This is my first story. It is super short. Please don't be too harsh.
Doctor Who doesn't belong to me, neither do any of the characters or whatever.
I could turn this into a full-fledged story...but I won't unless someone asks me to. :P
Insomnia
Life is hard when you can't sleep. What do you do with all that extra time, just distracting yourself as your mind and body deteriorate bit by bit?
This is loneliness. Yet simply knowing the cause of one's pain can't always heal it.
She tried laying in bed, in the dark, waiting. Waiting for sleep. Waiting to wake up and discover all this pain and disappointment was simply a dream. All her waiting came to naught. The only change waiting at the end of the first few nights were darker circles under her eyes.
She tried to wear herself out, force herself into such exhaustion sleep would be inevitable. It simply made things worse.
After six days she knew she wasn't seeing things...but sometimes she didn't agree with herself. But really, she couldn't be losing stability so quickly, could she?
Things were so much easier last time. She had people to work with. A goal to work towards. There was no imposter trying to make everything better. People could understand this pain rather than belittling it, thinking so loudly that she wouldn't settle for 'just as good'.
Didn't they know that no one could compare to the Doctor?
The next morning she was so disconnected from reality that she couldn't stand. Couldn't eat. When her mother left some tea for her it ended up all over her bedspread, burning her through the blankets. She barely felt it. She was vaguely aware of the wetness, but she couldn't be bothered to care.
By afternoon she was fairly sure she was seeing flowers grow out of the shadows. They were beautiful, elegant, and so thoroughly clearly imaginary she wondered...were they, really?
By night she was asking them to be her friends. Such friendly flowers. Where were they from? Oh, she had been there. How had they never met before? Oh yes, that made perfect sense. Really though, they must stay.
At about 4 AM her mother and father awake to some rather 90s dance music. She and the flowers were having a dance party she explained. They quietly and oh-so-calmly speak of the nice doctors. Not that kind, of course, sweetie.
The flowers thought that was a terrible idea. Her parents must have agreed, because after stems unraveled themselves from her body and snaked about their ankles they didn't mention it again.