Paul's Peculiarly Puny Practice Pieces

by PaulAsaran

First published 22nd of June, 2015

A collection of super-short stories written for the Writeoff Association monthly contests.

Sister-story to Paul's Persistently Protracted Practice Pieces.

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A collection of extra-short stories written as contest entries for the Writeoff Association. This collection will only feature the stories with word counts between 350 and 750 words. The contests with longer word count limits have their own separate compendium: Paul's Persistently Protracted Practice Pieces. Check below for a list of each story and a short description.

Note: Random tag used because I have no idea what prompts will arise in the future. Check the individual story descriptions for additional tags. Character tags reflect the most recently updated stories only.

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White Lies: [sad][slice of life]
The simple act of giving Apple Bloom medicine reminds Applejack that there are actually some downsides to honesty.

Pink: [comedy][slice of life]
It's an all on one pranking war, and Vinyl is on the losing side. Perhaps Octavia can help deal with the problem?

Well, She Tried: [comedy][slice of life]
Twilight discovers Spike's secret notebook of plans for wooing his lady, and decides it's time to have a little talk with the lovestruck dragon.

Above: [sad]
A young changeling queen longs for a better life in the darkness.

A Most Dastardly Foe: [comedy][mystery]
Celestia's morning is interrupted by what may be her greatest rival yet.

Clockwork: [drama]
Clockwork Callous, legendary clockmaker and inventor from the Crystal Empire, unveils his first creation since the Empire's return.

I Wasn't Prepared for This: [sad]
Celestia has a new student. But before she can embrace this change, she has to deal with the old one...

Ticks and Tocks: [drama]
It's just another tea party with Fluttershy. Everything is fine. Perfectly fine. Just ignore the little voice in your head, Discord.

The Best Medicine: White Lies

“Come on out, AB.”

The mound of covers trembled, a groan rising from its cottony depths. “Ain’t no way, AJ. Ah don’t wanna!”

With a roll of her eyes, Applejack set the hated brown bottle on the counter. “Ah’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer, young filly.”

“No! That stuff tastes terrible.”

“It ain’t my fault ya went and ate all yer Nightmare Night candy in one sitting.” Applejack took the bedspread between her teeth and gave a firm tug. There was some resistance, an indention appearing where a certain filly’s teeth tried to pull back.

The tug of war was over quickly: Applejack set her legs wide and gave a powerful jerk that snatched the sheets away. A lump of yellow filly toppled backwards, nearly careening off the other side of the bed. Apple Bloom sat up with a scowl, her glare hindered by the droop in her shoulders and eyebrows. She clutched her barrel with a wince.

Applejack spat the covers out and glowered at the filly. “Gonna come quietly?”

“Ah can just sleep it off,” Apple Bloom said, rubbing a canon beneath her muzzle with a sniff.

“Ya’ll got school.” Applejack snatched the bottle and thrust it at her sister. “This ain’t no flu, it’s just you staying up all night and eating candy. Ya knew better, and now yer gonna pay the consequences.”

The filly promptly wilted, her ears folding back as she examined her hooves with a sour expression. “Ah was just tryin’ ta finish mah crusade plans.” She perked up and examined the bottle with hopeful eyes. “Maybe it’s a new brand? Y’know, that tastes better?”

Applejack ground her teeth, but tried to channel her inner Fluttershy and keep patient. “No, it’s the same stuff we always use.”

Apple Bloom’s face twisted into an ugly sneer and her eyes fell to her hooves once more. After a moment’s pause, she dropped to her barrel and huffed. “Ah wish Granny Smith were awake. She’s way better at this.”

“What the hay is that supposed to mean?”

At first the filly refused to answer. She kicked the sheets and grumbled, “At least she’d lie to make me feel better.”

Applejack may as well have been kicked in the gut. She nearly dropped the bottle, eyebrows shooting up as she gaped at her sister. “She… she would?”

Not noticing her sister’s sudden duress, Apple Bloom nodded and dropped her chin to the mattress. “At least she knew a good lie from a bad one.”

It abruptly dawned upon Applejack that an easy solution to their current impasse had been presented... and she’d completely missed it. She wondered if taking a sip of the bottle’s reviled contents would make her insides stop twisting. “AB, you know Ah’m not gonna—”

“Ah know, ‘Element of Honesty.’ Don’t help me none, now does it?” Apple Bloom sat up and rubbed her barrel with a grimace, then extended her hoof. She wouldn’t meet her sister’s eye. “Just gimme the stupid stuff so Ah can get it over with.”

Applejack obliged her, using her teeth to remove the cap. She watched, heart heavy as Apple Bloom studied the bottle. The filly’s face scrunched up in determination before she finally took a swift chug. With a gasp and a gag, she offered the bottle back to Applejack, who slowly took it and reset the cap. She gazed listlessly at the medicine. When she was in Apple Bloom’s place and their mother took care of her… it was a truly different experience, wasn’t it?

