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// Part 2 - The Malcontent 
// Story: Misfit Six 
// by Don Quixote 
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I had almost finished unpacking my equipment when I heard screams outside. This came as hardly any surprise. For some reason, crises happen pretty often in Ponyville. I dropped everything and trotted outside to see what was going on.

Minutes before, Ponyville had been a splintered rainbow: blue sky and green grass and flowers of every color jumbled together like pieces in a stained glass window.

That Ponyville was gone.

The world had turned brown and black and gray: the earth, the sky, the trees, everything. Think of those old-timey films in which everything is colorless and blurred and silent. That was Ponyville, except for the screams.

These were loud and mostly incoherent, though I thought I heard cries of “The horror!” rising above the rest. Ponies ran to and fro. A few were sobbing. Up and down the street, doors and windows slammed shut as residents locked themselves in their homes.

Anxious, I turned back into my clinic—I haven’t introduced myself, have I? My name is Colgate. I’m a unicorn and a dentist, and also a freak of nature. At least that’s what I’ve been told.

My clinic didn’t get much business in those days. On that particular day, I knew it wouldn’t get any. I decided to leave. After repacking my stuff, I swung my bag onto my back, locked up my clinic and began walking home.

There was no wind, but the air was tinged with a faint smell of decay. The petals underfoot were beginning to rot. Looking around, I saw blossoms wilting on the trees and grass fading. I glanced upward at the empty hole where the sky had been. There were no clouds: just a faint smudge of brightness that I guessed was the sun.

As I neared the center of town, I heard ponies stamping and shouting. I rounded a corner to see Time Turner—a mild, irritable brown pony with an hourglass Cutie Mark—standing on the terrace of town hall, waving a hoof and trying pathetically to address a crowd of restless ponies.

They were the ones brave enough to venture outside.

“Keep calm!” he yelled. “Don’t panic!”

I felt sorry for Time Turner, a minor secretary who worked part-time keeping Ponyville’s clocks in sync. Mayor Mare left him in charge when she left town for the Summer Sun Celebration in the Crystal Empire. Time Turner could handle routine stuff, but not an emergency like this.

We needed… oh, no.

As I gazed up at Time Turner, who was still trying desperately to be heard, I felt my heart sink to the very tips of my hooves. We needed our Princess, Twilight Sparkle. We needed her friends. We needed Celestia and Luna, the almighty guardians of day and night.

They were all far, far away.

We were on our own.

The crowd threw questions at Time Turner faster than he could answer them. A few rowdy ponies, dissatisfied with flinging questions, flung vegetables instead.

“We’ve sent a letter to the Princess,” bellowed Time Turner, ducking a cabbage. “Yes, Twilight and her friends are on their way. Yes, Celestia and Luna are coming too. No, they won’t arrive until tomorrow.”

“Why not?” demanded one pony. Another threw an onion, hitting Time Turner square in the forehead.

“The Princesses have been delayed by a blizzard,” he said, slightly cross-eyed. “Yes, I know Celestia controls the sun. The clouds are the problem. The Crystal Empire isn’t covered by polite, friendly Ponyville clouds. Our Princesses are dealing with storm clouds, and storm clouds answer to no pony.”

The crowd was panicking. Time Turner danced back and forth like a marionette jerked by its strings, trying (mostly without success) to avoid being hit by vegetables. The scene was almost funny. I repressed a hysterical desire to laugh.

Then a voice rose above the rest.

“Listen, ponies, do not rage and shout! We shall die if you don’t hear me out!”

The crowd fell instantly silent. The hail of vegetables ceased. Time Turner took a shaky breath, and a bedraggled pony—no, a zebra—staggered onto the terrace of town hall. It was Zecora, the local apothecary, wild-eyed and drenched in perspiration.

After gasping once or twice, she began to address the crowd.

“Dear ponies, there is cause for great alarm! Forgive me. I have done you all great harm.”

She paused for breath. The crowd waited, anxious.

“The Amulet whose power Trixie knew,” continued Zecora, “I locked away securely out of view. Today I chanced to open up its box. To keep it safe, I meant to change the locks. The moment I had taken off the lock, there came upon the door a gentle knock. I locked the door, but then the window broke! The box was snatched, gone like a puff of smoke!”

With that, the crowd resumed rioting.

It took Time Turner at least a minute to be heard. “Did you see the thief who took the box?” he thundered.

Zecora shook her head and said something, but I couldn’t hear her over the crowd.

“It could be any pony in Equestria?” demanded Time Turner.

Zecora nodded.

A lettuce sailed over Time Turner’s head, and I decided to go home.

Ponyville had become a cemetery, drab and empty. Only the houses retained their color. They seemed unnaturally bright against the blank sky and withered brown grass. Apart from the noise of the crowd around town hall, whose shouts diminished to whispers as I reached the edge of Ponyville, there was silence.

A few ponies had ventured forth from their homes. They wandered aimlessly, alone or in pairs, staring in horror at the eerie devastation around them.

As I trotted through the park, I noticed a pony standing on a bridge, staring at his reflection in the pond beneath. It was Time Turner. I stared at him. How he had escaped the crowd and reached the park before I did, I couldn’t imagine.

More confusing to me, however, was his hat. It looked a bit like an upside-down bucket with a yellow tassel hanging down one side.

“Another problem,” he said as I came up to him. His face was very serious. “There’s always another problem. Hang it, why is there always another problem?”

Then he turned to me and grinned. “Hallo!” he exclaimed. “Just talking to my reflection. Do you ever talk to your reflection? Mine’s a patient listener, and he’s a dashed lot cheaper than a therapist.”

There was something strange about Time Turner’s accent. It was different, yet I knew I’d heard it before.

“Time Turner,” I began, “what are you doing here?”

He laughed. “Ah, you’ve gone and mixed me up with that other chap. Common mistake. I’m the Doctor. Have we met?”

“Doctor who?” I inquired.

“Hooves,” he corrected, and giggled. “I never get tired of saying that.” The somber look came over his face again. “Things are a mess,” he added in a low voice. “Perhaps you’ve noticed?”

I looked around at dead grass and dying trees. I gazed at Ponyville, whose colorful buildings stood grotesque and garish against an ashen landscape. Last of all, I leaned over the railing of the bridge and peered down at my reflection. It gazed back at me from the reflected depth of an empty sky.

“What are we going to do?” I asked, and glanced up at my companion.

The pony who wasn’t Time Turner leaned back against the railing and took off his hat. He seemed tired. When he spoke, it was with weary resignation.

“I suppose we’ll have to save the world. Now where in the blazes did I leave Derpy Hooves?”