GREEN
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2
1797 9.81 KB 140
1797 9.81 KB 140
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>Be old man Anon.
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>Not particularly ancient, but old enough that the mastery in your hands is fading from arthritis and the shivers of age.
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>You furrow your brow, peering through a large magnifying glass, tweezers in hand.
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>Gently, with the precision only a lifetime of work could build, you place the minute gear in it’s place.
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>Good, good now just to tap it into it’s notch…
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>And as you go to stake the gear into it’s resting spot a slight tremble jars your hand.
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>The pinhead of the stake drives into the fragile clockwork, breaking the mainspring in twain.
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>You don’t curse yourself, merely sigh as you turned off your desk lamp and pushed yourself away from your work.
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>This wasn’t the first watch your trembling hands had ruined, and it won’t be the last.
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>Though, it was happening more often than you liked these days.
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>Collecting your tools, which had been your father’s, and your father’s father’s, you put them in their neat wooden box.
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>Watch making was your family’s heritage, and your birthright.
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>For well over a hundred years, there has always been a master watch smith in your family.
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>passed down from father to son, your family’s skill was well known.
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>People of all calibers came to you for your skill, rich, poor, noble, and humble.
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>But now your family’s skill, and tools, belonged to you and you alone.
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>For you had let life pass you by as you plied yourself to your trade.
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>Never had you really found companionship, because companionship was never what you had sought.
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>Perfection in your craft was what mattered to you for too long.
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>And when the day came that you realized what you had forsaken, it was too late.
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>Your hair had already greyed and faded away, and your skin wrinkled and sagged.
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>So this was you.
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>As you gingerly place the box of your most cherished possessions back into it’s proper shelf, you contemplate your latest watch.
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>A simple hand wound wristwatch.
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>A bit of gold trim on the hands, and numbers you had an assistant hand pant on the face.
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>A standard, utilitarian affair.
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>A classic watch of your style.
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>It took you the better part of the past two days assembling the innards of it.
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>And after today’s blunder, it will take the better part of the next two days to fix.
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>Ahhh well you’re too old to be mad, just a bit disappointed in your hands.
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>Tomorrow is another day.
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>Taking one last look back at the watch on the table, you flip the light to your workshop off and go to bed.
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>That night your dreams are odd to say the least.
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>You are visited by Pegasai spirits.
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>Floating along hills of deep green and air so crisp and pure you feel like a young man breathing in the sweet ether.
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>They tell you not to worry.
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>And they tell you not to be lonely.
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>They are beautiful in a magical way.
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>But most of all they are comforting to your lonely soul.
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>All too quickly your dream ends, and you awake.
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>Yet the feeling they left sticks with you as you rouse yourself.
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>A deep sensation of companionship; fulfillment in a way.
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>Something you had nearly forgotten you could even feel had found it’s way into your heart.
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>You could not stop yourself from shedding a few tears from the overwhelming sensation.
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>How could a dream do that much to you?
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>It didn’t matter, however.
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>You had a watch to build – no – fix.
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>You completed your morning ritual of bathing, waxing your mustache, and eating some fruits and nuts rather hastily.
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>This was going to be a long day hunched over a magnifying glass.
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>Yet when you flicked the lights in your workshop on, things didn’t seem quite right.
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>It was just a feeling at first, as if the air wasn’t how you left if.
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>But looking at your tool kit, it was slightly ajar, and the top was off.
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>You didn’t fear, you were too old to fear things.
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>But you were curious.
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>You knew you had locked your door three days ago when you had last left.
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>And your assistant never came over unless you called him.
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>Slowly you made your way to the old wooden box only to find that all your many tools had up and disappeared.
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>Well now you were getting a might bit worried.
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>These tools were more to you than anything in this world.
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>Looking over to your desk, you spot the watch you had been working on, and the pair of finished watches that sat waiting for wristbands next to it.
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>So your tools were gone, but the watches worth ten times the tools value were still here.
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>Odd…
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>You approached the desk, inspecting the watch.
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>It had flipped itself over… and was ticking.
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>But… was someone playing a trick on you.
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“Hello? Is anyone here?”
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>You call out in your creaking baritone.
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>”Oh hello mister!”
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>A squeaky little voice calls out from your left.
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>A little grey and white head is peeking out from behind your toolbox.
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>Well you guess your heart gave out last night because now there’s a weird talking mouse over there.
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>You give it a flat look.
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“What’s your deal Jerry? Is this heaven?”
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>It looks back at you in confusion, it’s wide eyes shimmering a bit.
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>”Jerry? Is that my name? Ummm no, I don’t think this is heaven… this looks more like… a workshop?”
