“What’s a pony to do?” Whined Timestop, as she brought her right hoof to her chin, and rest her head. The young mare leaned over her cash register as she forced an over exasperated sigh, that blew dust up and over the edge of her front counter, and down onto the welcome mat. The mat didn’t have any quote, nor did it have any gesture of hospitality, it simply kept dirt from collecting too far into the store. Her front lip protruded as she played with the keys that nestled inside the lock to her cash drawer. Money had been fantastic during the holidays, it seemed as if everypony needed their watch fixed, a wall clock mounted, something engraved with a special someponies name, or simply to come in and get a quote on a custom commission, and then follow through the next day. But as January came to an end, not a single pony had come in since the beginning of the year. Lifting her head up slowly and swaying her right hoof to her side, she took a quick glance of the outside before heading to the back.
Timestop couldn’t help but grin though, it was about that time. 6pm only came once a day, so she scurried to the back. She mentally counted down the exact seconds till 6pm, and when she reached 58 seconds, she was at the back of the store. Nostalgia sent a powerful wave over her as she glanced outside, daylight savings time had been day before yesterday, so the sun was starting to set just over Manehatten’s mountains. Nopony could have ever understood the level of depth Timestop felt at 59 seconds, as chills ran down and over her body like thunder. A millisecond before 6pm, she nudged a rather large wind chime, to start off the ballad.
At 6pm the first clock to chime was a small hummingbird pocket watch, crisp, clean, and high pitched. Immediately after, the first rod of the wind chime stroke against one of its siblings, drowning the room in a deep and shaking tone of jubilant harmony. And then it happened. Timestop waved a hoof as an orchestrator would guide a choir, and the room’s acoustics were put to the limit, as every clock began to ring and knell. Different tones filled the air, some warm and full of joy, others isolated and seemingly troubled. Each clock and watch, all 142 of them, had a different personality and emotion when they were alive with the sound of music. Timestop could almost see the hymns in the air, mingling as party guests. She could imagine the deepest of tones in uplifted rhythm with neutral harmonious tones, such as the ones that came from her best timekeepers. The wind chimes were their music that they took pleasure from. The higher pitches were socializing and mingling, while some of her tone deaf watches were clowns, too full of punch to do anything other than be obnoxious. But all together, they were complete. They were all in succession, and they would always take Timestop’s breath away.
After a full minute of marvelous and intense soul, Timestop felt the echo of the last two lovers. Her wind chime hummed and her largest grandfather clock groaned out the last tune for the night, dancing into a parallel time and place, where music was alive and well. As air tunneled out through her nostrils, Timestop pressed a small button to her left with her muzzle. The lights in the front dimmed down to nothing, and the front door locked. If silence were a color, it would be black. She stood still in the darkness for a moment, contemplating where life was taking her, and if she was content to spend her lazy days wishing for company and something to do. She didn’t know how long it would last, or how much money she’d need to do what she wanted, or if she even knew what she wanted. Why was something as common as money such an issue? 2 bits for 3 apples, 4 bits for a loaf of bread, 1 bit for a head of lettuce, 1 bit for a basket of cherries, 6 bits for soft drinks and goodies, 10 bits for miscellaneous groceries, 400 bits for the rent, 210 for utilities, and the rest was lost in between. Her savings were enough to cover her bills for another 7 months, and if not, she could still cut back and last until the Holidays once more. What use is there though in just existing?