“Applejack?”

She twitched and looked up. All anger had faded from Apple Bloom’s face, replaced with the wide eyes of concern. “What’s wrong?”

Applejack slumped forward, feeling like a knife had pierced her heart. “Ah’m sorry, AB. Ah wish Ah was better at this kind of thing. Ah wish Ah was more like Granny or—” She bit her lip.

“Hey, where’d this come from?” Apple Bloom moved to the corner of the bed and tried to look her sister in the eye. “Come on, sis, it wasn’t that bad. Honest!”

Such a transparent lie, so innocent. It was almost painful to hear. She looked into Apple Bloom’s eyes, so hopeful and lost, and forced a smile.

“It’s okay, AB.”

Apple Bloom cocked her head. “Really?”

Applejack tried, she really did, but all she could manage was, “Ya’ll get ready for school, now.”

The words tasted like ash.

Author's Notes:

My first entry in the WriteOffs, which did startlingly well considering I had no idea what I was getting into at the time. I'm always glad to get an Applejack story in there, because I don't write about her anywhere near enough. Even so, after receiving heaps upon heaps of criticism for AJ's accent, I've decided that after this story I'll be avoiding the use of "Ah" in place of "I," even if it's phonetically accurate.

This is also where I point out that the stories in this compendium are shown exactly as they appeared in the competition, with no effort made to fix mistakes major or minor.

Edit: The description for this story is... glitchy. At least for me. The chapter titles are all bold for no reason and the "More" button doesn't exist, even though I know there's more description to be read. If anyone else is seeing the same thing, do let me know.

I Regret Nothing: Pink

“I hate this day.”

Octavia’s eyes danced from her textbook to her roommate and back. She did a double take.

Vinyl had become a pink explosion. Pink hooves, pink face, pink eyes. Her mane extended in all directions in spikes of hot magenta that radiated fuchsia sparks.

“You’re pink.”

“No kidding!” The door slammed closed. Vinyl pressed against the wood as if she were the only thing keeping the demons out. “Somepony’s pulling out all the stops. This is the mother of all pranking sprees!”

Octavia turned back to her homework. “Serves you right.”

“No, it does not!” Vinyl fled for the bathroom; the sound of running water arose. “Come on, come on… Sweet merciful Celestia, it’s not coming off!”

“So tell one of the professors,” Octavia called, pretending to read through her textbook.

“They’re in on it.”

Octavia’s head whipped to the door. “The professors are in on it?”

“Uh-huh.”

Octavia’s lips threatened to rebel against her determined effort to not grin. “Guess they finally got tired of your pranks. I hear Dr. Musky still finds gum in his mane.”

“That was three months ago!”

“Symphony had to buy a new violin.”

“How was I supposed to know it couldn’t hold Fancy’s weight?”

“Parish still can’t get his chords straight.”

“His memory will come back… eventually.”

“The clocktower is being used as a mouse shelter.”

“Like I’m to blame for Vento using the Piper’s flute?”

“And let’s not forget how Maud—”

“I get it, okay?” Vinyl, still more pink than any pony had a right to be, stomped out of the bathroom. “So I played a prank or two over the school year, so what? It doesn’t warrant making me look like a bucking fruitcake.”

“With an electric mane.”

“Somepony put a twittermite in my juice.”

Octavia shivered; she had to admit, that seemed a bit much. “Anything else?”

Vinyl rolled her head back with a groan. “Plenty! I got a donut from Joe’s and it had hot sauce in it, somepony replaced all my synthesizer settings with classical crap, Jet Set thinks I wrote him a love note, Fleur has a signed contract for me to model at the next junior fashion show, Shining Armor is on my tail for making his sister cry and I don’t even know what I did, and… and…”

Somehow managing to get a blush through the wall of pink, Vinyl put her hoof in Octavia’s face. “Smell.”

With both anticipation and dread, Octavia leaned forward and sniffed. Her muzzle was bombarded by the scent of strawberries. “Hmm, I like it.”

“I smell like a frou-frou pansy!”

“It’s still nice.”

“I don’t wanna smell nice!”

Octavia shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to help me get revenge!” Vinyl sat and rubbed her hooves together with a grin befitting a mad scientist. “I’m gonna get that pony back with the ultimate prank! But first I’ve gotta figure out who it is.”

One facehoof later, Octavia turned back to her homework. “Reward revenge with revenge? Vinyl, is it never going to end?”

“Vinyl Scratch always gets the last laugh!” Vinyl clapped her hooves with a grin, which promptly turned to a grimace as she got a whiff of her own fruity aroma. “Right after she takes a shower. I hope to Celestia this smell isn’t magically coated.”

“Vinyl, you really should consider—” Too late, the pony dove back into the bathroom and slammed the door. Octavia sighed… then gained a tiny, satisfied smile.

