The line between reality and fantasy is a thin one, and one that gets more and more blurred everyday.
People have told me that I have a vivid imagination. I think they're right. I don't think, though, that they know exactly how vivid it is.
For example, a week ago was the school cross country races. I hate running in front of other people. If I'm going to run, I want to run freely, and I want to be running from aliens. Running for my life.
And I tried, (I really, really, tried) but I just couldn't go on any longer, and I nearly stopped running. And then I looked to my left, and a man who was very familiar to me was there. And he grinned, and told me in his Northern accent to run, just run! and I ran.
My best friends are the ones that no one else ever sees.
I'm sitting in class again, doodling in broken High Gallifreyan in the margins of my notebook. Maths class. Dull, dull, dull. Nothing I already know.
The teacher is nattering away again, and I barely pay attention, and I draw a TARDIS.
A note is slid onto my table, addressed to me. I pick it up, and scan it.
You free after school?
I pick my pencil up, and scribble a quick response.
Sorry, appointment with the Doctor after school. Maybe tomorrow. :-)
I fold it into a paper airplane, and send it flying to my friend's desk. The capital letter is on purpose, even though the doctor I'm meeting with isn't the one I want to meet.
"You know, you really should pay attention," says Clara.
"This, coming from a teacher," I mutter softly under my breath so no one can hear. She snorts, and perches on the edge of my desk. I clear some space so the figment of my imagination can be more comfortable.
"I'm on teacher's leave," she confides.
"And you've come to pester me." I pull out a scrap piece of paper, and scrawl on it. Dear Doctor, King died in final battle, rest is propaganda, love, Doctor.
"Well, it was either that, or pester the Doctor, and we had... an argument."
"Oh, yes," is all I say. "Because being forced the kill the Moon is such a bad thing. I would've done it."
She raises an eyebrow at me, as if to say, oh, really?
I look at her for a moment, and attempt to draw her face in my sketchbook. It's not going well.
The bell rings, and I grab my things to go. Clara is still sitting on my desk, looking at the doodles in my book. No one notices her. No one ever does.
My hands shoot out to grab the monkey bars, and I concentrate on not falling to the sandpit and breaking my arms.
"Tuck in your stomach muscles," Rose suggests, swinging back and forth a bit.
I don't say anything, just glare at her. But I do try her suggestion, and it is a bit easier.
"Thanks," I say grudgingly, after hoisting myself up to sit on top of the bars.
"Anytime," she says. "Jericho Street Junior School under 7s gymnastic team, bronze medal, remember?"
I groan. "Oh, how can I forget."
One of my friends calls my name, and I flip down to touch the ground. I stumble a bit, and fall backwards.
I think Jack Harkness is giggling at me. I hear the faint slap of Rose's hand across his mouth, and the giggling abruptly stops.
"And what is the proper term for a blend of two ingredients that don't mix together?" the teacher asks.
"A heterogenous mixture," Romana says instantly.
"A heterogenous mixture," I repeat, shooting a grateful glance at her.
"Correct," the teacher says.
Romana has a smug look on her face, and I'd elbow her if I could. But she's on the other side of the room, whispering answers to me, and I can't really get mad at her for that.
"Quite simple, really," she lectures. "The only reason I know it is because your subconscious happens to know the facts already."
S-H-U-T-U-P.
I write it out in carefully scripted Gallifreyan and make sure she can see it.
"You formed the 'P' wrong," she points out.
I redo the misspelt syllable, and show her.
"Not bad," she muses. "Oh, by the way, the answer is C2H4O2."
"What?" I say out loud.
The teacher gives me an impatient look. "The chemical formula for acetic acid."
"Oh! Uh..."
"C2H4O2," Romana supplies again.
I repeat what she said.
"Very good."
After school orchestra is annoying at the best of times. The conductor is rubbish, really, and no one likes me. I tune my violin without thinking about it, and play I am the Doctor in pizzicato.
The conductor raises his baton and I get ready to play.
The song is from the opera Carmen. I'm in First Violin, which means we have the main part.
"Carmen!" the Doctor exclaims. "Lovely show. It's missing something, though."
I do my best to ignore him, but it's hard to do that when he starts playing the triangle.
Ting, ting.
I can't help a tiny grin. He has a childish expression of joy on his face.
Ting, ting.
"Why are you grinning?" the girl behind me hisses.
"No reason," I shoot back. No one else can hear the tiny triangle tinging, perfectly in time with the percussion.
Ting, ting.
"I'm sorry," says the doctor. "but you have terminal cancer. There's nothing we can do."
I sit in the chair, frozen to the spot. Peri pats my shoulder in what's meant to be a comforting manner.
"How long do I have?" I manage to ask.
He gives me a sad look. "Maybe one month."
One month. One month until I die.
"I died of cancer," says Sarah Jane. "It doesn't hurt when you go."
My friends follow me as I leave the hospital.
