The darkened portrait -
Time, space, blacks, whites, purples, yellows. All these things swirl and dance and flow in front of eyes blind to the world. A quick jab and a smooth stroke, something wet and something dry… Consciousness forming on canvas. Nothing makes sense- yet everything does. Existence and Nonexistence. Colors swipe through the darkness. A purple rose- A music box. A piano, a fire, a face. Everything forms on canvas. As the final stroke completes itself, everything flashes… And then fades.
"Why… Why did I make this! It's evil I know it! I was possessed when I made this. I have to burn it. Where's my lighter… Never mind, that will wait. I will create my true child tomorrow, and I will name her… Mary."
A point appears in the darkness. An immeasurably small speck of knowledge appears on a blank slate of a mind. The point grows larger and larger, forced ever wider until it covers all vision. Basic knowledge written on a blank slate. Suddenly everything melds from harsh white to soft blacks and browns. And then… He wakes. The mind blind to the world begins to think, his consciousness formed. Eyes open.
"Where am I… Who am I… What is this…" He shakes his head and sits up. A short look around the room shows a "A… a…. Chai… Chai-rr.. Chair." He runs the word through his mind and his mouth, making a connection between them and the padded object in front of him. "A fai-rr-play-ce. Fireplace." Words and objects familiar yet not. No past, only present. "Booh-ke-Sheh-elfe. Bookshelf. That sounds good. He begins to look himself over and finds "Pahn-tz. Pants. Shih-ert. Shirt." This continues on until he "names" everything in the room. Doors, walls, and a painting. "Hey, that's… Me. Is that where I came from? A painting hangs above the fireplace of a 15-year-old in a black suit and pants with a tie and white undershirt. He has black hair and dress shoes. Hanging from one of his belt loops is a small square wooden music box. There is a small hole in the box and the edges are rounded. Clipped to his shirt pocket is a bright purple rose. He glances to find every piece in place: a perfect replica.
"How… How did I get here? Who am I? Do I even have a name?" A glance at the bottom of the frame shows a small plaque reading "Darkened Portrait". He stares at the words for a few seconds and suddenly they start shifting, changing in his mind. They disappear and in a flash of black fire a new word is burned into the metal- "John". "John… So that's my name…" He paces around the room for a few minutes, trying futilely to make sense of everything. He goes over to a chair near the fireplace and sits down, head in his hands. "Nothing makes sense! I've been trying so hard to think back but… there's nothing to think BACK to!" With this he hears a sound like something hitting the floor and glass shattering. It seems to come from a door near the fireplace. He gets up from the chair and walks over to the door, opening it tentatively. In the room the size of a closet is two things. A small wooden chair and what seems to be a mirror tipped over onto it's front. With a small grunt he manages to pull the mirror back upright. Conflicting with the sound he had heard earlier, the mirror is unscratched. He sits down in the wooden chair and mutters "Now what would a perfectly good mirror like you be doing tipped over in a closet?" To his surprise (and nearly tipping over of the chair) Words appear on the glassy surface. "Hello John." He stares back for a few moments, composes himself, and says "Um… Hello?"
More words reveal themselves, taking the places of the old ones. "Do you know why you are here?" "No, no I don't. I try thinking back to my past, but nothing connects. Like I don't have a past…" "I do not know why I am here either, John. All I know is the knowledge open to me. I can see anything, and everything. Would you like to see?" John runs this through his head for a moment. "Anything? Anything? What can you show me? I wouldn't know where to start… Show me what you think would be best!" For the first time he felt almost happy. A moment of clarity in the fog of his present. He felt like he was not alone. "I will show you the first thing I saw… Watch closely. The tale of a daft old man… Who stole a magic box… And ran away. The man who walks in eternity. The one like fire and ice and rage, like the storm and the heart of the sun… The Doctor.
And as such the mirror proceeded to show him visions of this "Doctor" and his escapades. And watch he did. He learned of courage and friendship, of adventure and trust, of love and heartbreak. He learned of good and evil, and of worlds he had never seen. He was enthralled. He loved what he saw. He cried when the characters went through loss, and laughed at the jokes. He shaked when there was danger, and smiled when they won. His scared innocence turned to wary experience. But one question always plagued his mind. The first question. "Doctor Who."