With timing so perfect it had to have been fate, there came a knock at the door. Octavia opened it to find a familiar grey pony, who stared at her with the dullest expression imaginable. “Hello, Octavia.”

Octavia sat back and crossed her hooves with a smirk. “Are you done?”

The pony reached into a pocked and pulled out a wrench. “Turned off your hot water.”

A scream rose from the bathroom. “Oh, come on!”

Octavia giggled. “I really didn’t think you were going to do it.”

If Tartarus could freeze over, Maud’s smile would have been the trigger. “Had to learn something from my sister.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, yes.” Octavia waved a dismissive hoof. “I’ll be at Pinkie’s birthday party this weekend, as we agreed. I just hope she doesn’t ask me to perform the Poney Pokey.”

“She will. She loves that song.”

Octavia shivered, then glanced at the bathroom as more delightful curses filled the air. She grinned.

“I regret nothing.”

Author's Notes:

I regret that final line. One of my not-so-smart decisions. Also, yes, I know it's the 'Pony Pokey' in the MLP world. I messed up, but per my own rules I can't fix the error. Oh well.

Interestingly, this story is the highest-ranked of all my WriteOff entries... so far.

Best Laid Plans: Well, She Tried

Spike glanced up from his comic to find a notebook floating over his head. “What? It’s just a—” His eyes bulged at the sight of his own claw-writing. He promptly shoved his nose back into the comic. “J-just a notebook, nothing special. Lemme alone, I’m busy.”

“Oh, no,” Twilight rapped him on the head with the edge of the notebook. “Talk, mister. It looks like scheming, and that never bodes well.”

Rubbing his head, Spike shot her a glare and stepped out of his basket. “What are you talking about? Making plans isn’t a bad thing, I learned it from you.”

Twilight donned her trademark lecturer's expression. “You learned poorly. Might I remind you of when you tried to frame Owlowiscious? Or how about the time you took a cursed book from the castle in the Everfree?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “How about you trying to ‘make’ a friendship problem with Smarty Pants?” Whap, the notebook lightly slapped against his head. “Hey!”

“This is serious!” Twilight flipped through the pages of the notebook. “You can’t just come up with a plan to woo Rarity, Spike. Relationships don’t work that way.”

Claws to hips, Spike said, “This from the pony who thought she could ‘sprinkle information about human culture’ into conversations and become instant friends?”

A splash of pink bloomed across Twilight’s cheeks. “I was under a lot of stress, okay? My point is, you’re not going to win Rarity over by scheming.”

“ ‘Scheming’ is such a harsh word.” Spike raised his claws to form quotes. “I’m just trying to figure out the best way to catch her attention.”

Twilight raised an eyebrow before reading from the notebook. “Become really big and impress her with your muscles?”

“What, too subtle?”

“Spike, we don’t know anything about dragon anatomy.” Twilight waved the notebook at him. “It could take hundreds or even thousands of years just for you to grow to the size of a pony. Rarity isn’t going to live that long.”

“Sure she will, I’ve got it all figured out.” He pointed to her wings. “You’re an alicorn now, and we know from Celestia and Luna that alicorns are immortal.”

Twilight blinked, then glanced at her wings. “Me? Immortal? Spike we don’t know—”

“Think about it, Twilight,” he continued, chin held high. “You represent Magic, but what good is that without the others? Our friends aren't going to die because they’re needed. You watch, in time they’ll all be alicorns and immortal like you. I give it five years tops.”

Twilight facehoofed. “There is so much wrong with that logic. I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Yeah? Well, I have alternatives!”

With another raised eyebrow, Twilight flipped to a different page in the notebook. “ ‘Use my fire breath to create the biggest diamond ever.’ So now what, you think you can just buy love?”

“Of course not! Rarity’s not that shallow.” Spike grinned and rubbed his claws together. “But a little gift never hurt. Besides, it’s practical. If I can make gems with my breath, she’ll never have to go gem hunting again.”

“You don’t even know if your breath can burn hot enough to do that.”

“Not yet.”

Twilight sighed and set the notebook aside. “Spike, if you really think that much of Rarity, why don’t you just ask her out like everypony else?”

His eyes went wide and he frantically shook his head. “I don’t want to be everypony else, I have to be the best!”

“Yes, that was item number forty-two on your list.” Twilight nudged his shoulder with her muzzle. “You don’t need to make all these plans. If Rarity’s going to like you, she’s going to like you.”

“Yeah, because that makes perfect sense.” Spike grabbed the notebook from the floor and held it close to his chest. “You’ll see, Twilight. One of these is bound to work. In fact, you just gave me a great idea.” He pulled out a quill, flopped into his basket and flipped to a blank page. “Maybe if I can get Rarity to see future, big me now she’ll know what’s in store for her! Oh, yeah, I’m liking this one. Just need to get my claws on one of those time scrolls in the Royal Canterlot Library…”

Twilight watched him work for a few seconds, then turned away with a sigh. Perhaps he just needed time to figure things out. Maybe Rarity would find a way to let him down easy.

