//------------------------------// // Chapter 1: Pessimism // Story: Fallout:Equestria - Clockworks // by ube //------------------------------// TINK, TINK, TINK! Everyday I hear that damn noise, it’s like my ears ring each morning. CLINK, CLINK, CLANK! My mother is always creating something, either it be some junk scrapyard that she found dumpster diving so she decided to make it into some damn cuckoo clock, or its metal sheets and she made a whole toy truck out of it.  CLURNK, CLANK, CLINK! The noises made my ears bleed, well not literally, but I grabbed my pillow and clenched it above my head. The softness only blocks out some of the noise, it made me feel like I was numb again. Rolling over, I pressed the side of my face on my pillow and glanced towards my leg. Now, this isn’t news or anything, it’s nothing even special either, but whenever I stare at my prosthetic it makes me feel so weak. It’s cogwheels spinning in place whenever I flex my muscle, and the fact that when I walk it makes this awful squeaky noise. My mom says I should oil it, but I’m too lazy to do any of that.  I might as well be lazy, I mean, it’s literally the aftermath of the end of the world. Everything only ever gets worse, and it never gets any better. My mother says it will, but I know it won’t, it’s just facts, and she’s only looking towards the future because she thinks it’ll be different and better.  “Someday, you might even change the world, Boxie.” My mother always told me, HAH! Yeah right. I rolled over on my back, staring up at the ceiling. It was a painted mural, I think my dad and I painted it together before he left. It's a beautiful splash of pink and yellow, touched with a bright pastel blue. It's still calming to me because it’s just a silly little picture of what I think a dog looks like, fuzzy and under the great blue sky with the rays of sunshine beaming down on him.  I always wanted a dog, but they went extinct years ago, just like my hopes of this wretched town. One time, I saw some homeless pony steal this kids block of cheese, he had steam emitting from his mechanic eyeball, so fucking freaky. I really wish that this megaspell just ended everything in existence, not just made everything half-dead or half-alive.  “BOXIEEE!” That’s my mothers voice, she’s always this loud– Either it be I’m far away or I’m in talking distance with her, she needs to yell. “BOXIE! COME LOOK AT WHAT I MADE!” Classic mother, she’s a tinkerer. She builds and creates, at least she’s creative. Sadly, it’s not something that's passed with genes I guess, because I’m the most boring pony alive. I blame my dad, he was a drunk, did nothing but complain, and when nothing went his way he would cry about how useless he is.  “BOXIE!” Her voice again, she’s screeching now. I better go and see what she needs, or moreso, wants. I slid off of my mattress, not even bothering to make my bed. My gray blanket touched the floor, I should really change the sheets but I never bother. Moving forward as my leg would make those sounds, squeaking and clicking. The brass shining from the glint of sun passing through the window.  I don’t ever look at my mirror, but today, I think it just feels like that kind of day. I stood right in front of my reflection, staring up towards the sticky note I made when I was only eight years old, “YOU CAN DO IT MUSIC BOX!” written on it with bright red crayon.  I didn’t gain sentience back then, that’s why I was so happy when I was a foal. My tired green eyes stared towards myself, that's me, a light yellow earth pony with messy livid mane. I brushed my grayish blue mane out of my eyes, only to scrunch my snout as well– I never liked seeing me, hearing me, and I still refuse to look at me. I grabbed the tarp that was behind my mirror, and draped it over. Gone from sight, hidden from mind.  Finally, I waltzed into the living room. Clocks everywhere, made from metal, brass, or anything that looks like it shouldn’t be pieced together. They were horrendous to look at the wall every morning, and think of how I feel when I want to get a late night snack, and this terrible cuckoo clock comes COO-COOOOING at me! I wish my mother got rid of this garbage, it's all useless junk anyways. The only useful stuff I see her make is what she hooves over to some company-ponies, she always looks so sad when she gives them away though, I try not to bother in her money-making.  My eyes slowly moved to my mom’s new thingamajig, it was– something.  “Whot is it?” I asked, I was blunt and my voice sounded uninterested as it always does. My mother is used to it though, she likes to say that it makes me sound mature.  She held up the contraption, “It’s a humidifier!” She showed me, it was practically all over the place. Tubes went in and out of the small box, and a windup key in the back of it was what could possibly start the thing up. “Watch!” My mother excitedly giggled, twisting the key. CRRRK, CRRK, CRRK. The box then began to emit air from the tubes, however, after a few minutes it would stumble and bumble. Flicking open the lid as smoke made the poor thing implode in on itself. My mother on the other hoof, was covered with dust. She snorted, and began to laugh, placing the item on her desk as she went right back to work. “All is fun in failing and working!” My mother told me with the most childlike expression on her face. “Sure, mother.” I rolled my eyes, plopping myself down on the couch as I gazed out the window. Low and behold, there’s already a stallion duking it out with another, one bashing the other on the concrete ground and the bigger one coming back just to throw him on the muddy pile. What’s this all for? A fucking piece of mint. It was not just any mint however, it tasted fresh but those sweets can make a grown stallion kill an infant for just another hit. It was laced, drugging these poor ponies and creatures to depend on it.  “Boxie?” My mothers voice again, however, she wasn’t actually yelling. It was a soft voice, oh no– This is most likely going to be another awkward parent-child talk that I didn’t want to do.  “Yeah?” I hesitantly replied, my eyes looking towards her. She had her back turned to me, she was still working on that garbage. Why’d I even turn around? I eventually looked back out the window.  “When are you going to go back to working on things, again?”  “What?” My brows furrowed. “Well, you have a talent for making things.” There she goes, “I don’t see why you can’t put it to use.”  “I don’t have any talent.” I reiterated– I’ve said this many times before actually and this conversation genuinely feels like deja vu. “I never had one to begin with, I only got it because I made something for once. After that, everything else was just as useless as what you make for a hobby.” I think I was too mean when I said that, I could hear my mom gulp down before she’d set down her tools next to the box.  I felt bad, my upper eyelids lowering, “I’m sorry,” I muttered.  “It’s okay, love.” Mother replied, it wasn’t okay. She sounded upset, but she didn’t have the heart to insult or scold me, she was a pushover like that. “I’ll stay quiet now.” The loud tinks I would usually hear was way quieter now, but it didn’t feel any better. I think I preferred it when her hammering was in my ears.  To avoid my guilt, I went into my room and closed the door.  I wouldn’t fucking slam it, I’m not some child anymore, I’m twenty.  I made my way to the closet, and picked out a random vest and undershirt. It was the most boring clothes, fit for a mare like me. A striped dark brown vest on top of a white blouse, paired with an equally brown ribbon-tie. I think all I needed was my bag, and my hat.  Quietly, I trotted out my room. The hat that I usually wore is my mom’s favorite, she made it herself after all. It had gears that went around it, as well of a small cogwheel that would move if I made any quick movements. It was pretty cool, I think the coolest thing my mom has made yet. I grabbed my satchel, making sure that it was snug over my shoulders and placed the hat ever so gently on my head. I didn’t know how I looked, but I didn’t care.  Opening the door, I could hear the hammering stop.  “Boxie?” My mother again, she always calls me ‘Boxie’, never Music Box.  “Yes?”  “Please,” There was a pause, “Please, be safe.”  I don’t know why she doesn’t trust me by myself still, I can take care of myself very well. I bit my lip, I was wondering if I should just say nothing at all. However, I gave in.  “I will.” I replied, before closing the door and locking it. Hello, outside.