Timestop trotted mournfully to her bedroom, not caring to see the pile of stockings that were piled up in her kitchen. She pushed her door open, and as sedentary as she had been that day, she felt exhausted. She was discouraged from doing anything productive, even from tinkering with her latest hobby, steampony jewelry. She had taken broken gears and watch hands from several clocks, and glued them carefully to different things, making custom bracelets, pendants, and rings. She also glued them to her refrigerator, cash register, bed frame, and other household items. She felt like a filly with stickers and could not contain herself; she wanted to express her artistic freedom. Her best piece though, was something she had been working on since business came to a halt. A magnifying glass, small torch, an exacto knife, a few gems, and a bottle of wishful thinking magic she had bought in Canterlot a few years ago had made something really special. She had taken the face of a pocket watch, and buffed each side so all that was shown was scratched copper. She then artfully placed the gears across the front of the pendent, one large, one medium sized, and then one small. She put two small hands from a smaller pocket watch on the face, one facing north, the other facing west. The larger hand came next, found from a small wall clock that she had taken in as a trade in. That hand faced south east. The blow torch settled the embellishments where the glue would not, and also gave the work in progress a tarnished glaze. With a small tooth pick, she placed the emerald gems in 7 different spots, careful to not clutter her soon to be finished masterpiece. Timestop then dipped her thin bristled paintbrush into a settling primer with shimmer. Now that the glue was dry and the heat from the torch had cooled, she stroked once over the entirety of the set and was almost finished. She pushed the pendant around her work station, and put it under different magnifying applications, to see if there were any details that needed fixing, or any clumps of glue that needed careful removal. Everything had fortunately set nicely, other than a small clear drop of glue that had dried just to the left of an emerald. With the exacto knife she carefully cut the glue away, and it was gotten rid of with ease. Then came the bottle of wishful thinking, something she had been eager to use since she bought it.
Wishful thinking had been something described to her as “Secrets of the soul” from the merchant that she purchased it from. She remembered the booth with awe, it was filled with glass bottles of every shape and size, with loose and sticky liquids of darkest of night and brightest of Cloudsdales rainbows. Traveling vendors, brokers, and artists of the like came to Canterlot around the time of the Grand Galloping Gala, knowing that business would spike from the amount of tourists that traveled from all over Equestria to see the Princess. The Princess wasn’t the only reason for ponies young and old to come to Canterlot though. Since the arrival of the elements of harmony, the return of Luna, and the fall of Discord, tourists practically came running to every Gala. Everypony hoped for a chance of meeting the element bearers and their beloved Princess Luna. Since these events, business and sales had raised exponentially. Timestop had been fortunate enough to be there for the 1st Gala after Luna’s return and the founding of the elements once more. There was so much to look at, so much that had not been there the years previous. There were replicas of the princess’s regalia, pony plushies, custom dress’s and clothes designed after Rarity’s beauty and passion line, gemstones galore, and much more. Timestop remembered that she must have spent 600 bits, which was her profit for that week. She was a happy pony at that time, for when business was good, it was great. She had bought several pairs of stockings, for she hated for her hooves to get dirty. The feeling of dirty tootsies gave Timestop the heebie jeebies.
The Merchant she met was a Zebra, whose name she could not pronounce. She loved to listen to her talk though, for she spoke in metaphors. Everything was a poem with her black and white vendor, especially the merchandise. “This potion is your dreams awake, your soul elated and animated. Like a river dancing with the wind, wishing to join but forever grounded unless reincarnated, forever to lose past memories. Use on yourself only in times of desperate directionless, and use on items of empowerment and meaning. Sentience is a gift of birth, not a right. Young mare, this potion is the discarded essence of wishful thinking, thus is its name.” 30 bits later and 1 potion, Timestop slipped the bottle into her saddle, and trotted away with a thrilled visage. Being an earthpony, Timestop was unable to conjure her own magic, and unable to fly up into the clouds, to bottle up a rainbow and brew her own. Even if she could get a bottle of liquid rainbow, she wouldn’t know what to do with it other than think of it as a unique feature to her home. The only thing she knew about magic, was that if one was to brew, they would need a base, and the most popular base was rainbow fresh from a cloud. The ripest rainbows of course, were found only in Cloudsdale. She learnt that from a small seminar on magic in Manehattan.