At least, she hoped so.

Author's Notes:

To be frank, I didn't even try with this one. I needed something to go into the contest, I had about an hour to spare, so I threw something together. So yeah, not surprised it didn't make it into the finals. Even I thought it felt a little weak.

I probably won't be entering the next one. I'm at a point where I have to manage my time very carefully.

Illusion of Choice: Above

A ring of light.

Not just any light. It wasn’t green and pulsing like a great, ugly pod full of goo. Nor did it glow as the shadows deepened, always peering and searching and hunting. No, this was a steady light, brilliant in its shine like none other.

She had studied the light for some time, always coming back to that circle below. Occasionally she would lie on her back and watch its motions, both subtle and drastic. Not that the light moved, oh no, but it did change quality. It had fazes, that ring up above; sometimes it shined with a blinding vibrancy, and other times it offered a dim and soothing softness. If she came at the right time, there would be no light at all.

Yet she knew the ring was there. The circle always remained. It beckoned, high above her reach. Someday, her wings would be strong and she would go to touch the surface of it. Maybe then there would be no more hunger. Perhaps, when her chitin had hardened and her legs grown long, she could bathe in that which resided above.

She basked in the warmth the light provided, the heat soaking into her carapace like a favorite blanket. If only such pleasure could be distributed to all. Why couldn’t it? If she were to pluck this shining miracle from above and share it with others, who would complain? For what reason could they?

Because the above is scary.

Because those that resided there would never love her kind.

Because that warmth could become a raging flame if tempted.

Because it is hopeless to try.

So the elders claimed. So the elders restricted.

She knew not if their words were true. She knew only that she was hungry, and the food came from above, and she had but one window. The view tantalized beyond comprehension. Every few cycles, she returned to gaze at her beloved ring. Sometimes she would spread her wings, heart filled with the threads of hope. She would jump, and her little wings would buzz.

The threads would snap, and she’d land on her little hooves. There was a time when she would cry with every failure.

Once again, she opened her wings wide. She looked at each, noting how small they seemed. Could these thin, translucent things ever hold her weight? Yet, as she turned her gaze above, she felt the threads of hope grasping for her once more.

Was this her time? Could she rise above and meet those who were so dangerous? She bent her legs a few times, eyes set upon the shining fruit above her. Just one jump. A few wing beats. That was all. She grasped at the threads and wrapped them around her heart once more, praying they might hold this time.

Her coiled legs surged with energy, loaded springs to shoot her into the open air. Her wings became a blur of activity as she rose. The ring dropped a little closer, the light seeming to wink in anticipation of her arrival. Her face broke into a fanged grin. A scent passed by her muzzle, and somehow she knew that it was pure, unfiltered, wonderful love, as only the above could offer!

The wind ceased.

The smell faded.

The ring rose.

The stone floor met her face, but she barely registered the pain. Slowly, with legs trembling, she turned onto her back. There the above remained, far out of reach. The web-like threads of hope wafted in the wind of her fall, taunting her with its dainty dance.

She didn’t cry, not this time. Her hunger surged through her, clawing at the recesses of her mind, but it was only hers. Soon she would feel that of a thousand others, all desperate for even the most insubstantial sustenance.

Yet the elders chose to remain below.

Someone was calling for her, deep in the dark. They wouldn’t like that she visited this place, so she turned away from the shining brightness and returned to the shadow. They were her keepers. It would not do to make them fret.

But someday her wings would grow strong. Her legs would be long, her word law. She’d have a crown. Then she would ascend, and her followers no longer starve. Then, as they remained shivering in the dark, the elders would ask her “Why?”

She would gaze from beneath the warm light above, and answer.

“Because of your choice.”

Author's Notes:

For this entry, I had already picked the story before I even knew the prompt. This caused problems, because the story didn't fit said prompt. Ultimately I came up with a way to justify it, but it's so thinly veiled that I can't blame the reviewers for docking points over it.

Most people immediately assume this is a story about Chrysalis. In truth, I never bothered with distinguishing who the changeling queen in this story is, even to myself. It could be Chrysalis, but it could just as easily not be. I leave that for the readers to decide.

I learned some things based on the response to this story. Being the arrogant jerk that I am, I am tempted to think that this story only proves that the majority need to improve their reading skills. Thinking more practically, however, I understand that in working so hard to avoid being direct – a path I actively disdain – I ended up overcompensating and being too vague and subtle. It's a lot easier to recognize the big picture when you're the one holding the paintbrush.

So, my lesson from this story: "There is a time to be subtle and there is a time to be direct. Learn to use both."

In Over Your Head: A Most Dastardly Foe

Princess Celestia. She Who Brought Forth the Light. Thousand-year ruler of Equestria, and one of the most powerful creatures in the known world. Her feats were legendary, her magic unparalleled, her word law.

