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Organised by
RogerDodger
Word limit
400–750
Killing Time
In Minuette’s mind, time never stopped. When she closed her eyes, she felt gears spin and grind, creating beats, a fixed ticking steadier than even her own pulsing heart. Beats translated to seconds, turned into minutes, days, weeks, constant like a tide’s flow. Constant despite the chaos of Canterlot, radiating, engulfed by a blanket of fire and smothered with the stench of death.
The counting never stopped, even after everypony, herself included, counted on the arrival of Princess Twilight and her friends, following news of the princesses’ disappearance. Minuette numbered the days, weeks, after they quested to other lands and were never heard from again. Her numbers didn’t falter when the opposition arrived at Canterlot, smashing the clock towers and bell towers, burning schools and libraries, overtaking the kingdom. Ponies, centaurs, changelings, gryphons. The resistance moved like smoke and lava, and Canterlot’s royal guards and Wonderbolts scattered, slugging through the battles, overworked and overwhelmed. But as their willpower died, her beats continued, even after Discord disappeared, taken or lost or hiding.
They continued now, even as she hid.
Minuette had been hiding for seven months, nineteen days, four hours, three minutes, and nine seconds (and counting). The day before that was the day when the sun and moon stood still, reflected side by side like sisters, a site juxtaposed to the royal sisters’ vanishing. Then, exactly twenty-three hours later, Equestria and beyond succumbed to the aggression, and the clock smashing began.
They started with the clockmakers and the watchmakers. They smashed their workshops, their tools, their clockwork, gears spilling out like vulture-pecked entrails. And when the last clock splintered, when the last ticking died, their eyes hardened to the horologists. Screams emerged, echoing like a cuckoo’s cry.
“Time is a disease. It’s an illness,” they chanted as Canterlot’s Sundial Gardens smoldered. “No more shall Kronos control us!” Next were the astronomers, the teachers, the musicians with finely-tuned ears. Their screams too, were in tune.
The bright sisters and their unseen ghostly ancestors gazed with an idle stare as the oppressors ravaged homes, destroying calendars, historical books, hourglasses. All the while, with the sun and moon stagnant, ponies howled, “Is it day or night?”
Minuette knew, even as time warped, shifted, and blended. Within weeks, everything related to Star Swirl and all instruments related to time were destroyed. Soon, it would be all ponies related to time.
Minuette was trapped in the caves near the bottom of Canterlot Mountain. She crouched down, hugging a pair of stalagmites. Her ears perked. They were coming. They were close.
She grasped the craggy edges, following a slender path, trying to find the cave’s exit by some semblance of light. By now she was used to the darkness. She didn’t dare light her horn.
Ponyville. She had to get to Ponyville.
“It’s the only place safe for you,” Lemon Hearts had said. “Find Time Turner. They haven’t got him yet. He created something, I’ve heard, but he needs the time. He can save us. Both of you can.” She sniffed and stacked more lemons around Minuette’s head. Minuette’s body was covered by them. “What time...what day is it, Minuette?”
“August fourth. 9:41 in the morning.”
“Don’t forget this.” Lemon nuzzled Minuette right before closing the crate.
Minuette wouldn’t forget. She wouldn’t forget Lemon Hearts' trembling goodbyes as the crate was pushed over a diamond dog hole. She wouldn’t forget the faces and names of her fellow horologists martyred as she trekked down the mountain. She wouldn’t—couldn’t forget.
Ponyville, she thought.
When dots of light gleamed ahead, she kept her pace. They were waiting outside. She was surrounded, and with no other choice, she ran. They chased.
She counted her breaths, counted the hunters, the steps as she struggled, but when magic hit her chest, she stumbled, almost tripping. Then, a second hit. A final blow sent her off the ledge and into the waters.
Even as she was falling, Minuette knew the exact time of her failure. She spent eight minutes drowning and bleeding, grasping the water, the branches, the air. It was 7:53 at night when her movements stopped, and though the celestial spirits still shined above, her vision grayed. Thirty-two seconds after she saw red, she tried to find peace with her death. It took her forty more seconds to realize that she was staring at a gray coat and a red scarf, and Minuette took a painful shaky breath as she recognized the duo.
