A bottle of sleeping pills.
They were his last resort.
Time Turner looked across the table at the mare in front of him.
Her name was Rose Bed and she was the most beautiful pony within the town of Ponyville. Her coat, her mane, her smile, all were radiant.
She looked sad, however, distant. So close, yet so far away.
He attempted to raise a hoof; attempted to bring forth anything that would hopefully quell the ebb of bad feelings which filled her.
“We’ve been dating for close to two months now,” she started.
Time Turner nodded. “We have.”
“Yet, you haven’t touched me once,” she whispered, looking off to the side. “Not so much as a hug or a kiss.” She shook her head. “I can understand being reserved, Time, but… this is unheard of.”
Time Turner sighed. “I do enjoy your company immensely, dear.”
He hoped that the usage of dear, like that of love or darling, would’ve been enough to bridge the chasm between them. It did not seem to land, however, as she instead flinched away from the words. So desperate for his touch but now even his words seemed to harm her.
“Am I doing something wrong?” Rose Bed asked.
Time Turner sighed. “Have I ever told you about my special talent?”
“I hardly…” Rose began.
Time Turner held up a hoof, trying to use whatever goodwill he had left to deter the maelstrom of emotions inside of her.
Rose shook her head. “You have not.”
She would play along. At least, for now.
“Most ponies assume that it’s related to time,” Time Turner explained. “Which is correct. But the nature of that time is largely unknown. I personally like to keep it that way.” He sighed. “But the truth is my special talent isn’t… it’s…”
“Tell me,” Rose hissed. “If you have even an ounce of kindness for me left within you, tell me. I deserve to know why you won’t even accept a peck on the cheek from me.”
Time Turner winced and opened his mouth to speak. Though the words still eluded him and failed to form into anything approaching a coherent statement.
It was a difficult concept to broach; a difficult discussion to start.
After a few attempts, Rose Bed glared at him.
“Well?” she asked
Time Turner sighed. “Whenever I touch another pony, I am given a vision of when and how they will die.”
Rose Bed blinked, clearly stricken by this development. For a moment, it seemed like she wouldn’t believe him. But in the end, she nodded, accepting his answer at face value.
“I see,” she whispered.
Time Turner looked down at his hooves. “So, the reason I don’t touch you, is not because I dislike you, it’s because I like you so much that I would hate to know what would become of you, of… us.”
Rose Bed was silent, looking down at the table as well. Her expression was coloured with a shade of indecisiveness, an unsure aura that he did not seem to have an easy way of dissipating.
She then reached out and held out her hoof.
“What are you doing?” Time Turner asked.
Rose Bed smiled. “Tell me that I’ll die of old age. Then we can start this relationship from the start. We can pretend like none of this awkwardness ever happened.”
“And if you don’t live to old age?” Time Turner asked.
Rose Bed looked angry as if that outcome couldn’t possibly happen.
She didn’t know and had no idea how many tragic deaths Time Turner had predicted. Predicted but could never stop.
Time was an interesting Mistress but she was one who was unmoving in her ways, no matter how hard Time Turner tried to go against them.
A special talent with no influence upon the world. A special talent that sapped even the semblance of hope out of his day-to-day life.
“I’ll live a long life,” Rose Bed repeated.
Her assuredness was almost enough to assuage Time Turner’s fears. Almost but not quite enough.
Time Turner sighed and went against his better judgement, clapping a hoof overtop of Rose Bed’s own.
The motions caused Rose Bed to suck in a breath. This was the first time that he had ever laid a hoof upon her.
In a moment, a heartbeat, he was presented with a vision. It was graphic, gory, enough to be burned into the memory of any other pony and scar them. But to Time Turner this very same story had played out hundreds of times before.
All Time Turner could really feel was a numbness as his hoof fell away.
“Well?” Rose Bed asked, smiling hopefully.
To lie or not to lie, that was the question.
Time Turner sighed. “Four years, three months, five days, and six hours from now you’ll suffer a heroin overdose at a friend’s house.”
Rose Bed blinked and was stunned silent.
She didn’t say a word, not one. This silence remained as she got up and stormed out of the room, out of the house, and out of Time Turner’s life forever.