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>It’s glancing around, the voice is definitely feminine, and very reminiscent of your dream last night.
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>Stepping closer, you might as well inspect this little spirit.
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>You also notice upon closer inspection that she’s not a mouse at all, more like a mouse sized pony with a particularly large mane, eyes, and tail.
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>Kind of cute, like a field mouse.
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>She’s looking up to you with awe written on her little muzzle.
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>”Sooo ughhh yah, let me introduce myself! I am, umm was, your tweezers!”
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>She sticks a little hoof up to you, like you’re supposed to shake it.
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>You’re getting too old for this kind of stuff, but you play along.
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>You extend a rickety index finger to her little hoof, and do the shaking motion.
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“So you say you’re my tweezers? How’s that supposed to be, you look nothing like them?”
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>Plopping down onto her rump, she inspects her forelegs and flanks.
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>”Well I’m not too sure actually. I sort of have two memories when I think about it. Like I remember being the tweezers forever, your dad, grandad, great grandad, heh even you through the years! But also… I remember being alive in a magical land of ponies once. I think I liked making watches in that life. Weird huh?”
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>You had to pull up your chair for this, lest you fall over in amazement.
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>You take a moment, grabbing your magnifying glass to inspect the little pony.
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>You observe her for few moments, and she seems to be getting a bit uncomfortable, so you sit back.
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>You did notice a little pair of tweezers painted… tattooed? Onto her flank.
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>Taking a deep breath you choose you’re next words.
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“So you’re telling me you are my tweezers mixed with some magical pony spirit?”
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>”Yep!”
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“And you have no idea how you came to be here?”
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>”Yep! No idea really. Just floating through pony world, then blackness, then here I am!”
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“Does this ‘Pony World’ of yours have a name?”
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>”I’m pretty sure we call it Equestria! And this is Earth right?”
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“That it is, little pony… There aren’t more of you right? What happened to my steaking set, my depthing tool, and all the rest?”
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>Now she was looking off to the side of a box, and you followed her vision.
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>You were able to catch the end of a golden tail disappear behind another box.
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>Sighing a bit, you swivel so you’re facing the box.
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“You can come out now, it’s not like I’m going to bite… ain’t got enough real teeth left for that anyway.”
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>You heard a faint chuckle from the tweezer pony on your shelf.
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>Timidly three more pint-sized ponies walked out from behind a box across from you.
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“Let me guess, you’re the spirits of my depthing tool, anvil, and pin hammer?”
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>The bonze and gold one you assume is your depthing tool steps forward from the rest.
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>Her voice is a bit deeper, and she is a bit bigger than your tweezer pony.
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>”Yep, you’re right master! We’re, well… we’re your tools!”
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>Glancing back down to the tweezer pony, you deadpan.
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“This is certainly becoming an odd day isn’t it Tweezy?”
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>She just looks up to you and nods vigorously.
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>Turning back to your depthing tool pony, you just have to say this before it becomes a thing.
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“Well, welcome to life here on Earth. Please don’t call me ‘master’, it just doesn’t feel right since you’re alive. Just call me Anon.”
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>”O-okay! But what’s my name? You called her Tweezy just there!”
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>The bronze pony pointed a tiny hoof toward Tweezy.
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>Chuckling a bit to yourself, you roll your chair over to the trio.
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“Well lets see, you were my depthing tool, so you’ll be Copper Gauge.”
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>She immediately inspects her copper colored tail, and beams a bright smile.
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>Next was a brown pony with a metallic grey mane and tail, probably your ball-peen hammer.
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>She seemed a bit bashful.
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“How about Bashful for you little hammer pony?”
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>She just nodded with a “hmmm” of approval.
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>”Then what are you going to call me Anon?”
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>The silver bodied, red maned anvil pony piped up.
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>You tilted your head at the assertive little pony.
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“How about you be Striker eh?”
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>She nodded her head, short mane swishing back and forth.
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“So that takes care of names. I take it you four were the ones that finished the watch over there?”
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>”Yep! Though it was mostly Tweezy! She’s the one with the fancy hoof work. I just help hit things into place.”
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>Bashful just nodded and “hmmm”ed toward Striker.
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>”I just helped measure stuff”
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>Copper Gauge kicked a golden hoof at the ground.
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“Well you ponies want to help me make another?”
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>”Yep!”
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>”Absolutly!”
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>”Definitly!”
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>”Hmmm.”
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“Then lets get started, these things don’t usually make themselves!”
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>And that, My Little Ponies, is how Anon, the lonely old watch smith gained companionship with the help of a little bit of magic.
by CosmicNaute
by CosmicNaute
by CosmicNaute
by CosmicNaute
by CosmicNaute