What time is it?
You look from the floor to the watch on your shelf; a pocket watch. It's small, made of iron, and nothing about it is spectacular. But you can't help but stare. Staring at that little time-keeper has been the only action that has been keeping your quiet nights occupied.
How many nights has it been, anyway? How long has that pocketwatch been sitting there, on your shelf, gathering dust and rusting away? You don't really know.
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What time is it?
You look to the clock on the bedside table, the digital one; one of those fancy clocks that gave you the date. 7:33PM.
You glance out your bedroom window, the sunlight confirming the time given to you. The sun sets slowly into the west, the skies are starting to become a whirlwind of colors: reds, blues, and everything in between.
Lies, all lies.
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What time is it?
You grab the pocket watch from the shelf and hold it in your hand; the memories flooding your mind not long after. You sit on the corner of your bed, the old rusty springs screeching loudly, to catch yourself.
‘Welcome to your temporary home! I hope we can have lots of fun!’
You think of the friends you left behind all those nights ago; the friends you held closest to your heart, the ones you loved the most. With each passing moment the watch grows heavy, matching in full the weight in your heart.
‘I reckon you have to leave... don’t you?’
You cup the pocket watch with both hands in your lap for fear of dropping your most precious possession. Your eyes start to well up at the memory of your departure, when you were told that you wouldn't be able to live in that place.
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What time is it?
The pocket watch is cold in your hands, the cogs within ceasing to move. You run your fingers along the surface, tracing the leaf-like designs idly. Your fingernails scrape themselves over the light metal; the feeling it gives you is comforting, like a reassuring hand in the darkness.
‘That’s for you. Seeing as you’re always late to everything, we all chipped in and got you a watch!’
Your memories set themselves to torturing you further, you stand up from the bed.
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What time is it?
You walk to the full body mirror on the far end of your room. You look like yourself, only less; hollow, somehow. You straighten out your shirt and run a hand through your hair. Everything about you looked fine, from a third party perspective. You just hoped they would still recognize you after all this time.
‘Now, how do those hang, darling? We must get the size just right...’
You hold your hand high, the one still grasping that little pocket watch, and let the trinket dangle in front of your face.
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What time is it?
You take the watch in both of your hands again, your mind calm and level now. Your fingers find the small gear used to manipulate the small hands, and then the small button to release the catch.
‘Think those legs of yours can keep up?’
The watch opens with a loud snap! as the rusted hinges protest your actions. You stare at the face of the clock that had been hidden beneath the metal cover for far too long, the hands pointing at the time: 1:27 PM.
That was when you left, down to the very second. Since then, the hands have refused to move. You've thought about taking the small machine to a workshop somewhere, but you knew it wouldn't help much. Things worked differently here than they did there; there was no way that some random clock maker could fix your pocket watch.
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What time is it?
You look on the inside of the cover, the old picture inside had worn away and faded; the participants of the photo were now nothing but colored blobs on a cracked piece of paper, but you could pick them all out nonetheless.
‘Um... I’m a little camera shy...’
You hear a voice coming from your bedroom door; a voice you've been waiting to hear all day. "Are you ready to go?"
You close the watch in your hand, the clasp clicking as it locks the cover to the rest of the trinket.
"Yeah, I think so."
"You still have that watch?" That lovely voice chimes, "I'm sure that she will be more than happy to know that you do."
You feel something pick up in your heart. "You think so?"
"I know so."
You turn around and face your guest: an impossibly white mare with wings and a horn, her mane the colors of the rising sun. Seeing her after all of these countless nights sparks something inside you; joy, perhaps.
You fasten the small watch onto your coat and grab your bag from beside the bed. You have enough clothing to last you several nights, but acquiring new ones shouldn't be too much of an issue; not where you're going.
You step towards your guest, your old friend, who turns to face the bedroom door.
Without looking at you she speaks softly, "Are you sure of this, my friend? This spell will not work a third time."
Your thoughts turn to what you will be leaving behind: your family, friends, your job, everything you've worked all of these years for. But you knew that everything would work out in the end; even if you had no proof, you just knew.
You take one last look around your room, letting the moment sink in.
"I'm sure." You say, turning to face the doorway once more. "I want to go back."
She smiles, a heavenly sight, and her horn begins to pulsate with a golden hue. In a moment there comes a flash of light, and what was once a doorway that lead into the rest of your home, now looked out into a whole new room, lavishly decorated in regal attire.
The mare steps through the doorway first, a sort of tension around the threshold only slowing her advance for a moment, and turns to you; her eyes reassuring you that it is safe to pass.
You don't look back, you don't even bother. Putting one foot in front of the other, you walk through the threshold...
The time is 1:27...
*Tick*
