbench.

        You trot over to the table, admiring its elegant carvings upon the entire wooden surface. Yet again the designs form peculiar little depictions, each telling its own story on the surface of the workbench. However, you find this less captivating due to the lack of the soft sensation upon putting your hoof to the table. The rug was much comfier.

        Your crooked gaze rakes over the items on the workbench, giving each piece a proper inspection. Four items are orderly aligned across the table, each one arranged exactly 4.276 inches apart from the next, give or take a smidgen. The items are arranged on the workbench from left to right as follows: a delectably delightful blueberry muffin, a chaotically shaped rock, a dull black top hat, and a well-worn, rust-crusted latchkey.

Further examine the muffin.

        What muffin? You contentedly brush a few crumbs from your muzzle, oblivious to the figurative cold stare that is affixed to you.

Put on the top hat.

        You don the hat like a sir. You feel quite proper, and you crave some tea and scones.

What’s under the rock?

        Hmm? There’s nothing under... Well, that wasn’t there before. Eyeing the oddly shaped stone from a close distance of two inches, you gingerly grasp it in your hooves, and set it aside. Below where the rock had been sitting lies an envelope, a letter.

        Your mindset turns to all seriousness. You have a letter, and a letter needs to be delivered! You grip the letter in your mouth and shove it into your saddlebags which just happened to be there on your back. I swear those weren’t there before.

Grab the key.

        But it’s all...rusty and gross. You turn your head away in disgust.

Wake up then.

        Um... what? That was random. You arch a brow and glance around the room, confused. Upon finding absolutely nothing to do with the last command, you shrug. For some reason the command is very strange, and doesn’t make sense.

Just get the key!

        You wince, your ears folding down onto your head, shifting your hat slightly. Sighing, you grudgingly look towards the latchkey, gazing at it fearfully. Slowly, you ease your head forward, closing your eyes. Reaching out with your teeth, you pick up the rusty old key, squirming from the feeling of the crusty metal on your teeth. Your eyes are clenched shut.

Go unlock the door.

        You gingerly saunter over towards the door. However, you still have your eyes closed, and don’t know where you’re heading. You wander aimlessly around the room, key in mouth.

Just get over to the door!

        The abruptness of the outburst startled you, sending you scampering away in a random direction... right into a wall. A loud crack punctuates the impact, and your fancy top hat soars off your head.

        Your face, along with numerous other parts of your body, are scrunched up against the stone surface. Backing away and shaking your head to clear your head, you notice that you don’t have that wretched key. You do, however, have a fair amount of rust on your tongue, which you frantically swipe at with your hooves in an attempt to remove said rust.

Go get the key again.

        After your spastic flailing about on the floor, which caused you to crush the long-forgotten top hat, and your success of removing the vile tasting particles from your mouth, you trot back over to where you dropped the key. And there on the cobblestone floor is the latchkey, but it appears that it broke when you collided with the wall, rendering it useless. You plop down on your haunches and stare cross-eyed at the remnants.

Go try the door.

        Without the key that would be pointless, but you undertake the command nonetheless, venturing over to said door.

        You stare hard at the door, analyzing the wooden structure. It’s pretty plain. Almost too plain. Scanning over the entire door, you realize that it is all wood. Just wood. No metal. No rock. And definitely no keyhole. You didn’t even need that stupid key anyway. You turn back to the broken key and poke your tongue out at the sad pile of rust and metal.

Open the door.

        You tentatively raise a shaky hoof. This could change your current predicament. Slowly, you guide your quivering extremity towards the door. Your heartbeat quickens in pace. Sweat forms upon your brow. Your mouth suddenly becomes dry. You lick your lips, and blink your eyes. Your head swims. You feel as though the floor trembles beneath your very hooves. Your hoof is reaching out painstakingly slow, yet each second progresses it nearer toward the planks of wood that compose a door. Closer... and closer.

        Time seems to slow down to an unbearably lazy crawl, and your mind rages on with thoughts scrambling about in your brain. You need to deliver the letter. You wonder where your daughter is at the moment. You worry about your little muffin. You remember how delicious that blueberry muffin was. Your saddlebags seem heavier than usual. Your hoof is almost touching the door. Where did all the rubble come from? What is this place? You wish you had another muffin.

        Suddenly the sensation of wood against your hoof registers throughout your entire body. With an imperceptible movement, you nudge the door open ever so slightly. At first, the door doesn’t move. Then, with a sudden, fluid movement, the door opened, and you become enveloped in complete darkness...

        Light creeps in through your eyelids, and you blink several times and let your eyes adjust. You stretch out across your bed, ruffling your sheets. You sit up, and let out a immense yawn. That was certainly a strange dream. But it was just a dream, so you don’t worry about it.

Reminisce about your dream.

        Um... what do you mean? You don’t remember any dream, but you do tend to forget things easily anyway. You ignore the command and crawl out of bed. You’ve got a lot to do today, and you should probably wake up Dinky.

        So off you go, going through your daily routine, any lingering memories of dreams forgotten. Yet every single dream you’ve had is not lost, and will always be there, somewhere in your mind.