This was not the first time that a mare had done so.
Nor would it likely be the last.
“Do you know how you’ll die?” she asked.
Time Turner shook his head. “No, I’m immune to my special talent.”
“I know how you’ll die.” She scoffed. “You’ll die alone.”
Time Turner had once been foolish enough to try and capitalize upon his special talent.
Equestria was a land of magic, after all, one where soothsayers and mages could ply their trades for bits and bread. But his talent was uniquely volatile.
He could remember a situation where a family of three had come into his office. The daughter, barely eight, had been stricken with cancer.
The family wished to know her fate.
At least, they had wished to know it until fate provided them with the wrong answer. And without fate there to accept the blame, Time Turner became her representative. That failure to provide good news was what resulted in Time Turner being run out of town for the very first time.
Though it would not be the last.
Now, he lived in Ponyville and sold antiques, a business he was not uniquely talented at but one which the townsponies seemed to think he was uniquely talented at.
After all, antiques were old and age was related to time.
But still, even hundreds of kilometers from his place of birth, even a decade removed from Trottingham, there were still rumours flowing in. They were bits and pieces of folklore that always seemed to get attached to him.
Some were fun, zany, claiming he was a time traveler or an interdimensional alien. Others were the truth, a far less entertaining alternative.
“Please,” the stallion pleaded. “I can pay you. I just need to know if this thing is malignant or not.”
“I’m sure a doctor could provide a more qualified diagnosis than myself,” Time Turner said, looking across the counter with a vacant gaze. “I’m an antique salespony.”
“Don’t pull that bullshit on me,” the stallion hissed.
He winced, probably realizing how heated that sentence must’ve seemed.
“I…” the stallion sighed. “I have a wife, foals, a mother, they need to be taken care of if this thing…” He trailed off for a moment. “If this thing is going to kill me. I need to know, so I can start putting together plans to take care of them if it’s the worst.”
Time Turner’s heart ached. His common decency flared up. Those were two very dangerous emotions to swirl around within him.
“I’m…” Time Turner sighed. “I’m an antique salespony, not a financial planner, sir.”
Now the stallion really got angry, snarling. It almost seemed like he was going to smash something, tear the place to pieces.
The rage was familiar. It was the kind of rage that drove Time Turner away from communities. This was the kind of anger that smarter ponies would attempt to place upon the stages of grief.
Yet, at the eleventh hour, he calmed.
The Stallion looked at Time Turner. “It must be pathetic being so petrified of one’s own special talent.” He spit at him. “I pity you.”
Time Turner winced as the glob landed upon his chest.
Now, he actually felt something stir within his own breast. Something that wasn’t even close to common sense or reason.
It was a fury of his own. A fury that drove a raw desire to prove this stallion wrong.
“Fine…” Time Turner snarled. He shook his head, trying to hide his disdain. “I’ll do it.”
The stallion actually smiled at this. The anger, the rage, the bleakness bled off of him within a matter of moments. He offered his hoof and Time Turner reached out to take it in his own.
An image came to him, one which made him smile.
“You’ll pass away peacefully in fifty-five years surrounded by your wife, two foals, and many grandfoals,” Time Turner said.
The stallion smiled at first though the expression soon slipped.
“Did you say two foals?” the stallion asked.
Time Turner nodded though instantly knew that something was amiss. Something that made that smile slip.
“I have… three foals,” the stallion whispered, looking up at Time Turner. “What happens to the third?”
It would seem that even good news could not always be trusted.
Time Turner bumped into a stallion today.
He looked the stallion in the eyes and apologized.
The stallion, of course, accepted it.
Time Turner then returned home and went to sleep.
Though his dreams were restless, knowing that the morning the papers would talk about a lethal carriage accident.
Time Turner rarely left Ponyville but there was always one connection that drew him towards Canterlot.
A doctor who specialized in the study of altering special talents. Her work was highly experimental but it did offer a hope, something on the horizon that might bring an end to Time Turner’s misery.
This specific trip was especially beneficial as the doctor, Ivory Tower, had informed him that she may have come close to developing an effective procedure. As such, she’d be returning to Ponyville with him.