“Don’t worry. We found you just in time.”
The counting never stopped, even after everypony, herself included, counted on the arrival of Princess Twilight and her friends, following news of the princesses’ disappearance. Minuette numbered the days, weeks, after they quested to other lands and were never heard from again. Her numbers didn’t falter when the opposition arrived at Canterlot, smashing the clock towers and bell towers, burning schools and libraries, overtaking the kingdom. Ponies, centaurs, changelings, gryphons. The resistance moved like smoke and lava, and Canterlot’s royal guards and Wonderbolts scattered, slugging through the battles, overworked and overwhelmed. But as their willpower died, her beats continued, even after Discord disappeared, taken or lost or hiding.
They continued now, even as she hid.
Minuette had been hiding for seven months, nineteen days, four hours, three minutes, and nine seconds (and counting). The day before that was the day when the sun and moon stood still, reflected side by side like sisters, a site juxtaposed to the royal sisters’ vanishing. Then, exactly twenty-three hours later, Equestria and beyond succumbed to the aggression, and the clock smashing began.
They started with the clockmakers and the watchmakers. They smashed their workshops, their tools, their clockwork, gears spilling out like vulture-pecked entrails. And when the last clock splintered, when the last ticking died, their eyes hardened to the horologists. Screams emerged, echoing like a cuckoo’s cry.
“Time is a disease. It’s an illness,” they chanted as Canterlot’s Sundial Gardens smoldered. “No more shall Kronos control us!” Next were the astronomers, the teachers, the musicians with finely-tuned ears. Their screams too, were in tune.
The bright sisters and their unseen ghostly ancestors gazed with an idle stare as the oppressors ravaged homes, destroying calendars, historical books, hourglasses. All the while, with the sun and moon stagnant, ponies howled, “Is it day or night?”
Minuette knew, even as time warped, shifted, and blended. Within weeks, everything related to Star Swirl and all instruments related to time were destroyed. Soon, it would be all ponies related to time.
Minuette was trapped in the caves near the bottom of Canterlot Mountain. She crouched down, hugging a pair of stalagmites. Her ears perked. They were coming. They were close.
She grasped the craggy edges, following a slender path, trying to find the cave’s exit by some semblance of light. By now she was used to the darkness. She didn’t dare light her horn.
Ponyville. She had to get to Ponyville.
“It’s the only place safe for you,” Lemon Hearts had said. “Find Time Turner. They haven’t got him yet. He created something, I’ve heard, but he needs the time. He can save us. Both of you can.” She sniffed and stacked more lemons around Minuette’s head. Minuette’s body was covered by them. “What time...what day is it, Minuette?”
“August fourth. 9:41 in the morning.”
“Don’t forget this.” Lemon nuzzled Minuette right before closing the crate.
Minuette wouldn’t forget. She wouldn’t forget Lemon Hearts' trembling goodbyes as the crate was pushed over a diamond dog hole. She wouldn’t forget the faces and names of her fellow horologists martyred as she trekked down the mountain. She wouldn’t—couldn’t forget.
Ponyville, she thought.
When dots of light gleamed ahead, she kept her pace. They were waiting outside. She was surrounded, and with no other choice, she ran. They chased.
She counted her breaths, counted the hunters, the steps as she struggled, but when magic hit her chest, she stumbled, almost tripping. Then, a second hit. A final blow sent her off the ledge and into the waters.
Even as she was falling, Minuette knew the exact time of her failure. She spent eight minutes drowning and bleeding, grasping the water, the branches, the air. It was 7:53 at night when her movements stopped, and though the celestial spirits still shined above, her vision grayed. Thirty-two seconds after she saw red, she tried to find peace with her death. It took her forty more seconds to realize that she was staring at a gray coat and a red scarf, and Minuette took a painful shaky breath as she recognized the duo.
“Don’t worry. We found you just in time.”