The bottle of wishful thinking had set high on a shelf in her bedroom, glowing similar to that of a fire fly. The bottle shifted color anonymity, and right now, it was illuminating the area it was in a soft pink. Timestop reached up for it, carefully bringing it down and setting it next to her augmentation. She had never opened the bottle. Not out of fear, but out of respect. She wanted to only use it as the Zebra instructed, and she felt now was the time. “I’ve always wondered what this stuff would smell like.” Timestop whispered to herself, as she pulled the cork off of the potion. A small puff of mist arose from the bottle, the color leaving the potion and forming in the aroma. The liquid went clear, and Timestop sucked up the scent through her nose. The essence was conscience with the smell of all of Timestops favorite things. She could smell Cherries, roses, mud, pavement after a hard rain, and more. She blinked a few times, the scent potent and not dying down. She looked at the bottle steadily, lifted it up, and let out a small drop onto her pendant. She waited, eagerly, for some spectacular reaction. Several minutes went by, and her excitement grew to boredom, and then disappointment. She frowned, and put the cork back into the bottle, and placed it up where it belonged. “Cheap Zebra, probably filled these with water, scented oil, and some vanishing color spell.” She said sarcastically. Timestop fumbled around looking for the back of the watch that she had taken apart to make her jewelry. She found it behind a cup that held her paint brushes. She then began to buff it, and solder it back together with the front piece. When she was halfway through, she felt a surge run through her body, and zap her like lightning. “Ow!!!” she screeched, as she lightly tossed the pendant aside, looking at the singed hair on her hoof. “Hmph! Stupid tool! I should just throw you…” before she could finish her sentence, the pendant grew hostile, and started to shake frantically. It vibrated across her work table, bumping into her different tools. She followed it closely with her eyes, not wanting it to fall on the ground, but not wanting to touch it in fear of it shocking her again. The vibrating grew stronger, and soon it started to bounce up and down in a lopsided manner. It stretched and skewed, and at one time it reached a full foot across! Seemingly tormented, the item continued on its war path, now hissing and whistling like a tea pot. The hissing continued as it began to quiver and quake, as a child might cry and be unable to breathe after being caught doing something it shouldn’t have. Timestop was overwhelmed with concern and doubt as she watched the scene take place. Tortured as the now lively trinket might be, she knew she had to put a stop to its anger and suffering. Timestop reached out and fearlessly palmed her creation, she didn’t it to destroy her work area, but it was more than that. It was a connection, it was a sadness so deep that even a widowed mare or a lost foal could not understand. The level of shame was corrupt, and the dread that she felt was worse than torture next to death. In one touch, she felt every memory she had ever had upon her. It was a plague that was now unavoidable. She saw things that she never knew or could have remembered, and questioned if they were real. Questions upon questions faced her, whispers in the dark, and shouts in the day. The pony felt lost and full of despair, as if all she knew was betrayal. Every memory she had was being played for her on a screen, and she was a small pony, sitting upon a pedestal, viewing her life all at once, for 1 second. In that 1 second. she saw what was real. All at once she wanted it to stop, and secretly never wanted it to end. Her mind then fogged, and she was released from herself. The absolution was brutal, and almost sexual. She felt her body close to climax, and she was covered in cold sweats. She panted, and looked down, and to her astonishment, the pendant had slightly shrunk in size, and was now glowing a faint teal. The glow reminded her of the energy that was made up of Celestia and Luna’s mane, it was beautiful. It billowed slowly, and only radiated off of the trinket about an inch. Intimidated by her creation, she reached for her invention carefully and slowly. Now in the palm of her hoof, she felt calm, loved, and complete. It was as if while she was hit with everything, she was hit with nothing at all. Her mind felt peaceful, as if she understood, even if there was nothing to understand. She smiled a dreamy smile, the now enchanted achievement of steampony jewelry that she held gave her the greatest sense of belonging.
Timestop shook her head of the memory, and groggily slumped onto her bed. She rest her head on her favorite pillow, one that she had had for over 10 years. The pillow was black and covered with drool stains, and had a few holes in its case. She looked at her glowing animation, the illumination swaying with no force. She still had one thing to do with it, and figured now would be the great time to do so, if she hadn’t have just lay down on her bed. She knew that once she touched the jewel she’d be motivated, and more than likely stay up all night tinkering. The same could go for a pony work out, once you start you don’t want to stop, and you feel great afterwards, but it’s starting that’s hard. Timestop cursed under her breath, and forced herself to get up. “I have to pee anyways.” She said aloud, as she glanced over at her pillow. “Don’t worry, we’ll make love soon enough. I just have to do a few things, okay?” she smiled to herself, and hurried away to the little ponies room.
