"Have you gone mad, Clara?" Maggie looked perfectly shocked.
"You really don't get out much, do you Maggie." Clara gave a sidelong glance to her friend. The two were clad in their standard white dresses with the red cross stitched over their hearts, both stained with the blood of the men they had been tending to day and night for the last eleven months. A thick fog settled in the cool night air, as shots rang out in the distance. These days, the streets were always tinted crimson. Clara took another step into the darkness.
"Well, are you coming or not?" Clara prodded, turning her head from left to right to check the area around her. What could have made that horrible crashing noise? Someone must be hurt, someone must need her help. Maggie stood in the doorway at the back end of the medical shelter, too nervous to leave her post. Clara breathed in the smoke-stained fog and swallowed down her rising fear. She had to do this, it was her duty. She was a healer- a saver of lives. Men were in danger and she wasn't going to be stopped by the threat of being cut from her job because she abandoned her post. She threw off her matching hat, yellowed from the hours of work in the makeshift hospital, her tight bun falling out into loose curls that gathered at her shoulders. Her medical kit in hand, she flicked on her flashlight, and stepped farther out into the blanket of night. She heard the sound of a shrapnel exploding and glass shattering. She tried to block out the screams. She turned her head to give a reassuring look to Maggie, but was faced with a closed door.
The night seemed to enclose everything in its wake, it was suffocating and a most peculiar mix of horror and comfort. Clara made her way towards the noise, the light of her flashlight shaking with the nervous tremor of her hand. Her footsteps were light but her appetite for adventure and her yearn to help those in need pushed her faster into the night. She wound herself through the dilapidated streets of Coventry, holding her breath at the sound of German voices behind walls and around corners. She made her way quietly but was stopped when her right foot absentmindedly hit something on the ground. She looked down to find a soldier, a British soldier. Her eyes glassed over at the sight of his young, peaceful face. His features were hardened from the plague of war, his hair blackened from dust, and dirt, and the blood of his brothers and friends. She put a hand on his cold cheek, her other hand on the gold cross around her neck. The poor boy, it broke her heart. If only-
A shot rang out behind her. Clara ducked, instinctively she covered her head. German shouts filled the air, angry and forceful. She looked desperately around her; she had no way to protect herself. Unless- she turned to the boy. She hurriedly searched his uniform, and found a small handgun. She slipped it into her pocket for safe keeping, although she did not know how well her amateur hand would be against a group of trained mercenaries. She straightened, stiff against the brick wall, until the voices had passed. She let her eye's fall once more to the boy's body, and slipped away into the nearest alley.
She continued running towards her destination- the noise. She couldn't have saved the boy, but she had a chance now, perhaps she could save a life tonight. She sped through the darkness fueled by a mix of adrenaline and her need to help those in danger. Suddenly, she found herself at a block in the alleyway. She looked up- she was face to face with an odd, blue, wooden wall. The sensation was almost trance-like. Clara ran her delicate hand over the material, in a kind of dream state. Her mind was flooded with memories all at once, of times she had seen only while asleep, of death and adventure, of a universe unknown to any philosopher to walk the earth- of ice and snow and machines and stars, of a blue box and an extremely mad, beautiful man. She moved her hand across the blue wood, coming to the corner and continuing her way around the outside of the box. As her hand reached the front, she saw a small, dusty beam of light emanating from the slightly opened door. The screams and explosions and whirring of planes muted as she pressed her hand against the opened door. Her flashlight clattered into the puddled streets as she stepped inside of the box.
"Oh Miss Oswin, how I've missed you." A soft voice filled her ears. Clara lost her footing. As her sight went dark, she found herself cradled in the man's arms.