Rewritten.

So, that little blurb of fanfic you got last post. It's been revamped. This way I can actually have a reason for the Doctor to show back up. That's right. I didn't have a reason before, but now I do. I'm so cool. Enjoy. Also, my computer has been destroyed, I don't know if I mentioned that or not, but the hard drive is gone, and I've lost everything. That's right, everything. Including the stories you all know and love. All I have left of them is what's been posted on the blog. Which isn't much considering my brilliant WTF moment is now obliterated. Such brilliant writing, lost to a **** virus. The chapter I was working on for Perfect Strangers is lost, and I don't remember what I wrote, which means I have to start all over again. I hate my life. I really truly hate it right now. If I can't recover my system, I'm going to cry. Branded was saved on there, and that's the only place it's been. I had it on a jump drive, but my mom used that and deleted all my files off of it to make room for hers. Didn't think to save them in an alternate location either. I hate my life. I said that already, didn't I? Yes, well I'll say it again. I HATE MY LIFE RIGHT NOW.  Anyway, please enjoy this little story, even if you don't watch Doctor Who. If you do, power to the Whovians. That is all.

There were times when I would sit and aimlessly watch the stars, contemplating the possibilities of life on other planets, and hope to one day learn for myself that humans weren’t the only ones out there.

I shifted on the branch of the tree I had parked myself in, watching the stars through the gap in the branches. I came out here every night, much to the displeasure of my now ex-boyfriend. He told me I spent too much time contemplating the stars, and not enough time grounded in reality. What did he know? I knew there was something more out there. I had met one once—an alien—or at least, that’s what my seven-year-old brain told me he was. When I was a young girl, my family moved to London. Late on Christmas Eve of my seventh year, I heard a noise from downstairs, and clamored out of bed. I was going to catch Santa in my house. Quietly, I crept down the stairs, stopping before I reached the last step. I held my breath as I peeked around the corner to look at the tree, and there standing in front of it was a man. Not robust and white-haired like I had pictured Santa from all of the pictures, no this man was tall and skinny with wild brown hair. As if he knew I was there, he turned to look at me, fixed his red bowtie and smiled.

“’Ello,” he said quietly.

“You’re not Santa,” I told him, glaring up at him.

“And you’re not English. We’re even,” he smiled, bending down to look me in the eye. “I’m the Doctor.”

“I’m not sick, I don’t need a doctor.”

He smiled again. “You will someday,”

Patting me on the head, he smiled again, the way grownups do when they know something important, and turned away. Stopping in front of an enormous blue box, he turned and said very quietly,

“We’ll meet again someday, Lilith Mason.”

He closed the door, and the noise began. The noise I’d never forget.

Often I had pondered the meaning of his words, and what he meant by telling me one day I’d need a doctor. I had gotten sick plenty of times since then, and not once had my doctor been that man. As I child, even up into my early teenage years, I had been sure to ask if that man worked in their facility. I would describe him in perfect detail, exactly as I remembered him from that night. Each time I asked, I received the same answer. No. My mother insisted he was nothing more than imaginary friend, and in time, I believed her. But what kind of imaginary friend only shows up once and vanishes cryptically in a big blue box? Mine, it seemed. That’s when I started watching the stars. Somewhere deep inside me I knew I hadn’t imagined him. He was real, and he had come from somewhere. He wasn’t an imaginary friend, he was an alien. But now, sitting here, I wondered, had I imagined that encounter thirteen years ago? Ruined my social life in obsessing over life on other planets for someone who didn’t exist? Perhaps.

A bright flash in the sky caught my attention, pulling me away from my thoughts.  A falling star blazed across the sky, plummeting to the edges of the universe. Give me proof, I wished, squeezing my eyes shut. I didn’t need little green men, or Jabba the Hutt, just some proof there was life out there. When I opened my eyes again, the star was still falling, but it wasn’t falling across the sky. It was coming straight for me. Panic and excitement coursed through my veins, locking me into place. I watched in complete rapture as the flaming star crashed to earth, but something seemed wrong. This star had a shape, a solid and very large shape. It was enormous. A… spaceship.

The shockwave from the crash knocked me out of the tree, leaving me sprawled on the ground with light dotting my vision. There was a roaring in my ears; the sound of raging fire, and then it was suddenly gone. Slowly, I sat up, clutching the sides of my head to stop the nausea from setting in. The world tilted, and nothing seemed right. Blurry figures approached me from the distance. I suddenly felt sick, curling over with my hand on my stomach I gasped for air, hoping to make the feeling leave me. I felt bile rise in the back of my throat.

“Adrastaeia,” A voice hissed in the darkness. I felt cold arms lift me from the ground, and then everything went black.