The toilet flushed slowly, the plumbing and water pressure were horrible in Manehattan. Timestop could never figure out why, it wasn’t as if they were close to Equestria’s water supply and plumbing town, Vanhoover. Or maybe it was because they were so far away, close to the cold and dangerous Crystal Mountains. Maybe the pipes were frozen again, and wouldn’t thaw, or at least work properly until the middle of March. Timestop shuddered at the idea of the months going by so quickly, and heading towards the center of March. That is when the climate started to change, and everything would get humid and achingly hot. Being a Pony with lots of hair, this proposed an issue. Timestop glanced down to her large and fluffy pink tail. It was wide and full of thick waves of soft blush hair, and it was untameable. She had a hard time taking care of it, for her flanks appendage dragged on the ground wherever she walked. Almost as unmanageable though, was her long and riveting turquoise mane. Her mane fell all around her face and most of her pudgy body, streaming down and almost to the ground like her tail. Timestop was thankful for that though. She wasn’t a terribly fat pony, but she did have extra weight and was glad to hide it by her abundance of hair. The young mare poked her belly, and then her sides, noticing a light jiggle. She frowned, and pulled a generous amount of her mane across her chest and stomach. Words couldn’t describe her lack of confidence, but she could see herself coyly in the mirror.
Timestop had a few mannerisms that had others tilting their heads from the side time to time. When talking she would occasionally tussle her bangs over her face, covering her mouth and nose, only peering at others through her eyes. Most of the time ponies would ask her if something smelt bad, and she’d forcibly release her cyan bangs and say “Sorry, force of habit.” She hated when she did it in Canterlot the most though, those snooty ponies were rude and would scoff at her. They’d walk away midsentence, look at her through their uptight noses, or just simple say “Child, whatever ARE you doing?!” in shock and disgust. She really disliked the Canterlot ponies, and was glad that she didn’t live there. She could visit, and leave as she pleased. Another thing that the early aged pony did was talk with her hooves. A lot. The conversation could range anywhere from the weather all the way to the cupcakes from Ponyville, and Timestops hooves would follow her every word. She’d raise her right hoof, and it would go with her words, and play a game of sharrades while she spoke. When her right hoof got tired, she’d lower it, and raise her left foot, and continue with her conversation. If someone were to video tape her and hit the fast forward button a few times, it’d look as if she was a horrible dancer. Timestop always measured it up to being a sign of intelligence, not a sign of strange animation on her part.
After hiding behind her mane in front of the mirror and loathing at her awkwardness, Timestop released her hair, and reached forward for her faucet. It was at that time that she saw the tooth paste scum gathering on her sink, forming in the cracks and crevices. It was as if they were a part of the sink since they had been there so long. She cranked the cold water knob to the right, and with great strain the water slowly dripped, and then streamed. The water was frothy and full of chemicals from being so far away from Vanhoover. They had the purest water, since it passed to them so quickly. The farther away towns were not so lucky. In Manehattan, they didn’t have the luxury of ‘soft water’. Their water was hard, not quite clear, and you could always taste something other than water if you were foolish enough to drink it. Timestop then pumped a rather generous amount of soap into her hooves, being wasteful as always. She loved glopping the thick and gooey liquid into her palms. Trifling as it was, she found it fun to rub her hooves together as fast as she could, and watch the bubbles pile up on one another. The bubbles and soap film gathered a little over 3 inches high until Timestop decided to run water over her hooves. The bubbles dissipated quickly under the running water, disappearing down to the pipes below. Timestop shook her hooves free of any water, and mourned for a clean towel. Timestop unfortunately didn’t have a washer and dryer, so whenever she needed fresh towels, stockings, or other cloth like material, she had to travel to the local laundry mat and do it there. Lately she had so much though, and didn’t want to make several long winded trips. Secretly, she didn’t want anypony to know how messy she had gotten. The thought of her possibly coming up at dinner one night between a family of ponies made her shudder. Late at night she’d play these scenes in her head, when she was most vulnerable. “Oh dear, I saw this pony make over 6 trips to the laundry mat, and she couldn’t have been a day over 20! It’s not like she could have had fillies to take care of, what a walking calamity!” Frowning, Timestop left the bathroom, and stood in the eve of her bedroom. She forced the thoughts out of her mind, but they still lingered, sitting at the back row of a darkened movie theatre, eyes glowing and waiting.