And this morning, she sat across from the greatest foe she’d ever known. Never before had her wits been so challenged. To think, this morning her only desire had been to have a light breakfast and relax. Nothing amazed her quite so much as the swiftness with which disaster might strike.

For that was what she faced today: disaster beyond imagining.

She licked her lips in anticipation and narrowed her eyes at her smiling foe. Oh, the foul creature feigned innocence well enough, but Celestia could feel the waves of guilty pleasure radiating from her. She would need all her cunning, every scrap of information regarding her opponent to win this round.

Magic was out of the question. Her foe was practically her equal and the potential for collateral damage was too high. This required discretion, for if word got out the press would be her enemy’s greatest weapon. No guards, then. Or any outside help, for that matter. And Celestia wasn’t so ignorant as to believe she could match her rival through mere physical combat. The very idea was laughable.

Words. Words would win this battle. Words and subtlety.

She began with small talk. Many an unprepared diplomat skipped this part, failing to recognize the vast importance of it. It brought the risk of ease, and allowed one to size up an opponent. Through such casual conversation as the pleasantness of the morning, Celestia could gauge her foe's skill in the arena of debate.

The pony sitting across from her took up the conversation without missing a beat. Hesitation indicated weakness, so this was unfortunate. Of course, the easy response could signify an ignorance towards the nature of things, but Celestia had no intention of underestimating the danger set before her.

Tea. Tea had helped her solve wars in the past, surely it could help with this. She took a dainty sip, then dared to bring up the truth of the matter. Nothing direct, of course. Just enough to observe a reaction.

Said reaction was nothing short of perfect. So perfect, Celestia had to take a longer sip to buy time. Letting her anger show wouldn’t do at this critical juncture. How could her opponent brush by the topic without even the slightest tell? It was like talking to a filly who didn’t realize she was killing her pet frog! Except in this case, Celestia felt like the frog.

Oh no, she was going for it. Celestia bit her lip, mind working frantically. This was all going far too quickly. If she didn’t react soon, and properly, all would be lost in a matter of seconds! Was this pony so cunning, so vicious as to rip her hope out from under her without giving it a chance to ignite?

Panic coursed through her mind. In her hurry to turn the tide of battle, she blurted something out. It was an offering, a gift, a sacrifice, but if it prevented this failure, then…

It was over. Celestia sagged, tears welling in her eyes as she witnessed the totality of her defeat. She would have no choice but slink to her throne and entertain the public, pretending that nothing was wrong. They’d all stare at her, grinning and happy and ignorant of the tragedy of this dour morning. Oh, how could they ever understand her pain?

Her foe stood, bade her good morning and turned away from the table. Just before departing the site of her victory, the villain turned back to her.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Celestia.” Luna’s lips quirked into the smallest of smiles. “Was that the last slice of cake?”

Author's Notes:

This is perhaps the worst showing yet for my efforts in the WriteOffs. But honestly? I don't mind. I'd never tried a story like this before, and there's no better place to try something new than where I'm going to get tons of criticism. I consider this a lesson well learned.

The story was inspired by this. I wrote it down pretty quickly, just so that I could get it out of my head and focus on something more worthwhile. Speaking of which...

In Over Your Head: Clockwork

If Clockwork Callous died tomorrow, he would be remembered for living up to his name. No pony could produce clocks and automatons to match his creations, not even those technologically advanced – Ha! – bucks from Equestria. A thousand years had clearly destroyed the imaginations of his brethren. If those plain, unoriginal monstrosities were what passed as quality these days, Callous was happy he’d missed a millennium.

But today would be different. Today, after a year of struggling to obtain funding, browbeating ignorant assistants and five redesigns, Callous would show the world what real craftsponyship looked like.

The clock tower rose tall over the streets of the Crystal City, its brilliant edges gleaming in the sunlight. Hundreds of ponies lined the streets to witness the moment of activation, when the first modern – truly modern, as Callous defined the term – clock tower of the Crystal Empire would be activated by none other than the Princess of Love herself. Among the attendees were not only crystal ponies, but foreigners of every stripe and design, most of them tinkerers, designers and inventors in their own right. All had heard of the fabled clockmaker returning to their world, and not a one wished to miss his first public work in a thousand years.

The tower was a thing of beauty. Its lithe crystalline form twisted into the sky, all graceful curves and precision. The shimmer of its surface was rivaled only by the Crystal Palace itself, the silvery edges glimmering like water in sunlight to fool the eye. Many among the audience questioned if the structure had edges at all; perhaps it continued into some hidden, magical dimension created to hold all the gears and bolts. After all, surely the inner workings of a clock would never fit into something so thin and with such a strange, rolling shape!

