Hello again! Yes, I know I shouldn't be writing anything new. Yes, I know I should finish my old stuff, but...it's the way I am...also what happens when you set out to write long stuff with no idea how it's gonna end XP
I have no idea how THIS will end either. So GERONIMO!
P.s. I came up with the kid's name on the spot, if it sounds like crap and you have a better name, go for it. I'll change it no problemo. Also, if you come across this and have read my stuff before, once you have gotten over the astonishment that I am indeed, still alive, just know that I probably won't be updating much of my old stuff unless specifically requested. And even then, I may need a little help with plot direction...
Enjoy
-Irene Raveltale.
At first glace, the Smith/Tyler family seemed quite ordinary.
At second glance, the Smith/Tyler family seemed quite ordinary.
If you stared at them a good, long while, and devoted yourself to a lifetime of study, you would still find them fairly unremarkable.
If you were a millennium-old extra-terrestrial with a phone box that could travel through time and it's relative dimensions in space, you would find them very, very suspicious.
On this particular Tuesday, the Smith/Tyler family was doing yet another suspiciously ordinary thing.
They had bought a new refrigerator.
And it had stumped that millennium-old extra-terrestrial. Or at least, one of him.
"I have a hard time believing you just PLUG IT IN." he said with concern.
"You just plug it in." reassured his wife, the human, Rose.
"But it looks so big and complicated! There's GOT to be something else I have to do?"
A pair of large eyes and a small voice came from around the corner. "Mum?"
"They designed it so it wouldn't be rocket science."
"Rocket science is no trouble, it's quantum theory I'm worried about."
"Mum?"
Rose laughed, "It's just an icebox, John!"
The man supposedly named John sighed. "I suppose you're right." He said, setting down a screwdriver with a fair amount of disappointment.
"Mum?"
Rose turned, "what?"
"Can I have the box?" asked the small voice.
"Of course Chris."
The boy grinned. He whipped around and called to someone behind him "It's okay Mels!" he and reddish haired girl a couple of years younger ran forwards and snatched the enormous box in which the refrigerator had come. And then, seeing an opportunity, the boy snatched his father's screwdriver for good measure.
The door slammed loudly, announcing Chris and Mels' exit. John stared forwards, his mind somewhere entirely different.
"You alright?" asked Rose.
"Wha-? Oh, yes. It's just…I worry about them. We try everything to make sure he never knows who and what he is. Who and what WE are. And yet, he does these little things, these little, obvious things."
Rose smiled, "He's just being a kid."
"Yes, but still."
"If you give a kid a giant box, any kid, who wouldn't expect them not to make a spaceship out of it?"
"STILL. I worry. If he even gets the slightest inkling of what he is, it could put him in such terrible danger."
"We can handle danger."
"Rose. I'm human now."
"Still doesn't mean you're not my Doctor. Besides, I think you're looking too deep into something perfectly normal."
"I hope you're right."
[[POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX]]
The box had been set up in the front yard. Chris made another dash towards the house.
"What are you doing?" asked his friend, Mels.
"Getting my clock!"
"Why do you need a clock?"
"So it can work as a time machine!"
"I thought this was going to be a spaceship?"
"It is!"
"But you just said it was going to be a time machine!"
"It is!"
"I don't get it."
"What? It can't be both?"
"Well, it's just…"
"Hang on." Chris ran inside the house, dashed up the stairs, grabbed the alarm clock off his bedside table and slammed the door on his way outside.
"Right." He said. "Now to get this all together."
Along with the clock and the screwdriver, the two of them has also gathered a pair of scissors, tape, and a wide variety of markers.
"Right. Lets start with doors."
"Why do we need doors?"
"So we can get in and out!"
"What about the bottom?"
"What? And upend the whole thing every time we want in or out? Very impractical. No, I want doors." He wielded the scissors. "You can start coloring it."
"What color?" asked Mels, pouring over the markers. "Red, green, orange, blue?"
"I like blue." Chris responded idly.