Timestop walked forward, tripping over a few stockings. Disgruntled, she pushed them to the side and out of her way, as she headed towards her desk. Pulling her rolling chair out, she pushed her bottom right into it with a soft “oomph”. The chair was old and made of leather, and was missing several of its pieces due to natural wear and tear. She had had it quite a long time, and bought it at a pony sale at the local thrift store. It was inexpensive and worth the price, for it fit her rump nicely. 12 bits for a chair was nothing, even if it had been used, and probably owned by many other ponies. At one time in desperate need and munchies, Timestop had payed 8 bits for a basket of strawberries. Timestop couldn’t afford to pass up a good bargain now though, for they were far and few between. The towns that surrounded Canterlot did fairly well. There were jobs for everypony that could afford to live there. Capitalism was at its finest, everypony was into the latest fashion, and always had scrumptious dinners at around 5:30pm. They lived the ‘equestrian dream’ as most called it. The outer cities weren’t as lucky though. Money was tight between most ponies, for jobs weren’t as plentiful. Resources from other areas are expensive, and not very cost efficient for those that decide to make the trip.
Timestop snuggled her backside in for comfort, and reached for the bottle of Wishful thinking. She took a few moments to look at it with fear and wonder. The last experience was less than enjoyable, and was secretly one of the reasons why she hadn’t finished the project. She remembered everything, and by remembering everything, she meant even since she was born. Timestop could remember the crying, the rejoicing, and her mother’s warm embrace upon her muzzle. She remembered the first time she had ice cream, it was delicious! It was creamy as it ran down her throat, cold against her teeth, and caught in her fur. Her first flavor was chocolate, she couldn’t describe such ecstasy other than to remember it, and keep it safe in her memory. She could also recall when she got her cutie mark. It was late at night, and very cold outside. Her mother had been complaining to her that she’d get sick if she didn’t wear something, but she ignored her. She had better things to do than listen at the time. The icy wind from the outdoors stung her cheeks and made her nose cold and drippy. She loved that feeling. Timestop giddily ran closer to the Crystal Mountains, happy that she lived so close to them. They were practically in her backyard while she grew up. She then reached her destination, a small hill clear of trees, with dancing grass up to her chest. She sat down, rooting around the green for a comfortable spot. This was something she did often in the winter, but only at night. The skies were always clear for the Pegasus of Cloudsdale always stole them for their convenience. Timestop looked up, and began staring at the stars. She was a filly lost in thought and wonder. The young one began to understand the beauty of the universe, and wanted to unlock all of its secrets. Timestop knew that she was in 1 galaxy of another billion more, and that there was more past their star system. She was amazed, and felt enormously insignificant. Although this would be depressing to most, it delighted Timestop to know that there was so much more out there to be understood. That somehow, someday, she might dance on the dust of one million years ago. She knew what she stood on was the same thing born a few times over, but she wanted to feel time for itself, and what it was. Timestop reached a hoof up, and in her cluttered emotion, let a single tear drop rain from her eye. She was overwhelmed with the beauty of creation, and smothered by the thought that she was once a part of something greater than what she knew. If one were to ever to see their soul take form, Timestop knew hers was above her hoof, light years away. It was at that moment her flank began to sparkle, and in came her cutie mark. Somehow this bottle had brought back both significant and delightful memories. At the same time though, it was dark and horrifying.
