Littlepip stood in her room, staring at the circular speaker implanted in the wall above her bed.
She was determined not to fall asleep and be taken off guard by the alarm.
She wondered what the alarm would sound like. Would it be a high-pitched scream? Perhaps it would be a low buzzing drone. Maybe there would be stages to the alarm, each one signaling a different level of urgency.
She thought that when it came, it would be when she least expected it. She imagined that it would feel like a punch to her heart when the adrenaline would hit it—no, something more sharp, a spear, perhaps. A spear to the heart. She clutched a forehoof to her chest. It isn’t going to be a pleasant feeling, she thought. Even worse was the feeling of anticipation; that alone put her on edge.
Concentration was impossible. Sleep was making its surreptitious, insidious crawl toward her. But she couldn’t let it. All she could do was stand, by the side of her bed, and look at the speaker.
She didn’t want to miss it. The second it sounds, she thought, I’m going to run down to the door. I’ll stall the security team. I will be allowed to see him disappear into the abyss—no, not abyss, but portal, a portal to the world where the roof above his head is lifted, where nothing but the firmament stands between him and his vision when he lifts his head upward. She didn’t want to share that with anypony. The sight of him shrinking as he walked away, disappearing into the distance, his figure blurring and shrinking in proportion as his freedom increased, as potentiality turned to actuality, was going to be hers and hers alone. She’d defend that to the teeth from the others. It’s a selfish thought, she reflected, absolutely selfish thought. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Is it destructive? Probably. Am I leading myself to not just a bodily death but a spiritual death? Probably. But if this is how it feels, I would prefer to die that way than to live without it.
Her craned neck began to hurt, but she did not take her eyes off the speaker. Eventually, the pain disappeared, but it was replaced by a wobbling of her knees. She noticed that her vision was doubling. She saw two speakers. Which one was the right one? She had no way of knowing. So she kept her concentration on both.
It was no longer possible to stand. She could no longer make out the individual holes in the speaker; they had blurred together into a single mass.
I can sit and still listen for the sound, she thought. So she did. She sat down on the side of her bed. With time, her head grew too heavy to hold upward. Though she wanted to look at the speaker, she had to relent. No matter, she thought. I don’t need to look at the speaker to hear the alarm. I’ll still know when it sounds without looking at it.
By her bedside table was a book. She opened it, determined to enjoy herself, but the words were too blurry to read. Her eyes refused to move across the page.
Her head undulated like a pendulum. With every effort she made to keep it up, it weighed down on her harder.
I can lie down and still listen for the sound, she thought. So she did. This position had the advantage of not requiring the strain of any major muscles.
Her vision was almost completely gone. She saw only the vague color of the plaster of the wall. Now her eyelids fought her.
I don’t need to look at the speaker, she thought. I can close my eyes and still listen for the sound. So she did.