THAT WONDERFUL MADMAN AND HIS FANTASTIC BLUE BOX
Yes, this is my second Doctor Who fanfic. Yes, I think this one'll be much better. No, the other one is not on here. No, it will not be perfect. At all. All I'm going to say is, please read and reply. Every bit of constructive criticism makes me a better writer. Try and enjoy yourselves, and ignore my occasional ramblings. Oh! Yeah! Also: If I owned Doctor Who, would I really spend my time writing this? No, I'd be watching err, staring at, err, drooling over Matt Smith.
(This takes place in an existence where *gasp* there is no BBC show Doctor Who, and The Doctor is in his eleventh regeneration. Rory and Amy are not around and I'll get to that later on.)
Well, then on to the story. Allons-y!
Well, this is my life. Exiting isn't it? I go to a fairly strict private school, I have my own group of close friends and my grades are at best, average. My typical day involves going to school, not talking much, and playing video games. Okay, I don't exactly have the most exciting existence, but it's something right? Wait, let me rephrase that slightly. I didn't have the most exciting life, but that was before my second semester of my freshman year came around. That was before I met him. I'm not taking about some poorly written romance story right now, I'm talking about my real-world experiences, I'm not talking about love, or lust (Okay, maybe lust) or infatuation. (Once again, maybe infatuations, but certainly not love, at least like that) This is my story about how I met that wonderful mad man and his fantastic box.
Everything that day was going well, at least as well as it could, being a high school girl. I entered and exited my classes wordlessly and kept my head down. I'm not the type to cause unnecessary trouble, or speak. Words aren't my strong-suit. Anyways, back to January 4, 2015. Like I said, the day was fairly uneventful, just an average day. Until history, that is. Yes, history class, the one class I actual that is. Yes, history class, the one class I actually excel in. I sat down in the front of the class, and looked around the classroom for our old ex-marine teacher, Mr. Martynski. He was brilliant, and I don't use that term loosely. He was great, okay maybe not perfect, but he and I were close, as close as a brilliant teacher and brilliant student could be. Once again, back to the story. I looked around for our grey-haired teacher, but there was no sign of him. A horrible thought passed my brain; I certainly didn't want to start off the new year with a substitute teacher, they were always so... I could never find the right words for them, so for lack of a better one, annoying.
My head, along with the rest of my classmates', turned when a man, maybe in his mid-twenties came bounding in with a seemingly endless supply of energy. His apparel was what intrigued me. He wore a red bowtie, black pants, and a tweed jacket he had a white dress shirt, and his hair was done up very interestingly above his eyes, similar to that of a teenage rebel. Yeah, I'm a girl, I know my stuff. "Good morning class!" He almost shouted at us. "I'm professor- oh wait right America." He stumbled on his words, as if this was his first day in the states. "I'm Doctor John Smith! Your new history teacher!" I let out a very slight choking noise, and looked up at 'John Smith'.
"Wait, what? No, no, no. I liked Mr. Martynski. He was a good teacher." I complained loudly, my peers sniggered, but I ignored them. "Seriously, he was bloody brilliant. Always knew the right answer to everything." I didn't realise that I had slipped into my phony British accent until it was too late. Great. I thought bitterly to myself. Make a fool of myself even more in front of the class why don't I? I figured that I'd probably insulted the man, seeing as he had a distinctive British accent himself, but I couldn't have been more wrong. Instead of frowning at me like I had said something wrong, Mr. Smith was smiling.
"You aren't from London, are you?" He asked curiously. Did I actually sound like I was from London, or was he just humouring me?I wondered, but before I could wonder long, he began speaking again, this time much faster, and less organized in his thoughts. "I had a friend once who was from Scotland, she was a lovely girl. Her name was Amy, she had a husband from London, or I think he was from London, now that I think I about it, I never really paid attention to where he was from. I also had a friend name Martha, oh she was lovely, and Jack. Great fellow Jack was, is, he's still alive. I should see if he could come in one of these days, he would make the perfect history teacher. Actually so would I, and I will, I promise you that. Now let's see, freshman history. Ah Romans! I love Romans. My friend I was telling you about earlier was a Roman. Is a Roman. As I used to say time is all wibbley-wobbly or something like that, completely unimportant right now. So what are we learning about? Oh, right Romans well..." He continued ranting about the roman's and their architecture and every little detail about them. It was almost as if teaching our class was him reliving some of his most fond memories. Of course, logic told me that that was impossible, or at least highly unlikely. As he was babbling endlessly about Mark Antony and Hannibal and various other people in Roman history I could help but think, no matter how much Mr. Martynski and I got along, this man. This John Smith. He was the most energetic and fascinating teacher and person I had ever met.
I watched, no stared at Mr. Smith in nothing less than complete awe. It seemed as if he could babble on and on about one subject forever, and yet every moment of it was fascinating. I resisted the urge to answer his question from the first few minutes of class, purely for the fact that I wanted to hear what this man had to say. Finally, or the better phrase to use would probably be unfortunately. Unfortunately, the bell to dismiss our class rang out through the school. "Mr. Smith?" I asked, trying to get his attention. He looked up, and I finally noticed his eyes. They lacked the boyish appearance that the rest of his body had; in fact they had the complete opposite of a boyish look. They looked ancient, with various degrees of pain, sorrow, and happiness. I pushed this thought from my mind, and smiled. "Love the bowtie, by the way."
He smiled and straightened it. He mumbled something like 'I told Amy.' Or something like that. "Bowties are cool." He said which caused me to laugh slightly. "I'll see you tomorrow then, miss- Sorry what was your name?"
"Catherine Hall." I said while leaving the classroom.
Okay, I lied. Rule one: I lie. Instead of adding another chapter, I just added a bit that I wrote late last night. Read and reply, please. It encourages me to not abandon this little project. Also give me some ideas and such if you'd like. This isn't finished yet, so, yeah... Thanks for reading this first chapter and I'll try to post the next chapter tomorrow.