A Doctor Who Short Story
Richard loved Doctor Who. As far back as he could remember (which wasn't particularly far, as he was only fourteen) Doctor Who had always been his favourite programme. He had grown up surrounded by it – he had so many video tapes, and all his friends watched it too. He had toys and magazines, and when he was younger he would often play fantasy games on the playground, where they'd take turns being the TARDIS team against monsters. These days, he had drifted away from those friends – while he clung loyally to the show, they seemed to gather different interests. He didn't particularly realise it (though the thought plagued him from time to time) but something was different between him and the others at school. Not in the sense that he was special and deserved more tentative treatment, he just found it difficult to relate to people. He was often nervous when trying to strike up a conversation. He was immeasurably uncomfortable around new people, but if he was able to find Doctor Who, or other similar "fan"-generated franchises such as Lord of the Rings or Star Trek as a source for discussion, then he would develop a close bond with this person. He didn't really want to be friends with everyone anyway – he wouldn't admit it, but people absolutely terrified him as much as the show's baddies, especially large groups that he had to address directly. Any large amount of attention made of him was overwhelming. He was perfectly content with the odd couple of friends to speculate fan theories with.
After school, he'd rush home, eat his dinner, and spend the rest of the evening up in his room, watching and re-watching the videos and making up little adventures for his toys to go on. One of the Doctor toys had been on so many of these adventures that he'd lost one of his arms – but that didn't worry Richard; the Doctor had had an accident while saving the universe. It wasn't entirely out of the question – after all, you can't travel through space and time without getting into a few scrapes – and as always, the Doctor had been terribly brave about it. As long as the Doctor wasn't scared, then he had nothing to worry about. In fact, he carried the toy everywhere with him in his pocket. In many ways, it had become a charm to ward off evil spirits, as it were. If Richard ever felt intimidated and was unable to vacate or control the situation, he would clutch the figure in his pocket, knowing it would protect him and act as a deterrent to those quickly rising thoughts of panic.
However, one monster he found particularly scary were the Cybermen. Sure, the Daleks were aliens, but the Cybermen were human. He often wondered why and how people became Cybermen. What was under those masks? Did they even have faces? He'd never seen an episode that featured a Cyberman mask being removed, and that's exactly what he found so frightening about them; the tantalising thought of what could be under there, something so close yet seemed so distantly removed. If the Cybermen were human, how human were they now? They didn't display emotion, so what else had been removed? Were their brains and hearts gone? If their faces were gone, then how could they see, hear, smell and talk? There seemed to be so much to wonder about these distorted creatures, and that's why they were so fascinating. The answers all seemed to be lying behind those masks, just out of grasp.
Yet little did he know, his questions would soon be answered.
""
Ugh, it was such a stupid decision. Why had he chosen to re-watch Earthshock? Yes it was a fantastic episode with a great story to it, but the ending was unbearably sad. Richard didn't really care what other people said; Adric was severely underrated as a companion. He always cried at the end of Earthshock, and he could feel himself already welling up. He was at the point where Five rubbed Adric's gold star into the Cyber Leader's chest unit when he could hear someone approaching his bedroom door. He paused the video and awaited their entrance, wiping away at his tears. The door opened and, lo and behold, two Cybermen entered his bedroom. Richard was not surprised at this. He had anticipated their arrival, as it had become a regular occurrence, but still he instinctively – perhaps absentmindedly – moved his hand to his pocket, tracing the outline of the Doctor's figure.
The first Cyberman stepped forward. "You appear to be crying. What function does this serve?"
"Yes, I'm crying. I've been watching this episode. You know how it upsets me," responded Richard.
"This is irrational. Why should a simulation cause this response?" enquired the second Cyberman.
"Because it's a sad episode," replied Richard. He was weary – he had tried to explain this concept so often to them, yet they failed to grasp it. After all, how could they? They were only Cybermen.
"There is no value in fiction," said the first Cyberman. "This is not logical."
"Of course it's logical," retorted Richard. "It involves the unnecessary waste of life and the significant death of a character, one that has a huge effect on this Doctor's incarnation."
"I do not understand," said the first Cyberman. "These characters are not real. Why do you react in this manner?"
"I've tried to tell you before! Of course you wouldn't understand!" said Richard hotly. "People become invested in fictional characters because it is an outlet, a form of escapism!"
"You do not wish to live? You would rather be someone else?" queried one Cyberman.
"A lot of people feel better off this way! It helps them. They cannot find comfort in their lives and thus try to find comfort in fiction."
"This is pitiful," droned one of the Cybermen.
"Of course it's not pitiful! It's okay to become attached to these characters because we feel like we know them. We become interested in their exploits. They act as role models, we find solace in observing their adventures. We can learn lessons from them, they can even influence our own personalities in the smallest ways-"
"There is no need for this. Emotions are irrelevant. They serve no purpose."
