Mornings can go crawl in a hole and die.

I've never made it a secret that I don't like mornings. I think breakfast is overrated, sunrises are pretentious sunsets, and ponies who like to tout the self-appointed title of 'morning-pony' like it's some kind of accomplishment ought to be stoned with their own tasteless bagels. If history had gone just a bit different, I think I'd have probably found life under the iron rule of Nightmare Moon in an everlasting night to be just peachy.

Though none of this changes the fact that the mornings keep coming one after another regardless of my feelings on the matter.

Such as today's, which is no worse than normal but not particularly better either.

"Die, sun," I mutter as a blade of golden light sneaks around the edge of my triple-thick blackout curtains squarely onto my face. It's probably unlikely that Celestia herself maneuvered that beam around an impossible corner and directly into my eye, but I'm not ruling it out either.

Unfortunately now awake, I have to actually do something about it. With a sigh, I roll out of bed, back popping and joints cracking as I escape the irritating daylight.

I check the clock. Almost eleven. A small blow against the forces of morning, but a blow nonetheless. Just because the morning is inevitable doesn't mean I have to cave to it. With a little careful planning I can usually manage to avoid that whole detestable half of the day entirely.

Breakfast —or, "Brunch" as some insufferable ponies insist on calling it— is a solitary date between me, a daffodil sandwich, and some of last night's reheated leftover halibut. Not my ideal meal, but it wasn’t my turn to make the last grocery run. As usual, the role of my housemate is played by a note on the counter, today accompanied by a cheap basket of slightly-less-cheap-looking muffins.

Colgate, it reads, Left early to get started with a new client! Won't be back till late! Derpy brought over some extra muffins she made! Maybe stop by shops and buy her a thank you card or something! I'll go halves on it! Need room in fridge for new brand of protein shake I'm sponsoring, so try to make a dent in the leftovers! Signed, BB YEAH!

If most ponies sharing a house are like ships passing in the night, then Bulk and I are like an old fishing boat and a spring-breaking fratstallion on a jet ski. I have a regular, if unusual schedule, and he's whipping and zinging all over the place.

Between being a personal trainer and his irregular sponsorship deals, his schedule is never consistent. Sometimes we actually get to eat together and other times I don't see him for days. When he has to do an on-site photoshoot (usually somewhere beachy), it's like I'm living alone at half rent.

All in all, decent housemate. Four stars, would recommend.

After breakfast, of course, comes work. The trot to the office is nice and the crisp breeze really sweeps the last bit of sleep out of my system. The old (by Ponyville standards) building is locked and empty when I arrive, which is a good thing since I'm the only employee and anything else would mean I'd been robbed. Though I have my doubts as to the black-market value of second-hoof dentistry equipment.

The best thing about being the only dentist in a small country town is that I can dictate my hours however I like and everypony else has no choice but to twist their schedules to accommodate me (unless they want to spend half their day and four times as many bits taking the train up to Canterlot). That's why I can open at lunch and skip mornings altogether.

The worst thing about being the only dentist in a small country town is, with no other local practitioners, I'm obligated to take the inevitable emergency walk-ins and persistent hypochondriacs of a whole town. I can probably draw Scootaloo and her friends’ mouths from memory at this point.

Today is on the lighter side of busy. One filling, four cleanings, and Pinkie Pie's bi-weekly cavity check. The mare's surprisingly paranoid when it comes to her dental hygiene. I can't fault her, given her diet, and at least somebody in town genuinely cares about it (and it doesn't hurt that she always pays full price even though I've never found so much as a divot in her pearly whites).

There’s also a single walk-in. Some filly who ran smack into a fence while she and her rich parents were vacationing. Do they not have fences in the upper crust of Canterlot? Apparently her father works for the University and, once again, I had to suffer the indignity of being confused for my twin sister. I thought I’d left that all behind in Canterlot, but apparently fate thinks it’s funny to keep having ponies mistake me for my much more successful sister, Minuette, with her triple doctorate and her cutting-edge magical research and her rich coltfriend.

