Title: Falling Through the Dark
Pairing/Characters: Clara
Warnings: MAJOR SPOILERS for The Snowmen and Asylum of the Daleks. Character Death.

A/N: Finally writing some more fanfiction in between trying to get stories sent out. This one is in second person, which is a style I don't do very often. Basically just Clara's thoughts leading up to her death in The Snowmen. Concrit highly appreciated, as usual. Also, a quick update on what I'm working on: still trying to get somewhere with a couple of longer fics, and I have some shorter ones waiting to be finished. I'm also trying to think of something for the 50th, which I'll try and get started up soon. I've been busy lately with various health issues—but the current health issues are back problems which lead to a lot of writing, so we'll see how it goes.

One final note: I want to say that I really appreciate any comments, favs, or follows. You guys are always very encouraging, and even though I don't always respond, I am very appreciative. I'm trying to respond to more comments, and certainly I will always respond to concrit-but for various reasons I don't always get to say thank you. Thank you.

…

The books always say it's like falling asleep.

In some ways, you find, it is.

You close your eyes, and they tell you 'it's over, sweet, the day is done,' and you slow your breathing. Your chest feels heavy, now, and for some reason you can't stop thinking about breathing—and that keeps you thinking, feeling your chest move up and down, and your thoughts wander in circles as you contemplate the fact that you're still thinking, and so you can't be asleep yet…

Or can you?

Perhaps you're dreaming.

And things drift into your mind, important things, sliding through your fingers like fish in a pond…pond?...as you try to grab at them—but you have to remember, now, before you fall asleep, because you won't recall them in the morning.

And you think you should be worried, but you aren't.

You should be worried about the things you're remembering, the things you'll forget.

But you aren't.

You should be worried about the feeling in your chest, the heaviness…

But you aren't.

You should be worried about dying.

But you aren't.

You're never worried about dying when you go to sleep—and shouldn't you be? You don't know how your body works, not exactly, but you can tell it's complicated. Very complicated. What would it take for it to just

Stop

And never move again?

After all, it happens all the time.

Old men, old women, sometimes children fall asleep and never wake up. And that's all that's happening now, really…

You're falling asleep.

But you won't wake up. They've said you won't wake up.

Or will you?

There's something you remember, but you can't remember what.

It's like a book. Like those books where they say it's like falling asleep. You have the book, you've opened it, you've put on your reading glasses…

Only you can't quite recall how to read.

Everything's dark, now. Moving slowly, your vision blurry. You're still thinking—you're meant to stop thinking when you fall asleep. But you haven't. You're still thinking. Still…still…still…

Eggs.

Why are you thinking that?

You aren't sure.

But that's what it's like to fall asleep. To fall into a dream—still awake enough to know it makes no sense, but not awake enough to care.

You don't stop thinking, really. Do you? Isn't that what dreams are, your thoughts while you're asleep? You can never remember the moment when your thoughts finally ground to a halt, when sleep finally took you.

Maybe there is no moment.

Because sleep isn't hitting the ground. When you wake up, that's when you hit the ground. But sleep…when you fall asleep, you don't stop falling. Maybe it's that moment that you stop accelerating, reach terminal velocity, that you…

What are those words? You don't know those words. You think maybe you giggled, just now, but its hard to tell. Perhaps you didn't. Are you asleep yet? You aren't sure. You aren't supposed to fall asleep, not yet. Doctor said. He said…

You can't remember. Is that part of falling asleep?

You don't know.

You don't care.

And you don't care that you don't care.

There are no reasons in sleep, only being, and you are…

You are…

You are…

Eggs.

There are those words again.

Something touches you, and you smile—or you think you smile, anyhow. The Doctor is here, to kiss you goodnight.

And then words, more words, no reason… just being.

"Run, you clever boy. And remember."