So, over a month later, I have finally bullied myself into sitting at my computer and typing out this blog post. A while ago, I said that I would post some fanfiction I’d written recently, so this is it.
I wrote this in about 10 minutes in a random notebook during my biology class, so I’m not too sure how good it is. Personally, I’d score this a 6 or 7 out of 10, but then, I’m a harsh grader.
Anyway, if you’re a fan of Doctor Who, continue reading! I’d promise you like it, but then, that’s up to you, isn’t it?
Side note: I write best in 2nd person, so that’s why this fic is in 2nd person. Yeah, it’s slightly odd, but I find it easiest to write like this. Why, I have no idea.
So, without further ado, I present to you my writing once again:
Maybe It’s The Hair
You put your earbuds in, fiddling with the left one as you walk down the street. The left earbud never fails to fall out within five minutes of putting it in, so you make a halfhearted attempt to wriggle it into your ear enough that it stays put. You finally manage to fit the damn thing in, and turn your attention to your phone.
You quickly scroll past the instrumentals and take a glance at the slower music before moving on. You feel like listening to something fast-paced, the type of song that gets your heart pounding, your blood racing, and makes everything you do look and sound badass. You look through the playlist named simply, ‘cool.’ How about AC/DC? No. Arctic Monkeys? Not today. Daft Punk? Not the right song. You make a right and turn down a quieter road, still focused on your phone. A gust of wind blows and you pull your scarf tighter around your neck.
Suddenly, something shoots out from an alleyway and latches onto your right arm. You look down, but the thing holding onto you is like nothing you’ve ever seen before. Tan, three-fingered, and heavily callused, the hand pulls you further into the alleyway. A face emerges from the shadows. Wait, is that … Mr. Potato Head? A head domed and ugly, with a heavy brow, sunken eyes, an upturned nose, and a strange smile stretched across it’s face, the creature before you could only be described as utterly and wholly alien.
“Yes, you will make a fine piece of bait to catch the Doctor,” it says. It’s voice has an almost robotic echo, and it sounds raspy and weirdly accented.
“W-wait, what doctor?” You stammer as it turns and begins walking back down the alleyway, keeping a firm grasp on your arm. As the thing steps into a bit of light, you see that it’s body is covered in some sort of metallic armor, the type that cheesy overly-fake sci-fi TV shows put on their ‘aliens.’
It does not answer you, choosing to continue on. You pull on your arm, trying and failing to get the creature’s grip to loosen. “Hey man, I’m just looking to get home,” you say, trying to speak calmly. By the look on the creature’s face as it turns to you, you’re definitely in some deep shit. You hurry on. “I don’t know any doctors around here, I’m just passing through because I missed my bus and I have to get home–”
The creature laughs in its deep rough voice and you squirm. The laugh emitting from the creature sounds threatening and fake and just wrong, as if such a creature should not ever be laughing.
“We’re not just looking for any human doctor, boy! We’re searching for the Doctor! The greatest protector of humanity in this universe, and an old enemy of my race.” It’s funny, but you could have sworn that the creature had almost sounded proud when it told of having an old enemy.
You open your mouth and start to pull air in, curious about this ‘race’ the creature spoke of, but before your lips can form a word, a hand clamps down hard over your mouth. You freeze, but the creature doesn’t notice. The owner of the hand leans forward and quickly whispers into your ear.
“Hello there, I’m the Doctor, and I’m going to get you out of this mess. I’m going to need you to stay calm, run when I tell you to, and follow me carefully. I’ll explain once we’re in a safer place. Now, in a few minutes, something is going to happen. I can’t tell you what, as I don’t really know myself, but trust me, you’ll know it when you see it. But anyway, when that something happens, you’re going to need to run. Fast. It’ll be the fastest you’ve ever run, and you can’t let your legs give in. All I ask is that you keep running. It’s, literally, a matter of life and death.” All this is said at an alarmingly quick pace, and you find yourself struggling to take in the sudden flow of information.
The (Doctor? Mysterious savior? Random prisoner?) leans forward again. “Got all that? Nod once if you do, and nod twice if you’d like me to explain it again. I’d really prefer that you nod once though, because we’ve not got much time before the–”
An explosion literally rocks the ground, and you are thrown backwards. The creature lets you go and runs off toward what you assume is the source of the explosion without a second thought for you. The (Doctor? Handsome hero? Prince Charming? Co-conspirator?) catches you before you hit the ground and sets you back on your feet. You turn around and look, really look, at him. He has brown hair that sticks up in the front, huge brown eyes, and is a little bit taller than you. He is also wearing a manic, truly insane grin that eerily resembles the Cheshire Cat’s famous smile.
“Come along, now, we’ve got work to do.” He grabs your hand and starts running back toward the road, and you, strangely, find yourself stumbling along behind him. His grip is loose enough that you could easily pull your hand from his, but for some unfathomable reason, you trust him.
Maybe it’s the hair.