Putting aside that irritating interaction, the most interesting thing that happens all day is when I nearly give Berry Punch a surprise tracheotomy thanks to a loud and unexpected Whump! from the roof, followed by muffled cursing. That isn't all that unusual though. There's an old mattress up there from before I started renting the place. It’s a real popular option for teen pegasi (and more often than not, Rainbow Dash) looking for somewhere to crash land.

I wrap up by five and send Pinkie home with a complimentary toothbrush and mini-tube of toothpaste. I really hope she doesn't just eat it outright. You can never truly rule anything out with her.

After locking up, I remember Bulk's comment about getting a thank you card for Derpy. Barnyard Bargains isn't that far out of my way, and though it lacks anything of real quality, cheap mass-production is just what I need for a random card. Thus, I set off on a slightly different route home from normal.

"Hey! You!"

It's never easy to tell who a pony is taking to when the only descriptor is 'you', but I turn around anyway. Even if it's not me they mean, there still might be some interesting drama going down.

Turns out, they do mean me. Or so I assume from the pegasus barreling towards me like her mane's on fire, eyes locking on to mine the moment they connect.

I've got about three seconds before a painful collision or embarrassing romcom-style pratfall kiss occurs and in that time my brain manages to decipher a few key bits of information.

First, it wastes a second concocting that stupid romcom scenario.

Second, it dredges up a name: Raindrops. Local weather team. Has a younger brother with an overbite her insurance didn't cover. Cracked a molar once on a bad dive. Once met casually at a Pinkie party. Did not like the molar thing being brought up in conversation.

The third and final thing I manage to perceive is a yellow hoof clocked back and coming straight at my face at oh-buck-miles-per-hour.

"Whoa! Wha-" is all I manage before my world explodes into a daytime fireworks display soon subsumed by a haze of darkness.

I wake up in a hospital. That, or Clean Sweep has taken to cleaning the cobblestones with bleach and somepony has left a beeping JoyBoy console next to my head.

I blink the rest of the way to wakefulness, though one eye refuses to open much more than a squint. My hospital theory is confirmed by sterile white walls and bargain bin abstract paintings.

I shift a little, feeling something tug against my fur. Fabric? Did they give me a hospital gown?

Or... possibly something else I realize as I look down. I'm wearing a jacket. Not anything I'd expect to find in a hospital, more like something from Rarity's Shadow Spade-inspired line. Long and dirt colored and dotted with pockets; a duster I think? Or something with a similar cut. Fashion has never been my strongest suit.

"Ah, look who's up. Welcome back to the land of the living."

My fashionable confusion interrupted, I turn towards the source of the voice. There's a nurse at my bedside, done up in full pink scrubs complete with face mask and mane and tail covers. The only pony part of her still visible is her eyes which betray a hint of amusement as she checks a clipboard. "Have a nice nap, did you?"

I groan as I sit up fully. "Did anypony get the number of the cart that hit me? I think I'd like to sue. Ugh, what day is it even?"

The nurse chuckles goodnaturedly. "Still the thirtieth, don't worry."

"Heh, sure, thirtieth. Nice try, but I can see through your little scheme. I know it's the third."

"Nope. Thirtieth." She points with her pen. I follow it till I hit the wall. Or rather, the wall calendar.

The wall calendar with nearly the whole month crossed off.

My blood runs cold in my veins. "I've been asleep for four weeks?"

"Hm?" She looks up from her clipboard, barely noticing my growing distress. "No, you were just brought in today. Roseluck found you unconscious on Mincini Street."

That… doesn’t make sense. Mincini street. That's where I'd been walking when Raindrops went all ape on me. No way I could have been lying there in plain sight for days and days before somepony noticed. So where’d the month go? I don't feel particularly hungry, let alone like I've missed over fifty meals. So why can't I remember?

"Hey," says the nurse, pulling me back to the present. "Is that a Time Spoon?"

I glance down at where she's pointing just in time to see something fall out of my breast pocket and onto my lap.

It's... a spoon.

