Alright, so I'm planning on splitting this into two to three pieces, so there wouldn't just be one giant chapter. That would be no fun. After reading this, please, feel free to review! I'll really appreciate it. If I get enough inspiration, I might give this much more chapters, but for now, the most I'm expecting three.

Disclamer: I do not own BBC, Doctor Who, or anything of that sort. I also got the whole 'Bob' idea from a short story from the official BBC website called Harry and the Space Cuckoos.

Ah. Hello, then. It seems as if I got myself in quite a fix.

Yes, I know, there's no one here, but my funny little brain works better if I can explain things to a companion. So an imaginary one will have to do.

Before we can do anything, you need a name. Can't have a nameless companion. Hmmm... How 'bout Bob? Brilliant name, Bob. Bob, Bob, Bob. Could be short for Bobby. Or Roberta. So then, you could be a girl or a boy. Perfect!

I should start with the beginning; wouldn't be fun to just all-out tell you what trouble I'm in (even though you most likely already know, considering you, Bob, are inside of my head). So this all started when I realized Clara was dead. For the third time. Now I could go into why that would be possible, or how Clara died those three times, but I'm afraid you might get angry at me for procrastinating. And it's never good to have an imaginary friend who is rather mad with you. Learned that from experience. Sorry, procrastinating! Back to the story. So, ah, where was I? Oh, right.

Clara had just died... Again. I went on and saved the day again. Whoop-de-doo. But then, I hadn't really grasped what had happened. At least, not until I entered the TARDIS and waited for Clara to complain or blame me or something. And then it really hit me. Clara was dead. And, unlike the other times, she most likely will never come back. You know what those Americans say; three strikes, you're out. The universe wouldn't be giving me any more chances. Even if the universe did, I would reject it. I just couldn't take it anymore; to have someone you care for ripped out of your life, and then brought back in, only to be ripped back out again. It was heartsbreaking. Pure torture. I'd ask you if you had ever felt something like that, but you most likely didn't, Bob, since you didn't exist three minutes ago.

Ugh, please don't yell. Procrastinating again. Where was I? Right, Clara's dead, really sad, yadda yadda. I wasn't really in the mood for anything, so I just piloted the TARDIS so it would just float in space while I sulked. And oh, did I sulk. I would refuse to eat for what felt like days until the Old Girl would lock me in the kitchen and not let me out until I ate. I would just sit in the library, not reading any books, just staring blankly at the ceiling. I felt like I could just sulk forever; felt like I could just block out the pain and sorrow. But of course, you can't run from something forever.

Or perhaps you can. As long as one of your friends doesn't trip you as you run by. What do you think, Bob? Care to give your opinion? No? Alright, can't blame a guy for trying.

Ack, I've got to stop interrupting myself. Alright then. Back to the story. I was being lazy, and sulky, and slightly rude to Sexy. I'm rather regretting that now. It wasn't her fault my life was ruined. That was mostly my fault. But I think she was starting to get rather annoyed with me, but that still did not give her an excuse for what she did.

The TARDIS decided to go on a little spin. She traveled somewhere, I'm still not sure when or where, and almost literally kicked me out. She tossed BMW to the street and her doors closed behind her. I tried to open the door, but it was locked tight. What's that, Bob? Why didn't I just use my key? Excellent question, Bob! Well, the truth was I forgot my key inside of the TARDIS. Yah, I know. Smooth.

After a short argument, I went storming off in the other direction until I reached a fairly large and very deep river. I stopped, my feet almost touching the edge of the water. I closed my eyes and thought of all the people I lost. I thought about Rose, and how she was left behind on Bad Wolf Bay with Tentoo. I thought about Martha, and her leavening me for Mickey, but her life was messed up anyways. I thought about Donna, and about me having to wipe her memory, and if she ever remembers me, she would die. I thought about Amy, leaving me for Rory, both taken by the Weeping Angels. I thought about River, who died on the first day I met her. And I thought about Clara, who left me three times already. I took a deep breath, stepped back, and did the unthinkable.

I ran forwards, and jumped. Jumped into the icy embrace of the river.

And now, Bob, you see my situation. For here I am, drowning. I can feel my lungs fill with water, and it hurts like hell. But, I must admit, it was not as bad as sulking in the TARDIS, with my thoughts tormenting me. Here I am. Away from the screaming. Away from the voices in my head. The voices of all I lost, and all I could not save. And now I'm dying.

I must admit, dying is very cold. I'm freezing my bowtie off. But at least then I'll know when I die for good, for I expect being dead will be all warm and fuzzy. Ahh, I think it's starting, Bob. It feels as if someone's lifting me up. Oh, now I feel even colder. But wait; yes, there's that warm and fuzzy feeling I was hoping for. I just hope that in death, the ones that I let die will forgive me for what I've done...

But wait just a moment... If I'm dead, then why do I feel something pushing on my chest? And I'm still soaking wet. If I'm dead, shouldn't I be all dry? And why is there a dark shadow that seems to be over my eyelids? What-

"Mister? Mister, are you alright?"