A thousand years ago lived a princess by the name of Luna, who rebelled and became Nightmare moon. Her sister, Celestia, harnessed the power of the elements of harmony and banished her to the moon for a thousand years.
I want to trade lives with her. A thousand years of silence seems like heaven now, just four hours into me and Pinkie’s trek home. I have currently tied her to a boulder so I can have ten minutes, or at least seconds, of peace. Ten... whole... seconds... That’s ten thousand milliseconds. Each one feels like a minute of rapturous glory, but I know they tick away.
Pinkie has released herself from the gag. My time of sanity ends. I know that soon I will be forced to hear again and again her deliberations on that treat she made. Chimicherry or cherrychanga my flank, to be or not to be would be a more appropriate question. There’s a cliff nearby that looks nice and tall. I swear I’m going to contract Derpy to do a little renovation in Rainbow’s house. Running her through with my horn would be too nice.
She comes. She continues blabbering about how big this place is. It isn’t big enough. She keeps following me no matter how far. Our luck had run out within the first thirty minutes when our cart reached a dead end in a place I could not recognize. It’s been three hours and twenty-six minutes, thirty-seven seconds, and six hundred nintey-six milliseconds. I’ve counted. It’s amazing how the brain, when being murdered, can still count with excellent judgement. But through all that. All our walking in the way Pinkie has taken us, I think we’ve not moved but a kilometer. This rock has a gemstone in it. One I recognize. For the fiftieth time.
Dear Celestia she has not stopped saying huge for all of twenty-eight seconds now. I don’t need to repeat how slow time feels. It has been 18.75 days since I have heard silence. That is, using my rule that each minute I feel is but a millisecond. My mane is a mess. As it has been for 27.4304284 years. Oh, I mean four hours.
And thirty seven seconds.
Silly me.
I might just give up on time altogether. I think I read it in some magazine. Fashion models experience time like this on their first runway when they are nervous. Dwelling on it would be silly. Yes, silly. Like Pinkie thinks she is. More aggravating, neigh, torturous, neigh, COMPLETELY BUCKING INSANE AND WANTING TO DRAG US ALL WITH HER.
It’s been 8.33333333 hours and she has finally turned to bounce the way she thinks is right. This is the same path we went down last time. And the one before. And the one before... There is nothing...
Oh... There is that. A large path is cut into the mountain we stand before. You may think it is silly, but it looked to dusty. I mean, I don’t want to get myself looking more disgusting than I already have been for the past while. Pinkie doesn’t seem to see this and is currently bouncing up, talking about how we might be able to see how big this place really is. I think it would be a waste of time. It would get us dirtier and it would mean a long, slow walk up with nothing but... her... I check my mental clock that has been circling around me for the past two hours, giving accurate measures of time. I heard Twilight talking about something called time-spacial synesthesia where the person sees time actively flowing and being a spacial construct.
But I don’t have that. Of course not. I had ordinal-linguistic personification synesthesia. All the difference in the world! No relation to my madness whatsoever! Speaking of which I think A would be better at this task than me. But of course he would not leave the place was created like the stubborn creature he was. Oh, Pinkie is calling for me again. I guess I must go. Speaking of the letters Pinkie is a perfect example of the letter’s character. Too many energetic I’s and no enough refined Y’s in her name. But I am afraid this can’t be put off much longer. So I begin climbing. Oh no, Pinkie is beginning on ice cream and a name involving mountain.
This is going to be a loooong walk.
