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Tick Tock

Written by Amethyst Mare (Arian Mabe)

She woke in a sudden gasping of scrambling bed sheets. Heart pounding in her chest, breath was abruptly difficult to grasp, slipping through her fingers like the sleep she had lost and night horrors slinking into the shadows, never to be seen in the light of wakefulness. Momentarily terrified by the nightly terror of the duvet, the young unicorn mare whinnied shrilly, duelling with the covers until they were suitably detangled from hooves and legs. She blinked down at her bare limbs, silver-grey and dappled with white rosettes like that of a king cheetah. They did not look like her legs. As if afraid that something would leap up and bite her paw, the mare tentatively stroked a finger over one kneecap, jumping when the sensation reached her. Indeed her legs then, the same as they had always been.

Inhaling through flared nostrils, the mare sat up slowly, fighting off a wave of nauseating dizziness as blood flowed from within her skull. Despite it being mid-winter, the window resting open a crack from the night before and the violet curtain flapped in the breeze, tapping the glass like a trapped bird. It was a clear night and a sliver of moonlight slanted through a gap in the curtains, gleaming upon the horn protruding from the centre of her forehead, gently curving backwards.

The unicorn's leonine tail sinuously slipped from beneath the purple bed sheets, twisting in midair. Closing her eyes, she willed it to stop but every muscle trembled with a nervous energy that thrummed through her like lightning, shocking each and every nerve into brilliant, vibrating life. The mare sighed, curling forward into herself and hugging her knees to her similarly naked chest, warm breasts moulding to the shape of her thighs at the point of narrowing.

She could lie down. But she would not. She could pretend the dream never happened. But it had. She could start the next day with a painted on smile. But that would be a lie. She could fall back asleep, relax in blissful emptiness once more. But that was ridiculous. She could, she could, she could.

Why were things so... She could not find the words and snorted, half-lifting one paw helplessly into the air, setting it back down upon her knee a heartbeat later. There was no point pondering when there were no words.

Sleep would not be had, she decided with a shake of her head that made the decision all the more decisive. The physical always confirmed it for her. Stress. Why did thou haunt so, denying slumber? It had been such for weeks already. Who was she to believe that this night would be any different?

Yet, it was different, ever so subtly so in a fashion that evaded her grasp, a slippery minnow darting through a shallow stream. Tail twitching, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and rose fluidly, stretching out sleep-stiffened muscles. Her immediate world was silent, with only the faint sound of motorway traffic in the distance, a perpetual, nightly disturbance. Otherwise, the upper floor of the house was perfectly silent to her ear and there was certainly nothing wrong with her hearing. She was the only one in the house that night, a blessing and a curse in varying measures, never equal. One could never pin down those exact measures, at least not to her mind.

Hooves moved unbidden and she paced the room, sinking ever so slightly into the carpet with every step. Activity was soothing and she pushed open the bedroom door to venture into the remainder of the house, which she could not claim as her personal abode. Silence beckoned and she padded gladly into its arms, letting the cool night envelope her. The residence was all on one floor so it was easy enough to allow her wandering hooves to take her from one end to the other, passing by the trio of clustered bedroom doors and making her way to the kitchen, through the wide living room with the double glass doors and back again. Outside, an owl hooted and she revelled in the sound, glad that she was not the only being that sleep so eluded.

The difference with the owl was that he wanted to be awake, hunting mice with superior vision and silent wings, while she chased down sleep with a broken net and tears in her eyes.

She blinked, touch her fingertips to her cheek where moisture trickled, damp and cold. When had she started crying? She had not even noticed and the thought frightened her, out of tune with her senses as the mental world took over. It was easy to lose oneself in the night but she shook herself bodily, much like a feral equine, and straightened her back.

Frustration, it was solely frustration, she told herself. There was no other reason for the traitor tears.

In the living room, the clock on the mantelpiece ticked, interrupting her reverie with an obnoxious beat. Her eyes narrowed, tail flicking back and forth, back and forth, without rest or pause. She did not spend much time in the living room. If she had, it would not have remained in place for very long at all: she loathed ticking clocks. Useless pieces of junk.

She tried to ignore it, tried to remember the soothing hoot of the owl, but the sound forced its way into her twitching ears, demanding attention until she growled like a lion. Stupid thing! Whose bright idea had it been to put a clock in the house? Pointless! Useless! She paced, cursing that, now that she had taken note of the clock, she could hear it right from the other side of the house. Why did sound have to carry so much at night? Why a clock, of all things? Why ticking?

Tick, tick, tock.

The infernal clock! It would not stop. The unicorn bit her lip and groped the groove at the back of the device, seeking out where the batteries were concealed. It was to no avail and she squealed, tail lashing so furiously that she side swiped a lamp from the coffee table. It crashed to the floor in a shatter of glass, bulb disintegrating into smithereens. She swore under her breath and stomped a hoof: that would be a bitch to clean up. Why did things like this have to happen? Had she not suffered enough? Did she not have enough on her mind without needing to clean up a lamp too?

She half-turned as if to make her way into the kitchen, thoughts of a dustpan and brush on her mind, and crumpled halfway. Her legs simply would not and could not support her weight any longer and she tumbled to her knees, legs folding beneath her as her palms hit the carpet, joined by a stream of tears. She gasped, heaving in breath through the sobs that suddenly overruled her, wracking her lungs and making each breath harder to draw than the last, torso quivering. Arms trembling, she fought to drag herself to her hooves again. Yet strength was something that she no longer had and it was more than enough effort simply to stop herself from diving face first into the floor.

She cried openly, tears streaming down her muzzle. Why was she so upset? It was ridiculous. It was only a clock. It was only a lamp. Where was the clock? She glanced about, finding it dropped on the floor two paces away, still ticking. What could she do about it? The unicorn closed her eyes and slowly shook her head, dropping her muzzle lower so that her nose brushed the carpet, the scent of fabric and dirt rough to her sensitive nose.

The clock ticked. She had no will to avoid it, driving her mad with every insane pulse. Letting gravity take her, she collapsed to the ground and snorted, snot spraying from her nose. Though disgusted, she only pushed herself away from the sneeze, turning her muzzle in the opposite direction, the hallway visible through the open living room door. Why did everything have to happen to her? Why couldn't she handle it? What was wrong with her? The unicorn clenched a paw around her throat, fingers digging in as if this time she would not let go even when she struggled to breathe. But this time was not the last time and she released her neck with only the imprints of hoofed fingertips left in her fine coat.

Tick tock, baby.

Arian clamped her paws over her ears, pressing them flat to her skull: no more, please...no more. She sniffled. Would things ever get better? Was she doomed to be broken forever? Was this all there was, a series of dramas, one after the other throughout one's life? She was not sure she wanted to live like that and she raked her fingertips down her arm, drawing a line of pain. Why could she not fix herself? If she was broken, she could be fixed...right?

There was only one answer in the dark of the night.

Tick tock.