There was no illusion. The careful engineering required to put everything in the tower was the true masterpiece of this creation. Callous had given the princess a view of the interior only two days ago, and her astonishment still filled him with pride. Those modern ponies with their square blocks of ticks and tocks would be studying his design for years and may never grasp its true beauty.

And so the time came when the princess approached the tower. Held in her magic was but a small golden key. One simple turn, and Callous’s greatest creation would come to life.

It was then that the long hidden worries arose, the fear that only the master inventor knew. The designs and patterns flowed through Callous’s mind. Where were the flaws? What were his mistakes? What if a critical shaft had been produced below specification? Months of planning, endless nights with no sleep, weeks of tension and fear and hope and desire, all coalescing into a single twist of a key!

That key entered its hole. A dainty, royal hoof touched it. With the lightest of motions, bolts moved behind crystal walls.

High atop the tower, the smallest hand of a brilliant glass face shuddered into motion. It moved again. And again. Seconds of life, seconds or reality slipping by. Words were being spoken, praises were being sung, but Callous didn’t take his focus from the hands. One minute. If it went for at least one minute, then his work would be done.

Twenty seconds.

Thirty.

Forty. His heart began to flutter.

Fifty.

Crunch.

And with that, Callous’s greatest success ground to a halt.

Silence filled the world. All eyes were set upon the hands of a clock that remained as still as death. Then, they focused upon the legendary inventor himself.

Yet he saw them not, for all Clockwork knew at that moment was failure. His prize, his dream, the design he’d longed to complete before even the rise of Sombra, gone. For the first time in his long life, Clockwork Callous felt the burn of tears. Perhaps those modern ponies had been right all along. Perhaps the famed clockmaker of history should be relegated to precisely that: history.

A soft hoof touched his shoulder. Calm came upon his soul, and at last he wrenched his gaze from the face of his defeat. She stood before him, that young princess. He prepared to apologize, to beg forgiveness, to promise to never insult her with his work or waste her time again.

She stopped him with only a gentle smile.

“Thank you, Clockwork. Thank you for this beautiful expression of love.”

Author's Notes:

This is one of those stories that just came to me. After finishing the last one, I got up and took a walk around my apartment. My eyes set upon this old clock, cut from the stump of a willow tree, hand-painted by my mother and preserved in lacquer by my grandfather. A clock that doesn't work.

And boom, have a story.

This one fared far better than the A Most Dastardly Foe, but a number of stupid typos (removed for this version) severely hindered it. Regardless, I am pleased with the final product.

The Morning After: I Wasn't Prepared for This

Comprehension crashed into Celestia like a buck to the face. She stared into the spacious bathroom mirror, toothpaste dribbling down her chin. Seeing her own pupils shrink, she felt the steadily building weight of her awareness settle upon her. When thought failed her, she put the idea into words:

“I’m not ready.”

She raised a hoof to wipe away the remaining paste from her chin. Instead, her fetlock pressed against her trembling lips. Slowly, her breathing leveled and her heart eased up on her ribs. Yet the physical calm seemed to act as a catalyst for her mind, for the moment she lowered her hoof a barrage of thoughts turned riotous in her skull. Her rebellious eyes drifted back to her toothbrush.

Sorry I fell asleep, Princess. C-can I use your stuff? I promise to be careful.

Letting the toothbrush drop, she staggered back into her chambers. Everywhere she looked, ghostly images flashed before her eyes. A little pony cantered between her legs, and she nearly tripped in an effort not to step on her.

You’re so tall! Like a giant. Are you a giant?

On her favorite rug, the same specter raised a book high over her head.

One night! Bet you didn’t think I could read that fast. What do you mean, ‘retention?’

She stepped passed her bed, trying not to look at slightly older filly staring up at her with big, tearful blue eyes.

Princess? I think there’s a hydra under my bed.

The balcony window bathed her in the streaming sunlight. Through the glass, a mare she’d not seen in many moons glared back at her.

Is that really all you have to say to me?

Celestia closed her eyes, willing the mare away. Her heart had gone back to abusing her ribcage. Oh, how it longed to escape the swords running it through. So many swords…

Forcing her eyes open, Celestia looked upon the city of Canterlot gleaming beneath the orange sunrise. Tall spires, flapping banners, white walls. Somewhere out there a new student prepared for a new life. The hole in the school tower drew her eye, stirring her guts into a horrendous mess.

She’d made her decision. She remained convinced of its appropriateness.

So why did she feel like she was plotting murder?

Celestia could not ignore the biting words. Her head turned slowly, answering the call despite her reluctance. Follow the carpet, across the bed where the familiar apparition lay sleeping, to the nightstand. There the book lay, as it had for so long.

After all this time, would she finally have the courage? Swallowing to moisten her throat, Celestia walked around the bed. She sat and raised her shaking hooves, but they could not approach the tome. She licked her lips, closed her eyes, forced down a slow, deep breath…

It weighed more than she recalled. It did not burn her or fling about insults or remind her of her failure. None of the things she’d associated with it came to pass. They’d all been silly, and she’d known it from the beginning. Even so, she stared at it for a long time.

