Hopeless Paranoia

It hurts. It hurts. All I can think is that it hurts. Watching the Doctor, all of his faces, all the time and every time with new eyes, trying to get him to hear me and then ending up dead, I can feel it all – burning, falling, living and then nothing, nothing again and again. I don't even know who I am. I don't even know who I am.

Panic. I am in blind panic. Fear a cold claw at my heart and I can't think, I can't even see. It's black outside and around me and his faces keep spinning through me, right through me. Help. Doctor please help me.

I can feel myself losing it. Who am I? Not the echoes. But I can't not be. I'm like a reflection or a…a silhouette. What? No. No, I'm still me. Clara. Clara Oswald. Or Oswin. Is my name Oswin? What is my name now? What should I call myself when I've been ripped into billions of pieces and my name and my body have been scattered through a time stream? I'm just lost – lost and impossible and hopeless and what's in a name? How can a name describe all of that? Or any of that? Not me. There isn't a me any more.

My story is done and I'm going to die.

'Clara.'