Timestop knew that everypony had skeletons in their closet, but seeing all of hers dancing before her eyes was intense, revealing, and demented. She could remember all the times she cheated in pony middle school, and got caught. She recalled the embarrassment of her teacher taking her paper from her in front of all her class mates and ripping it up, eveypony looking at her silently and knowing. Timestop feared shame and judgment above death. She could see right in front of her the time that she blackmailed a neighbor over something as trifling as forgetting to return a pair of pliers, and the time she broke all of those wine glasses at the local beverage stop. She hadn’t returned since. There was also that one time she ran into RedWinter, the head Librarian for the Canterlot library. If Timestop didn’t enjoy going to the Grand Galloping Gala for the vendors, she adored going to the library. It smelt wonderful, and it was quiet. When she had first graduated pony school, she would head to the Canterlot library frequently, borrowing books left and right. She remembered two years ago, when she trotted up to the librarian’s desk, and eagerly scooted 2 books towards Redwinter. She had only seen him a few times in passing, and was hoping to impress him by picking two books that were for only the most advanced of readers. She knew she probably wouldn’t be able to read them when she got home, but there was no harm in trying. Redwinter peeked at her over his small reading glasses, and with lack of emotion said, “Library card?” “Oh, yes, hold on just a moment.” Timestop clumsily searched the satchel that hung over her back, prodding and moving everything around in hunt of the slim card. After what seemed 2 full minutes, Redwinter sighed and said “If you don’t have your library card with you, than I can’t let you borrow these books.” Timestop then lowered her head, and closed her satchel slowly. “I’m….sorry, I don’t have it, I must have left it back in Manehattan…” she looked up at him with pleading eyes and was met with the same bored expression that he had when he asked her for her library card. “That’s a shame. Don’t feel bad though, the theory in this book was disproven, and this one is filled with empty hypothesis.” Redwinter then focused his attention elsewhere, dismissing her with his lack of attention. She cowered for a moment, and hurried herself out of the building. She hadn’t returned there since. She had always admired the Red and Silver pony, and had a small pony crush on him. She found him handsome, intelligent, and chivalrous. She had read many things about him in the ‘Canterlot daily’, and just wanted the opportunity to meet him face to face, and try to impress him. Her plan failed miserably. Her worst memories though, as tame as they may be to others, were the ones that coveted her currently. She was ashamed with herself that she hadn’t done anything with her life after pony school. She made excuses for herself constantly, such as “What’s an earth pony to do? I can’t fly or do magic. I hate getting my hooves dirty, so farming just isn’t for me. I can create, but what I make isn’t in high demand. I’m so pitiful.” It was at that time that she looked at her cutie mark. Glancing down she would admit that it was cool, but she still didn’t understand it. Her special talent was another thing that she felt ashamed of, it felt more like a decoration than a sense of self.
Timestops cutie mark was the infinity symbol surrounded by 4 roman numerals of the number 13. Forcing its way north west was a large arrow, and sliding to the southeast was a smaller arrow. The roman numerals were put on her flank to match a clock’s 1, 3, 6, and 9 slots. The coloring was also a mixture of neon green and turquoise. Timestop understood that she was better than most with machinery, especially clocks. The thing she didn’t understand, or want to accept, was that her talent was messing with metal. Why couldn’t she get something cool? Timestop knew of ponies that could write, draw, sing, dance, and even do a combination of the 4. She remembered that night again, staring at the beginning, the big black gateway to her soul. Why did she get stuck with staying in a dirty house, covered in oil, messing around with clocks? Especially after that night, she truly felt gifted, and not with her hooves. “Fate is so cruel.” Timestop muttered as she shook her head, reaching for an eyedropper. She didn’t want to think of those things, she had already spent too much negative energy wishing for things she couldn’t change, and sulking on the past. She also didn’t want to remember that 1 second, that 1 moment of truth and eternity.
