//------------------------------// // November 20 3891 12:24pm // Story: Well, At Least Time Flies // by shortskirtsandexplosions //------------------------------// Scootaloo's eyes reopened. As the written words from Aunt Wellspring's letter trailed in her mind, the glinting sunlight off the crystalline pendant filled the gap. She turned the dangling object over and over in her hoof, studying how the gold bands dug into the stone material like eagle talons. She couldn't imagine how she'd be able to rid the heirloom of the metallic frame with any relative ease, but now was not the time to worry about that. Now was not the time to worry about anything... much less time itself. Goosebumps formed under Scootaloo's fur. With an enthused breath, she looked up and gave the horizon a final contemplative glance. Fillies and colts continued with their snowball fights. Oblivious families began skating across an icy lake. Across the way, Scootaloo watched as a clumsy foal in a frilly orange cloak fell off her sleigh and tumbled wildly down a snowy embankment. "Heh..." Scootaloo smirked devilishly, throwing the length of her scarf around her neck. "...featherweight." It was a very good time indeed. She turned towards the sled, leaned over, and bit down hard on the tarp. With one swift jerk of the neck, she yanked it clean off. The vehicle was exposed completely to the sunlight. Although small, the sled was far from lightweight. It was constructed out of durable iron, with noticeable rivets reinforcing a rust-red colored hull. A reflective silver brace lifted out of the upwards-bent front of the sled, and it branched out in two blue handles—perfectly shaped for a young filly to grip without stretching too hard. There were multiple dials in the handles, all fitted with revolving numbers like a complex combination lock. Then—at the bottom of the silver brace, where it made contact with the main body of the sled—there was a glossy transparent panel that stretched across the width of the sled, through which multiple flip panels read the current date—and time—in monochromatic simplicity: "NOV – 20 – 3891 – 12:24pm" Towards the rightmost edge of the transparent panel, seconds and milliseconds ticked away at a swift speed. If Scootaloo leaned in close enough, she could hear the inner gears of a delicate chronometer humming and puttering away beneath the iron exoskeleton of the sled. But these were far from the most noticeable details of the vehicle. Scootaloo trotted quietly around the vehicle and took a glance at its undercarriage. Postioned towards the rear of the sled—between the main body and where the blades met the snowy hilltop—were two parallel tubes of crystalline material. The horizontal cylinders hugged the underbelly of the craft, and their glossy purple surfaces resembled the pendant hanging from the little pegasus' neck. There was more to this material than met the casual eye, however. If one stared long enough, one would notice a dim glow to it, something far deeper than enchantment. The words from Aunt Wellspring's third letter struck Scootaloo's mind: how she warned about staring too long at the cylinders... that it would feel like drifting off into the deepest vacuum of the cosmos... and make one feel just as cold and lonesome. So, with a determined breath, Scootaloo wrenched her eyes off the twin cylinders and their constelattory shine. She reached down, picked up the heavy backpack, and strapped it across her flank. Next, she plopped the purple-striped helmet to her cranium and slipped on a pair of goggles. Scootaloo took a moment to look downhill, and the inevitable drop looked far greater than she had ever previously imagined. For all she knew, she could just as well have been gazing into the darkest niche of Ghastly Gorge. That was the precise stab of fear that she needed, and the challenge was ultimately accepted. Scootaloo climbed quietly on board the sled, took a breath, and began rotating the dials on the blue handles with her hooves. She had made the decision late last night—while lying restless for hours in bed, finding sleep impossible to achieve while the blizzard raged outside and the words from her aunt's last letter broiled in her mind. Her decision was that she would play it safe for the first push. After all... what would be the thrill in future jumps if the very first leap was the longest and wildest of all? The handles clicked and clattered as Scootaloo's fetlocks fiddled with the numbered dials of the sled's left handle. She licked her lips in the blistering cold air, squinting down at the translucent panel beneath her forward half that contained the current date. In response to her manipulations of the dials, she saw the numerical drop cards being highlighted in a luminescent red glow. Following the instructions from her aunt's letters, she tweaked and toyed with the counter until the digits "19" hovered above the static "20." The current time was also highlighted in red, but Scootaloo chose to leave that alone. She twisted the dials of the right handle. This produced a click from halfway down the silver brace. Her gaze darted to where a compass was fitted against the neck of the structure. All cardinal directions were highlighted in red, and a numerical field in the center of the compass read "0000." Holding her breath, Scootaloo twisted the dials of the right handle back. Click! The red glow left the compass, and Scootaloo exhaled with relief. No need to get too wild for the first one... Scootaloo stood tall in the sled, staring forward. The snow drifting all around her slowed down, as if the whole world was holding its breath. On the edge of its seat. It was now or never. Gritting her teeth, Scootaloo yanked the handles out towards opposite sides. Cht-Chtunk! Something deep within the belly of the sled hummed to life. The little filly felt a metallic vibration running up and down the length of the vehicle. In her peripheral vision, she detected the two crystalline cylinders glowing with purple vibrance—but she knew better than to stare directly at them. Especially now of all times. Stretching out a shaky hoof, she pushed back against the snow. The sled inched forward... teetering on the edge of the tallest hilltop in Ponyville. She felt a great heat resonating from below. The blades of the sled glowed bright blue, and steam hissed from where they made contact with the frozen gloss. Scootaloo momentarily remembered a dream that she had in preschool years ago. A dream that she had woken up from, awash with tears and sobs. Ever since then, she tried to make up for her inabilities by catching as much air as she possibly could every waking day. Now days too were a dream. Scootaloo pushed forward. The wind in her face was freezing, punishing. She welcomed it. The filly waited until the howl of the air met the pitch of the cylinders vibrating beneath her. When at long last she reached the highest speed, she shoved the handles back towards the center with an audible CLACK! The steam from the sled exploded all around her. Gravity vanished along with the wind, and soon Scootaloo was throttling down a pallid tunnel of white froth flowing in a spiral around her. Her eyes twitched, trying to make sense of the maddening flurry of snow rolling in every direction. She looked down the length of the ivory tunnel, and—for a moment there—she thought she saw countless reflections of herself. A hundred million orange ponies on rust red sleds, sliding into an eternity of bent, broken mirrors. Scootaloo wasn't ashamed to admit that this frightened her. She tightened her grip of the handle, prepared to abort the process at a moment's heartbeat. But then it finished on its own... just as quickly as the slalom had started.