"You would say that, wouldn't you?"
"It is merely a programme. It is all fake."
"That doesn't mean it has no worth or lacks relevance! It can inspire people, or provide satire of current society. It can present issues, themes and the writer's own personal ideologies. They can present dichotomies that initiate debates between the viewers."
"That would be futile. Why should time be wasted on fictional events and people?"
"Because it's an interesting topic of conversation!" Richard was getting annoyed, and his face had gone red in frustration. Why could they not just accept it and understand? They weren't even TRYING to understand, they just kept disregarding him without any thought.
"You are wrong," stated one of the Cybermen simply.
"Of course I am. I'm an adolescent. Nothing an adolescent says is ever of any worth. It's always adults with out-of-date societal norms that are right. Why should they be questioned? Oh, perhaps because they're wrong and don't understand the current attitudes. Yeah it's true that we all learn from our superiors, but if they weren't so friggin' stubborn, they could learn from us.
But as I said, nothing an adolescent says is ever of any worth."
The Cybermen stood there in silence, perhaps calculating what he had said, running it through their programming to see if there was any slim possibility that he was correct for once. Then again, it was more likely that what he had said had gone in one ear (or whatever Cyberman variant of such) and out the other.
Finally, one spoke. "What of your peers?"
"You tell me what of them."
The Cybermen stood in silence for a few moments, before the same Cyberman asked "What of their treatment of you?"
"Oh, it's the same as usual. They tease me, bully me. They call me names. I'm fat, I'm ugly, I'm a nerd, I have no friends." Richard said spitefully, clutching tightly at the figure in his pocket as the reminiscence brought tears to his eyes.
"These are only names," stated the other Cyberman.
"Again, you indicate that this means it should have no effect," sniffled Richard.
"They should not," the Cyberman answered back. "Words have no effect. Nor meaning. They serve solely as communicative tools."
"Of course words have meaning!" Richard was losing his control; they were forcing him out of his comfort zone. "Do you have any idea how this makes me feel? After a while, it wears you down. You start to believe what they say. It drastically undermines your self confidence. You lose your sense of worth. Words are powerful weapons, and the ramifications of their use can be catastrophic to the wellbeing of a person's psyche."
"Words are not weapons. They do not pierce your skin," stated the Cyberman.
"No, they pierce much deeper. They pierce your mind and your soul, and those wounds don't heal as rapidly as the flesh," snarled Richard, biting back his tears momentarily. "Verbal assault leaves you much more vulnerable than a bullet ever could."
"Your thought process is questionable. You are weak minded and worthless. Your peers are right," the Cyberman replied. Their ignorance had worn Richard down. He turned on them, lying on the bed, his face in his pillows.
"Just forget it. You'll never understand. People don't share your views," Richard stated, exasperated. "You aren't right, but you're too narrow-minded to see that. People don't work with logic or rationality. I give up. Nothing I say could teach you otherwise. You were brought up to think that words can't harm you, but perhaps they've left more of a mark on you than you realise. Blocking it out and telling yourself otherwise, not allowing them to have an effect, has left you blank, incapable of learning about others or yourself."
The Cybermen did not respond. Richard heard the door close. He peeked out from the pillow to see that they were gone.
""
They pulled Richard's door shut. In the hallway, they discussed their encounter with him.
"Something's wrong with that boy. He's too enclosed; he's becoming warped and isolated. He doesn't speak to his friends anymore," his mum said.
"I can't believe he's crying over that show," his dad said in disbelief. "Why would you cry? It's just a show. Jeez, he's becoming so emotionally stunted."
"It's not normal," his mum agreed. "He should get out more. But sometimes I'm worried we might be too hard on him."
"Rubbish! If anything we're being too lenient. I don't care how he views us, he's gotta be taught differently," the dad suggested. "We brought him up wrong, so we gotta fix our mistakes. Maybe I should start bonding with him – Get him out of the room, get him to do more manly things. He's a man, he needs to act like one. He can't keep crying at these TV shows. I should take him fishing. We could throw out all of his DVD's. Maybe then he'll learn."
Do not let people treat you like this. Don't ignore it and let it carry on. These problems NEED to be addressed and helped. Words matter. Gender normative roles and the idea of "manliness", the impression that an obsession with a TV show makes you a social faux pas – these perceptions all need to stop. If you feel like the odd one out, that you don't fit in, it does not mean that there is anything wrong with you at all. Please don't let other people's judgements lead you to believe otherwise. The Doctor isn't the only one fighting battles with monsters – everyone has their own. If you are receiving verbal bullying or emotional abuse from your friends and family that jeopardises your mental health and wellbeing, you can find support at:
www . childline . org . uk
www . teenhelp . org
www. samaritans . org