She stumbled blindly down the street. Her steps criss-crossed in every direction and at times she leaned against a street light in a desperate attempt to regain her composure. It was just past two in the morning. There was no moon, and no light except for the street lights every twenty feet. She was terrified, she knew that. She also knew that there was no sanctuary in this city. Her only goal was to leave.
It had been too long in this godforsaken place. Too long living in the blundering routine of a twenty-three year old trying to make end's meet. Week after week, she'd scrounge up enough money to buy a little bit of food here and there; sometimes she could even afford cable. But after this night, she couldn't go back. She would never go back.
And so she continued her stumbling, without eyesight and without proper shoes. She had ran out so quickly that one of her heels had snapped; she imagined the few people she did see on the street thought she had some sort of disability. Regardless, her journey ebbed onward: small step, slouch, small step, slouch. Step. Slouch. Step. Slouch. The hours dragged on, and soon she had no idea where she was. She was passing a field of sorts and was on the outskirts of the city.
The silence was deafening.
Nothing moved. Nothing swayed. A tree didn't creak and a mouse didn't scurry.
The silence was deafening.
Exhausted, she hobbled towards the field. If anything, she could safely pass out for a long, if uncomfortable, sleep. She finally removed her broken shoes, gently laid down amongst the tall grass, and placed her head on her arms. She closed her eyes and tried to drift away into the nothingness that was sleep. She tried desperately, but to no avail.
The silence was deafening.
Slowly but surely, as if arising from the silence itself, a whirring began. The darkness still dominant, the source of the mysterious sound was hidden. In an effort to protect herself from whatever it was that made the sound, she resorted to the antics of a small child and curled into a ball. The idea of 'If I can't see you, then you can't see me!' came to mind, but she continued. The whirring had finally stopped. Unfortunately, the darkness still hid the sound's owner. She clamped her eyes shut and waited. It felt like hours, days, even weeks, before she had gathered enough courage to peek out into the early morning in an attempt to discover whatever was out there. Silently, she counted down from ten. What if it was a mountain lion? Nine. These hills have been known for them. Or it could be the wind? Eight. But she felt no breeze. Wind was not possible. Seven. What would make that sound? A car passing on the road? Six. No. The sound was too close for that. And the sound didn't come towards her and pass. Five. It was a few feet away from her. She had heard it. Four. Was it a person? She almost felt like she was being watched. Almost. Three. What if it's a rapist? Or a murderer? Some rapists and murderers attack their victims at random. Two. It's a rapist. She's sure of it. One. She can feel him watching her. It's as though he can hear her mental countdown. What will happen when she opens her eyes?
The silence was deafening.
She slowly sat up, looking around in the darkness. Finally her eyes focused, and she stood up. There was nothing there. She looked left. She looked right. Nothing to explain the whirring sound or the feeling of being observed. Frustrated, she turned around and planned to walk back to the road and continue her journey. Unfortunately a large blue police box blocked her way. She knew that it hadn't been there before. How does something this big appear out of nowhere? Had she fallen asleep without knowing it? She had to have; there was no way the box could have gotten there in a few minutes.
The silence was deafening.
She circled the box. She touched the box. She smelled the box. She tried to gauge its size and guess what could possibly be inside. After doing this for several minutes, she sat in front of the box. Knees pulled in to her chest, she read the sign on the door and silently pondered.
How long she sat there in a mindless state, she didn't know. But suddenly she heard a door open and close. It was still dark, so she froze.
The silence was…
Gone. She heard a few steps. They grew closer. She knew someone was there. She held her breath, hoping that he or she would pass by and never acknowledge her existence. But, that was not to be. Two large feet barreled into her shins; she yelped in pain as a body came crashing down onto her small frame.
"Oy! Sorry 'bout that. Still haven't gotten used to these big ol' clown feet of mine. Are you okay?" The body spoke with a sort of nervous aire about it. In a way, it sounded worried. Worried about her.
She said nothing. The silence was deafening.
"Well, aren't you a talker! I say, though, you have quite the vocal chords! Humans," he laughed, "you have one of the most interesting languages. Expressions as well! I myself have never been able to lose awe in the thousands or words and phrases you lot use. Amazing!" The man grabbed her hand and pulled her up. She was confused; he didn't sound like a rapist or a murderer. He sounded friendly. Then again, people who knew Ted Bundy said he was a gentleman. And this man appeared to be a gentleman.
The silence was deafening.
"Well, uh, uhm… You're not hurt, are you? I shouldn't have just come blundering out of the TARDIS like that. Something always happens when I rush out like I own the place!" He laughed, nervously. She sensed a slight hint of sadness in his voice. He hid it well. She wondered if he was dangerous, or just eccentric. She toyed with the idea of responding to him. Then again, her silence seemed to make him ten times more nervous.
"Uhm… well, ah, again I am, uh, dreadfully sorry to have, uhm, run into you like I did. Yo-you wouldn't happen to have a name, would you?" With the darkness slowly disintegrating as the sun rose, she saw him rubbing his neck. He looked as nervous as he sounded. She wondered why he felt that way. Perhaps it was just her presence. She had always had that affect on some people; she made them so uncomfortable that their tongues became as knotted as a toddler trying to speak his first words.
"Maybe I do."