Eye droppers were perfect for gathering small amounts of liquid and fantastic for reaching into smaller necked bottles. She fit the eye dropper then into the bottle of wishful thinking after popping the quark, and squeezed in no more than 3 tiny droplets. Instantly her nose was filled with all of her favorite scents. This time, she could smell chocolate ice cream, iced root beer, cold metal, and fresh laundry. Last time where the bottle had been a soft petal rose, it had changed to a sickly forbidden green. The colors were gone though, just as the scent had vanished. “Now where did I put that silly vial…” Timestops speech slurred off as she glanced from left to right, and then right to left. A tiny glass perfume bottle was what she sought after, and was upset that she had misplaced it. She knew that her room was a disaster and that she’d lose the vintage perfume bottle, but was arrogant and confident that she wouldn’t move it from her work area. She had done just that though, as she glanced up where the bottle of Wishful Thinking had been, and noticed a tiny gleam. It was at that moment that she remembered about a week ago, that she had been crafting something else, and moved the bottle out of her way and someplace safe from harm. She hadn’t finished her other creation, nor any of them for that matter. This would be the first thing she’d finished since Christmas.
Timestop reached up for the bottle, and clutched it carefully in her hoof. Next she grabbed her glowing trinket, and once more checked to see if the bottle would fit inside. Snuggly the glass vial slipped in, unscathed. Smiling, she brought it back out, and popped the black rubber lid off of the top. Inserting the eyedropper, she released the wishful thinking liquid into the vial, and quickly sealed the rubber top back on. She hesitated, afraid of what happened last time this amount of time went by from her last experience with the strange and eluding magic. As smart as she found herself to be, she knew one of her greatest faults was how trusting and naïve she could be. She didn’t once think to ask the Zebra until now what exactly Wishful thinking was. She had heard the riddled metaphor, and was sold on candy coated words. She waited in what was pure silence, not a sound was made. She even held her breathe, and the cicadas that had plagued the town for weeks had seemingly moved off to another city. Timestop waited for anything, curious and a little bit apprehensive of what was to come.
And again, just like last time, nothing happened. Her waiting turned into boredom after 15 or so minutes. She snatched up her soldering tool, and began finishing what she had meant to finish 3 weeks ago. Slipping the tiny vintage bottle into the back of her pendant, she began her work. She pushed the trinket under a magnifying glass, and started melting the front and back together, correcting her ending mistake from the last time she had soldered. Within minutes she was finished, and badly wanted to let her prized work rest in her palms. It needed to cool for she didn’t want to burn herself. She had burned herself many times before, each time more painful than the first. She began to blow on the cooling metal, hoping to hasten the amount of time it would take to cool. The soft cyan energy emitting from the trinket followed the new pattern across the bottom half, aiding in its completion. Timestop poked her augment, and it was ready to be handled. It was still warm around the edges, but the bottle inside was safe and snug. Holding it in the palm of her hooves, she shook it lightly, to see if the bottle inside was truly snug. Nothing clanked or jingled, she couldn’t even hear the liquid inside the bottle rattle of splash.
“A job well done.” The pony gleamed in triumph, feeling quite accomplished. It had been the first thing she had finished in over a month, and although a small success, it was still success. Timestop wanted oh so badly to fasten a clamp on the top and run a silver chain through it and wear the pendant as a necklace, but something inside her told her not too. That something was probably fear of it breaking or getting lost, but all the same she decided against it. She looked around her room, searching for a good spot to display it. Most of her room had been cluttered with unfinished work and junk, so finding a special spot was going to be difficult. She didn’t want it masked by clutter, but she didn’t want it to be the main attraction of her room. Her goal one day was to finish everything, and scatter it amongst her wall randomly, so not one single piece of artwork was the centerpiece. She wanted everything to have its own place and title, and to be special. “This will be the first.” She smiled in her state of fatigue. She hadn’t realized that it was nearing her bed time. Timestop groggily walked over to her windowsill, and cleared the area just atop her bedframe. She set it off to the side artistically, and stood back staring at it's completion. She felt immense joy in her accomplishment, so much so that her tail gave a wag. Humbly she turned around, and walked once more to the eve of her doorway. “Remember that promise pillow? Get ready for some love, because I’m comin’ and I’m ready for some deep, deep sleep.” Timestop flicked the light out, and readied herself for bed with one long stretch.
Only the lights didn’t go out, and everything went white.