Definitely a spoon. One of those big serving ones. Fancy too, with lots of filigree. I squint a little harder as something about it tickles the back of my brain. No, not filigree. An incredibly detailed aetheric circuit. One leagues more complex than anything I ever learned in school. So, a magic spoon then. Unless someone just decided to practice their engraving and stick a fat ruby on the end purely for the aesthetic.

But why the heck do I have it?

Maybe the nurse knows something. She knew a name for it after all. "A time spoon?"

"No, a Time Spoon."

"...time spoon."

"Time. Spoon."

"A... Time Spoon."

"Right. Time Spoon."

"...Riiight."

She shrugs as if that whole conversation somehow made sense. "I call 'em like I see 'em. It's a spoon and it's filled with so much time juice it's practically dripping."

I check the spoon again as well as my sheets. Both are dry.

"Metaphorically.” She shrugs again. “I took an elective in Temporal Magicanics at Uni, so I know what I'm talking about."

"Ahuh." Despite her assurance, I can't help but be a little skeptical. It's not every day you wake up missing four weeks of time and a nurse says you're welding cutting-edge chronomagical cutlery.

Then again, this is Ponyville, so nothing’s off the table.

"You're probably gonna want to take that to Starlight Glimmer," the nurse says as she sets down her clipboard and starts to leave. "No pony knows time magic like her. Oh, you're clear, by the way. Feel free to sign yourself out at the front desk."

"You were right to come to me," Starlight says as she holds the Time Spoon in her hoof and me in her magical grip.

I nod as best I can while scanning spells run up and down my body. "So you know a lot about... time magic?" I'm still cautiously skeptical about the whole idea, despite the circumstantial evidence. But this is Twilight Sparkle's student. The only more trustworthy authority on hocus pocus would be Princess Magic Pants herself.

Starlight snorts, amused. "Do I know time magic? Filly, I wrote half the spells I'm using on you. I'm the number two time mage in Equestria." Her voice drops to a low grumble that I'm not sure whether I'm supposed to hear. "At least until the board gets their heads out of their plots and decides that Starswirl shouldn't get top billing just because he founded the field. The stallion's not even accredited!"

With a totally unnecessary flourish of her horn she cuts off the spell. "Well, I can say for sure there's definitely time magic afoot. You're covered in traces of it."

A small weight settles into my stomach. "I didn't want to believe it, but if the number two-"

"You don't have to keep bringing that up."

"-expert says it's so, then I guess it's true. I still can't believe I lost almost a month to that spoon."

"Right. The… time spoon. About that," Starlight holds up the Time Spoon, the slight sheen of some protective spell coating it like a film. "It certainly looks like my work—my spellwork, that is—but I can honestly say I've never constructed anything like this in my life. Let alone out of a spoon of all things. I'd have used a knife."

She offers it back to me and I take it carefully, like it’s a live snake. Can never be too careful around weird magic artifacts. "Why a knife?"

"It makes for better one-liners. Killing time, shaving seconds, cutting to the chase. They practically write themselves." She jots a few notes down. “Something like half of all magical artifacts are the way they are in some part due to their creator trying to achieve either a clever turn of phrase or alliteration.”

Huh. The things you learn when you least expect it. Kinda makes me lose a little respect for all those uppity professors and researchers in Canterlot.

For some reason I also feel the need to defend the Spoon. “You can do that with spoons as well. Stirring up time, uh…” Or maybe she has a point that there’s not many good spoon sayings. “Mix up the minutes?” Now I’m just grasping at straws. “At least it’s a lot safer to gesture with.”

I grip the spoon with both hooves and plunge it down, as though into a big cauldron of soup, and give it a jerky anti-clockwise turn that slightly throws me off balance. I almost miss the slight flare of light that comes off the ruby, but it’s a lot harder to miss the sudden wisps of sparkly crimson cloudstuff surrounding me.

"Wait, no, don't, you might-" The rest of Starlight's words get lost in a flash of red light and the sharp noise of air rushing to fill a sudden void.