"You'll be alright," says Jo.
"How can I be alright?" I snap. "I'm dying of cancer!"
"Well, you can try to live," suggests Tegan. Everyone else makes noises of agreement.
I pause. "So, I'm dying, but I can try to live?"
There's no response, and I chance a glance back. Everyone's gone.
I wonder what they meant all the way home.
When I go back to school on Tuesday, everyone pretends things are normal, and I'm glad that they do. We laugh, and joke, and point out cute boys in our class.
Donna sneaks in snarky comments between our chatter, and I'm the only one that laughs at her talk.
"Shopping trip!" one friend suggests with a grin, and we all agree to meet up on Wednesday evening at the mall.
To be honest, it's my first time shopping without my mother. I wonder how it'll go.
Amy, behind me, claps her hands in delight. "Shopping! Can I come?"
I make a noise of derision in my throat. "It's not as if I can stop you," I say quietly.
"Great," she smiles. "I'll drag Rory along."
"Shopping!" the Doctor exclaims. "Why do you human woman spend all your time shopping!" He scuffs his sand shoes along the grass. "You people shop your lives away!"
My smile drops, and he instantly apologizes. But it doesn't stop the cold feeling that's crept into my stomach, suddenly, inexplicably.
We walk through the busy mall, sipping at chocolate milkshakes. The Doctor is offering everyone jelly babies, but they aren't paying attention to him
Of course they aren't, I remind myself.
"Oh my God, that would look brilliant on you!" Martha suddenly exclaims, pointing to a dress.
One of my friends has the same idea, and steps close to the dress, examining it, before pointing at me. "Try this on!"
I protest, but my friends, both real and imagined, crowd me into the shop, and force me into a changing room.
I slip out of my clothes, and shrug the dress over my head. It's a deep blue, with sequins woven through the fabric.
"TARDIS blue!" Susan comments.
"What are you doing in my changeroom?" I ask her.
"Turn around," she says, and I do, looking at myself in the mirror for the first time.
It is perfect, and it hugs my figure in all the right ways. I'm not mature or pretty in any terms of the words, but I have to agree that my friends chose the perfect dress for me. I twirl experimentally, and the fabric drifts around me.
"Ohh," I sigh. Then I see the price tag.
"Too expensive," I say, and make as if to take it off.
Susan stops me, and somehow convinces me to show everyone.
I step out of the changing room and am met with an unanimous hum of approval from everyone. Jack aims a flirtatious wink at me.
"It looks great," one of my friends says. "You should totally buy that."
In my wallet is a grand total of... twenty dollars. Nowhere near enough, and I tell her that.
"Plus," I add. "In a few weeks, I'm going to be too dead to wear it."
"Steal it," suggests another friend.
"Steal it!" agrees River Song.
"Steal it?" I ask.
"Steal it!" everyone chants at me.
I pause, and duck back into the room to put my clothes on. I fold the dress carefully over my arm, and burst out of the room running.
Everyone follows, whooping and cheering.
I feel a brilliant rush of adrenaline.
Amy gives an excited shriek, and twirls around the Doctor and Rory, meeting them in a giant hug. They somehow manage to keep on running.
All around me, people are grouping together with their friends, laughing as they run. The mall security are on us.
Jamie, Zoe and the Doctor. Jo and the Doctor. Sarah Jane, and Harry. Tegan, Nyssa, and Adric. Mel and the Doctor. Ace and her Professor.
I toss the blue dress to one of my friends, and join Rose, the Doctor, and Jack in their dash.
I almost forget I only have a month left.
The Doctor mutters something that sounds like, "that girl will do anything for clothes," before falling into a sprint next to Clara, his magician cloak swirling behind him.
I go for a walk in the park just before I'm confined to my bed. I wear my dress, just for the heck of it. It's not going to be put to any better use.
Some boys there call me some very nasty names.
I'm about to pummel them into pieces, when someone hooks my arm with a red question mark umbrella.
"They're not worth it," the Doctor tells me, rolling his r's.
I'm about to follow his advice and walk away, but Ace shoves her Professor away, and tells me a very important tip.
Aim for the eyepiece.
I aim for the eyepiece.
It feels good to fight the monsters, even if they're only minor ones.
I have about five minutes left, I think. Everyone is there. Mum, Dad, my brother, my other family.
And the other people. Who matter.
"It doesn't hurt," says Adric. "It's as easy as falling asleep."
"I don't want to go," I say.
The Doctor half laughs, half grimaces.
Grace pats my hand. "We'll see you on the other side, then."
"You were fantastic," the Doctor says. "Absolutely fantastic."
"It's the end," says another Doctor. "But this moment has been prepared for."
I grin at my best friends in the world, and close my eyes.
The end, when it comes, is quick.
(A/N-
This was niggling at me all night. A quick story detailing dreams vs reality, and how close they really are.
Based on a rant I posted on Twitter.
Please, please review!
~Kitty