Her hooves remained still. No glow formed around her horn.

Eyes closed. Deep breath. Eyes opened.

A long pause.

Celestia’s hoof whipped up, snapping the pages open to the bookmark.

A blank sheet greeted her. At the sight of it, the air left Celestia’s lungs. She sagged over the empty pages, a familiar talon tightening over a heart that had slipped down into her hooves. She blamed herself for getting her hopes up, among other things.

Seconds turned to minutes. Celestia flipped through page after page of old, familiar messages as more images danced on her retinae. Not a single new word graced her gaze. It was possible that one never would.

A quill and inkpot lay on the nightstand. Celestia looked at them, then to the book. Pursing her lips, she took the quill in her magic, filled it with ink, and let it hover over the page.

The quill didn’t move.

Celestia gritted her teeth.

Trembling, the quill lowered to the page. Ink smeared the paper, spreading out slowly, until at last it began to move:

Goodbye.

Celestia stared at the word for some time, waiting for the pain to dissipate and the weight to lift. Silence filled the still air of the bedroom.

She ripped the page out and closed the book.

“I’m not ready.”

Author's Notes:

This was at once one of my weakest and best entries in the Writeoffs. The story's writing was a test of a new method I was trying, one I didn't like but thought was necessary. The overwhelming reaction to the story reminded me that I don't need to go altering my methods of writing, I just need to tweak what I already have. So while this story is only so-so, it serves as a reminder that doubts are more a burden than anything, and we shouldn't give them too much credit.

Oh, and, uh, I shouldn't be so focused on subtlety. There was that, too.

Ignore It and It Will Go Away: Ticks and Tocks

She is a creature of ticks and tocks. That’s what he thinks as he looks at her smiling face over the plate of sandwiches. Ticks and tocks, ticks and tocks, nothing but endless ticks and tocks.

How long will this last?

He tries shoving the idle thought away, like so many of the others. He watches her pour some tea and idly considers changing it to cyanide.

Imagine how funny her face will look when she realizes!

Shoved down.

She makes idle conversation. Something about her friend and the lovely weather she made. He smiles back and comments on it as well, not bothering to mention how the concept of neat, orderly weather patterns churns his insides like a blender.

Perhaps just one cotton candy cloud.

Shoved down.

He tries a sandwich. It tastes like Order and Harmony, with its neat layers and ingredients added just so. How nauseating.

Fill it with worms!

Shoved down.

How nice, he tells her. The food is delicious, of course. He takes the offered teacup and drains it in a single gulp. She makes no comment on this, so he improvises; the tea is now a pigeon. She loves it, and her smile makes him smile.

A pigeon? That’s the best I can do?

That one is a little harder to ignore.

She pours him another cup of tea. She can’t pour the cup into the tea, or make the sandwiches scream in agony as they are eaten, or regurgitate them whole through her ears. She’s all ticks and tocks. Soon she’ll have to go feed her animals, more creatures that require something so orderly as food and water and oxygen for their continued survival. Ticks and tocks.

Chaos isn’t ticks and tocks! Chaos is a tock-tock-wham-patooey-kersplow, with maybe a tick in there somewhere. This game is boring. Turn her into a tree and be done with it.

Shoved very far down.

He can’t blame her for not understanding. Oh, she tries so very hard, the dear pony. She wants him to feel welcome and loved, because to her that kind of thing matters.

Chaos doesn’t need love. Chaos doesn’t need friends. Chaos is perfect just the way it is.

Can she see how his smile is strained? She must, for she’s getting that look again. Concern. Such a curious concept. Such a pony concept. He’s tried emulating it with some success. His efforts to be more like them improve every day.

Why do I even care? I could turn the entire population of this town into petunias with a snap of my talons.

No, no, everything is fine. Just worried about whats-her-name. Tree Something-or-Other.

Hmm. Seems she didn’t find that one funny. He still didn’t have their sense of humor down. Ponies are much more complicated than they seem. Or is that much more simple? But he finds they can be delightful once he gets to know them a little better.

Someday, I will grow tired to this pretending. Someday, I will realize that there’s no purpose to imitating their habits.

Shove it down.

Someday I will remember that I am chaos incarnate, and all these so-called ‘relationships’ are meaningless, and I’ll set all of her friends on fire and laugh because her pleading and begging and beseeching and asking politely and realizing all of this is a big stupid sham will be the greatest long-running gag I’ve ever conceived!

His fist smashes the table. It snaps in two.

She doesn’t run away. She’s at his side in an instant with hoof on his shoulder. Asks if he is hurt.

He smiles. His fist unclenches. He relaxes into his seat. Yes, he's fine. Just coping with an old ache. After all, he's thousands of years her senior.

