2014. I think this was the only fan fiction I ever wrote. If you are a Doctor Who fan, I hope you enjoy this:) Even if you are not, I still hope you enjoy it! But I would suggest watching all of Doctor Who (you have my permission to skip the first eight, but you must start at nine, but you must promise to see some or all of the others, 1-8).
Imagine a complete stranger coming up to you and saying, “Come with me.”
Imagine them holding their hand out for you to take it. What would you do? Would you take it? Would you laugh and say, “Ha ha, you’re kidding, right?”
Then the stranger says, “Trust me.”
Would you? Would I? I admit there have been some people in my life that have broken my trust, and the more it happens the more I start to not trust people, particularly complete strangers. But this guy is different. He’s tall. His hair is this light ginger color and he has the most gorgeous green eyes I have ever seen. They’d probably be even more gorgeous if he had his glasses off. He’s wearing a white t-shirt, tan khaki pants, red sneakers, and a thin, dark brown, leather jacket.
Who is he? He stands in front of me, offering his hand to me and waiting for me to answer. I then ask the most cliché question of all time, in my opinion. “Why me?”
He smiles, revealing beautiful, straight, white teeth, except for this one tooth that’s a little crooked. “Trust me,” he says again. “I need your help and it appears that you are running away from something, so why not come with me?”
It’s true; he’s a good observer. Here I am with my backpack, stuffed with all of my belongings, my pockets stuffed with all the cash I saved up, and an umbrella at my side because it looks as though it might rain today.
Okay, so here’s my quick tale. My mom died in child birth and my dad joined her in the ground one year later because he loved her so much; apparently, he didn’t love me as much as her, even though I was his own daughter. I wasn’t told how he died but he did. All my grandparents were dead, my mom had a sister, but she had so many kids that she just couldn’t afford to take on another one. My dad had no siblings, so guess where I was put? Foster Care. The first home I went to was pretty good. The parents were kind, and I stayed with them a whole year, until they had a kid of their own, and then I had to leave. The next family kept me for only a week because I cried so much. I could have filled up a kiddie pool if I wanted to. I moved again and again and again. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. So, why am I running away? I just couldn’t stand living that life anymore, so I decided to go live my own life.
Again I look at this guy. His eyes are so beautiful. I mentioned they were green, but these are like seaweed that danced before the sun in the water. There’s this sort of silver glittery light that hung in them. I shake myself out of my trance. He’s still staring at me, looking hopeful. His hand is still stretched out.
I sigh. “Eh, sure,” I say as I grabbed his hand.
He smiles even bigger. He leans in and whispers in my ear, “Run!”
And we run. It feels so good. I almost didn’t have a care in the world. Here I am, with this man, whose name I did not know, who’s taking me somewhere I did not know, and who’s running at the same pace as me, stilling clutching my hand. Not creepy at all. As we keep running my side starts to burn, but I don’t break my pace. At last, we stop but at a dead end. I frown. He smiles. There’s a blue, rectangular box in front of us. At the top is a light, and underneath it is a sign that reads, “Police Public Call Box. What’s that?” I ask. He doesn’t answer but feels in his pant pocket. He pulls out a key and goes to unlock the box.
“Come on in!” he calls.
I frown again. “In that small thing? With you?” I ask. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to follow him.
He goes in and leaves the door open just a crack.
There’s a light. “Weird,” I say. Ninety-nine percent of me tells me to run away, that this man is mad, but that one percent says, “No! Just go peek in.” I do what that one percent says. As I inch my way over I hear noises: alarms, static, pounding, bangs, creaking, and footsteps against metal. I push the door open and nearly throw up my breakfast. I can’t move. I am speechless. This is no four by eight foot, 3D, rectangular, wooden box. This is a…
“TARDIS!” he yells. “Time and relative dimensions in space. Any passing remarks? I’ve heard them all!”
This place, with its ceiling so high, the room so large you could stuff a hundred people in it, and the round island in the middle with flashing lights and nobs and buttons, is so spectacular. Even that word couldn’t describe it. What could I say? I almost thought I was dreaming. After a while I finally say, “It’s a bit dull. Couldn’t you have chosen a different color?” The pale, tan walls with a large, circle pattern aren’t sitting well with me.
He frowns at me. “Never heard that one before.” He runs to the island in the middle and starts turning knobs and pushing buttons. I walk up to the island.
“Who are you?” I finally ask. Why didn’t I before?
He grins at me. “I’m called The Doctor.”
“Doctor? Doctor Who?”
“Just the Doctor will do.” He flips a switch and this white light flashes at the center. “So, where do you wanna go?”
“What do you mean?”
“This is my space ship and it’s a time machine!”
“Are you some sort of mad scientist or something?” I ask as I walk around the round island. he reminds me of an energetic child who just received a new toy.
“I’m an alien from another planet, but if you were in my shoes you would be the alien.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Prove it. Prove you’re an alien.”
He smiles devilishly. He comes toward me, takes my hand, and places it on the left side of his chest. His heart is pounding rapidly. Then he moves my hand to the right. More pounding.
I withdraw my hand. “Two hearts? How is that possible?”
He winks and runs back to the island, adjusting a screen. “All of time and space is laid out before you. Where do you want to go?”
Is this man for real? All of this can’t be true. Though, if I am dreaming, I don’t want to wake up. One particularly historical person pops into my head. “Joan of Arc. I’d like to meet her.”
“Ah, Joan it is then.” The Doctor slams the heel of his hand on a lever. The beam in the middle of the island lights up and the whole place emits this rough, wheezing sound. The ground vibrates under my feet. I grab hold of the island, adrenaline pumping through my veins.
Please, please don’t wake up.