Humble Beginnings, Hidden Meanings
The saddest day of Wilf Mott's life was the day that his granddaughter, the jewel of his eye, appeared on the doorstep of their house and not being able to know anything of the best moments of her life. The events of this day replayed itself in his mind every time he looked into Donna's eyes, a shell of the girl that she used to be. Although this was the Donna Noble known to most people before she knew the Doctor, in his head he knew, that man had made her into a better person.
As the rain fell upon his fallen angel, the man that had changed her life around held her in his arms. He looked scared. The man was cradling his precious child in his arms - the unconscious body of Donna Noble. Rain unapologetically slapped onto her face, making her fierce red hair shield her face from the world.
"Help me!" the mysterious man pleaded to the old man, who was holding onto the frame of the door, trying not to believe the image that was placed in front of him. This was the main scene that replayed in his mind, every night he slept, and every time he looked into the eyes of Donna Noble. Her eyes seemed to lack the spark that was there when she travelled with the mystery man, and Wilf had noticed this.
He sat up in his bed. 3 o'clock, again. He was used to waking up at such weird times now. The events of the past few weeks shot through his dreams like a bullet, a constant reminder that his life would not be normal again. All of the time he had known about aliens and all of the paranormal activities that were happening around everyone in day to day life, but people just excused it as something different. But now they would believe him, undeniable proof of aliens, and just three weeks ago.
He examined his room, like he did when he woke up. The trusty telescope that had kept him sane for so long stood majestically next to his window, shining in the light of the street lamp outside. War memorabilia cluttered all the shelves - replica Spitfires, the standard issue helmet he was given when fighting in the trenches, and pictures of him and his squad team. I'd be the only one alive now he though, secretly wishing that this fact wasn't so. His clothes from yesterday were scattered across the floor: grey slacks, white y-fronts, and a blue chequered shirt. Leaving on the floor wasn't the best idea, seeing as though Sylvia had become extremely strict on cleanliness. Another one of her fad phases, like the time she got into Feng Shui and rearranged the whole house, as the "Chi" wasn't right!
He slowly rotated himself so his feet were placed firmly on the floor, and he could use his left hand to help push himself out of his bed. His joints ached and cracked as he stood up, causing Wilf's usually calm and collected face to screw up tightly in pain. It had got worse recently, probably all the stress of living under the same roof as two controlling women. The slippers that he had had for so long were positioned in their usual space - the ends sticking out from under the bed so he could easily slip his feet into them. Shuffling across the floor, he then slowly bent over to pick up the crumpled clothes from next to his small oak wardrobe and carefully aimed them into the clothes bin underneath his window. Miss.
"Damn!" He whispered angrily. The shot that he was so used to doing had also begun to fail him. Was it just his old age that was stopping him from doing his normal activities, or was he just losing it? Regardless of his demeaning thoughts on himself, he managed to put on a smile, even though no one was there to see it, and put himself back to bed.
He knew there was no point trying to go back to sleep though. Every night the same routine would take place: get up at stupid o'clock, sort out yesterday's clothes, get back into bed, and lie there for it to go bright outside. Lying there, he thought more deeply of the events of the past few weeks. Just what had caused them metal creatures to steal Earth? That question was still ringing throughout his mind. Yes, he understood they needed it for some gun thing, but why Earth? A settled planet with some measly humans that inhabited it surely mustn't be that important. Can they?
Suddenly, he heard a noise from outside of his window. Alarmed, Wilf shot up straight in his bed. Unluckily, the quick speed gave him whiplash, and he rubbed his neck in agony. But still undeterred by the pain, Wilf flung himself to the window, wanting to see the outside. He recognised the noise had that stole the silence. A whirring of an engine, and whooshing of wind, and a slow, strobing, blue light radiating into his room. It was the Doctor, and they needed to have a talk...
Looking out the window, he felt like an excitable child on Christmas day. The blue box that had been the start of many adventures stood magnificently on the pavement outside of the house. Street lights flooded the whole road, apart from where the TARDIS stood, shrouded in darkness, as if it was hidden from the rest of the world. Authority radiated profusely from the police box, as if calling Wilf towards it, drawing him into the strange, but wonderful world that surrounded the Doctor.
He picked up his bright blue dressing gown that was hanging from inside his wardrobe, and threw it across him, making sure he looked perfectly normal… well, normal for three o'clock in the morning. Tying the ropes that dangled lifelessly hung down the sides of the gown, he started to make his way downstairs towards the front door. The family had moved the last time that he had seen the Doctor, trying to get away from the memories of the times Donna travelled with the Doctor – not wanted her to die over a stupid man. But how did he know they were here?
The hallway was quiet. Not even the radiators were hissing at him when he passed the white washed banister, which stuck out like a sore thumb. All of the other furniture was very old fashioned, light brown wooden structures, standing purposefully, strongly and elegantly. This was a complete opposite to the weak, useless banister, which could more easily be a wall partition. Pictures of Donna, Wilf, and Sylvia were strung across the wall, peering at the unshaven, unkempt man who was walking past them. It was like he had woken these sleeping people, and their eyes followed his journey across the top floor landing, and down the squeaking, old stairs – with every step releasing a more high pitch, and excruciatingly painful sound.
A silhouette of a man shone through the front door's obscured window and onto the wall, and Wilf instantly recognised the hair, even though it was a mere shadow. Wilf picked up his pace as he saw this, nearly running towards the front door. He composed himself.
Hand reached out in front of him, he reached towards the locks on the door. First, unlatching the gold coloured chain that attached the door to the doorframe. Then he slowly, but surely turned the knob protruding out of the box containing all the mechanics needed for such a simple job. The door opened.
The wind outside was harsh. Blowing heavily, and making little hurricanes of leaves and throwing litter around aimlessly. Sure wasn't that loud upstairs Wilf thought to himself, still examining the outside, without drawing attention to the man stood in front of him. Only a mere outline of the blue box was visible from the front door – quite a contrast from the ease of viewing it from his window. Taking his time examining the area around him, he decided it was time to speak.
"Hello Doctor."…