This procedure was experimental, dangerous, and every other negative adjective that could exist in a dictionary. Though Time Turner could hardly find the time to fret over such things. He just desired a normal life again. And if that life was impossible then maybe highly dangerous could offer a grimmer sort of relief.
After all, who wouldn’t crave some form of end when stuck in a situation like this?
Ivory Tower studied him from across the little dining car table. She swirled a gin and tonic in her magic before taking a delicate sip.
“You know most of my clients are poor souls who get stuck with crude or sexual cutie marks,” she said. “You, on the other hoof, are a pony who has a genuinely and truly unfortunate special talent.”
Time Turner snorted and tilted back his bottle of cider, taking a desperate pull.
“Is that your expert opinion?” he asked.
Ivory Tower nodded. “Your story is the kind that might actually push my research into the realm of being an accepted practice. When most ponies talk about wanting to change talents, the general public just shrugs it off as something vain. You, meanwhile, actually have something which makes normal life impossible.” She snorted. “Would you be mad if I gave you a writing cutie mark and you could draft a Manehattan Best Seller on your life story?”
“Give me literally anything else and I’ll do whatever you want,” Time Turner rebutted. “I just don’t want this one anymore.”
“What was it like when you actually discovered your special talent?” Ivory Tower asked.
“I was a teenager,” Time Turner explained. “And my father was dealing with some pretty serious depression. I was worried that one day I’d come home and he’d be… you know…” He shrugged. “My special talent seemed to have come out of that.”
“And?” Ivory Tower asked.
Time Turner smirked. “He’s still alive. Not every story has a sad ending.” He frowned. “Though we don’t talk much anymore.”
Ivory Tower took a sip of her drink, downing the last little mouthful of it before placing it delicately upon the table.
“You have no idea how hard it is not to ask you to use your powers on me,” she teased. “I know that’d be a gross invasion of our relationship but… the bug is there.”
“Trust me, I know,” Time Turner said.
Ivory Tower nodded. “I’m sure that you do. How many times have you had to move because of the stigma attached to your reputation?”
Time Turner thought about it for a moment, taping a hoof against the bottle. He finally shook his head.
“I don’t quite remember,” he admitted. “I know I’ve moved about eight or nine times in my life but three of those times were in Manehattan and that’s mostly because landlords in that city are utter bastards.”
“Glad to know there’s some semblance of normalcy in your life, at least,” Ivory Tower teased. She then nodded towards him. “Any chance you can use your powers on yourself?”
“I’m the one pony who’s immune to them, as far as I know,” Time Turner said.
Ivory Tower snorted. “The gods really like to use you as a punching bag, don’t they?”
“It honestly feels like that sometimes,” Timer Turner grumbled. “Maybe it just means that my fate isn’t predetermined.”
“That’s somewhat reassuring,” Ivory Tower said.
She looked off to the side for a moment and sighed.
“Could you?” she asked.
Time Turner winced. “Doctor…”
“I promise it won’t affect the quality of the care that I provide,” Ivory Tower said. “I just… I want to know. Think of it as payment in exchange for my services.”
Time Turner sighed. He knew how this exchange would go. There was no way to avoid it, no way to reason with the fine Doctor. Once that bug was caught there were only two possible conclusions. Either Time Turner could get the fuck out of dodge or he could concede.
Concession seemed like the better of the outcomes in this situation. After all, there was little room to run when you were trapped on a train.
He held out his hoof and the Doctor held out hers, touching her fetlock to his own.
An image came to Time Turner. One which made him smile and let out a single note of amused laughter.
It was a refreshing sight, one which liberated him from his usual oppressive shroud.
“Good news?” the Doctor asked, flashing a smile.
Time Turner shook his head. “No, terrible news in fact.” He laughed again. “I think I know when I’m going to die.”
“What are you…” the Doctor began.
Though she was cut off as the train’s brakes started to screech. They were ineffective at stopping the vehicle, however, as the carriage shuddered and leapt free of its tracks.
As everypony screamed, Time Turner remained motionless. His eyes were closed and a contented smile formed upon his lips.
There was no such thing as a happy ending.
Yet, he was happy for an ending all the same.
Author's Note
Visit my website to see where else to find my work, join my Discord, or support me on Patreon!