She asks more questions, but he gently rebuffs her. She accepts his words, because she trusts her friend. He fixes the table, sandwich plate and tea set with a snap of his tail, and she goes to get some more hot water. She can’t just make hot water out of thin air, or produce tea with cold water, or bring Zebrica and its tea leaves into her cottage with a clap of her hooves.

If I concentrate, I bet I can land her cottage right on the peak of Kilequinjaro from here!

She is just a creature of ticks and tocks.

Ticks and tocks.

Tick and tock.

Tick.

Tock...

Author's Notes:

In terms of rating, this was one of my all-time best writeoff entries. In fact, I remember being vaguely annoyed because there were some unusual circumstances going on that made it so I was just a tiny bit off from winning the bronze. It resulting in a confusion mesh of joy for ranking so highly and frustration that the dang medals still elude me.

What? I get competitive about this stuff.

Ignore It and It Will Go Away: The Last One

The smile strained her cheeks, but Twilight bore it as best she could when the juvenile dragon landed on the balcony of her private study. “Spike! It feels like ages since you last came to visit.”

Now standing head and shoulders taller than her, Spike offered no response. His emerald eyes gleamed with the inner fire she’d long grown accustomed to, but today there was something else in his gaze. He wielded it like a sword, piercing her with a hard expression before advancing his study to the rooms behind her. She felt her heart sink at his behavior, but dared to say nothing for fear of—

His once childlike voice now had the auditory resemblance of crunching gravel. “You have the letter.”

Twilight could only be glad his eyes weren’t swords; her heart hurt enough as it was. “L-letter? What letter?”

His brow furrowed. His claws balled into fists.

With tail between her legs and wings plastered to her sides, Twilight retreated. Her words sputtered as she slowly backed away. “Don’t give me that look! I’m a princess, Spike. I’m r-really busy. I can maybe squeeze in a few hours next week, but right now is just—”

“She’s got a day.” His words were like ice. “Maybe two. This can’t wait.”

Twilight’s hind legs collapsed as the reality of his words sank in. “Th-that soon? But… But I can’t—”

Spike approached, the emerald fires raging in his glare. “You can’t what, Twilight? What? She’s the last, and you can’t be bothered to even see her?”

“I can’t do this again!”

She turned away, covering her face with her wings as the tears finally broke free. “I c-can’t. Don’t make me watch, please. I can’t stand it.”

She’d barely begun sobbing when a strong claw grasped her shoulder and spun her around. Spike had dropped to all fours. He shoved his face into hers with a snarl. “Spare me your self-pity. Fluttershy is dying.”

“I know she is!” Twilight pulled away from him, banging into her desk as she did. “They’re all gone and I’m just… I just keep…” The tears pushed their way through once more. She made no attempt to stop them. His angry face blurred, and she was glad for it. Those blazing eyes hurt almost as much as the truth he wanted her to face.

After a moment of quiet, Spike heaved a long sigh. “She’s my friend too, Twilight. This hurts me no less than it does you. It hurts Celestia. It hurts Luna. I can’t imagine what Discord’s going through right now, but he refuses to leave her side. The only one acting like a foal about this is you.”

She wiped furiously at her eyes. “But I—”

“No.” He raised a single claw before her muzzle. “There are no excuses. You’re supposed to be the Princess of Friendship. Your friend is about to die. Celestia coddles you. Luna respects you too much to interfere. Cadance can’t bring herself to do anything. None of them are gonna say it, so I will: get your selfish rump to the cottage. Now.”

He turned and stomped for the balcony. “If you can’t do that, you should give up your crown. Friendship isn’t just about the good times.”

You have to be there through the bad times, too.

She watched as he disappeared in the night sky, the old lesson echoing through her mind. The castle felt cold without his burning eyes. After a while, she turned away. The letter sat unopened on her desk, stamped with a familiar trio of butterflies. Time slipped past, and all she could do was stare.

Stare and think.

After what seemed an eternity, she let out a weak chuckle. “You always were the best, Spike.”

She trotted for the balcony, wings spreading wide. There was no need of the letter.

Fluttershy could tell her in person.

Author's Notes:

This story annoys me. It was my first idea for this writeoff round, and definitely the lesser of the two. Ticks and Tocks was superior in every way, and I knew it. So imagine my frustration when, for five straight days, everyone wanted to discuss this story and debate its faults while Ticks and Tocks went almost completely ignored. I was climbing the walls. It's like having the story you wrote on a whim and posted in an hour get all the accolades and 10,000 views while the meaningful epic you spent months perfecting sits ignored in the corner with a measly 200. Although when Ticks and Tocks finally did get noticed, the Writeoff forum all but exploded, so I suppose it was worth the wait.

That's not to say I don't like this story in a general sense, and it did make it into the final round. It also allowed me to finally tackle a topic that I've long held disdain for, meaning I can scratch it off my list and never have to face it again. Hallelujah!