Book 1 - The Behemoth came to Canterlot

by Equimorto

Clocks

Twilight sat on the wooden bench in the shop, looking at the clocks hanging from the walls around her. There were a lot of clocks there. None were particularly loud, but all together they made quite the amount of noise. It was at least a regular noise, and after a while it was easy to ignore it, as her brain treated it as just a background to her thoughts.

She unfortunately didn't have much else to do. Just wait, and stare at the clocks. It was actually quite convenient that there were clocks there. That way she could easily tell how much time had passed. It shouldn't take too long. Maybe just a few more minutes before she finally got something else to do beside waiting and looking at the clocks.

They were nice clocks. Some were metal, and others wooden, and they all must have taken quite a while to make. There was something funny in there. About clocks, and the time spent making them. Definitely something to work with. Maybe she could do that. Write something about the clocks. Not then though. Nothing to write on, not enough time to do it. One day, maybe. When it was all over. She didn't exactly have much free time. She didn't allow herself to.

There were a whole lot of clocks there. Maybe she could count them? Maybe not. It would be boring. Waiting wasn't the most entertaining thing, true. But counting the clocks might have been even less entertaining. And she wouldn't have time to count them all. She wouldn't have to wait much longer. She could tell, there were quite enough clocks around her to tell that she clearly wouldn't have much longer to wait.

Why there? Why by the clocks? Not that it was a bad choice. Most other choices, while deemed safe, could perhaps hide some unforeseen danger. Perhaps just to reduce the risks to a minimum? It could certainly make sense. And yet it didn't, not fully. It felt like a justification. It was too peculiar a place for it to be just a matter of safety. No other place was quite like that shop, and clearly it had been picked for a reason.

So, clocks. Maybe she would ask why. It wouldn't take much longer before she got a chance to, she confirmed with a glance at the clocks. What colour was the wall? White? Yeah. It was white. It was hard to spot behind all the clocks. Was it white behind the clocks too? It was probably yellow, or grey, or maybe black, after all the time it had been covered by the clocks. Was the wall really white when most of it wasn't?

Maybe Twilight would buy a clock, one day. A pretty one, not too big, not too fancy. One made of wood, with floral patterns carved on the surface. With large painted numbers that made it less precise when read, so for twenty minutes straight you could still say it was twelve o'clock. And she'd hang it in the kitchen, where she could see it from the table.

A set of clicks, and the door slid open.

Author's Note:

Proofreading by IncongruousAndHarmonious

Comments

[FanOfMostEverything]

Well, this is getting even more surreal...