Hello! Long time no see! Sorry about that, but I've been busy with well... everything. Right now, I have to revise for finals and pick which Uni offer to accept DX But, I was bored, drew a little doodle which gave me the inspiration for this story. I'll get round to updating my other ones soon, I promise! But in the mean time, have a short story which my friend has dubbed 'depressing'. I, on the other hand, thought it was silly.
The Thirteenth Face
The Doctor is a Time Lord – the Last Time Lord – for a while anyway. He's lived many lives, travelling in his stolen blue box, running, running away. Running from the monsters and demons and god knows what else, but running, running away from his past.
He's changed – so many people and so many faces – but he still kept on running. He didn't want to run; he didn't want to stop: he kept on running. So many people and so many places.
Thirteen faces.
Then one day, he stopped. He stopped running, and he stopped not running, because he couldn't. He couldn't- anything.
He stayed, wanting to run, wanting to stop, stuck; frozen in time. He couldn't. Do. Anything.
So, frozen in time, in that blue box stolen so very long ago, he stayed. A Dalek with the fourth face's scarf, the fifth face's heart, the tenth face's eyes and the eleventh's love – fezzes. And so the thirteenth face stayed, locked away in the box stolen long ago, in the shell of a Dalek.