When Two Worlds Collide
Tantrums were nothing new to Carrie Fisher. She had them when she was three, when she was thirteen and now at fifteen years old, she showed no signs of stopping now. Whether it was because she wanted the last slice of pizza, the latest CD or arguing about her bedtime, she had a tantrum and she got what she wanted. It was her way of life, to be honest. Her father worked, all the time. He was the Co-Head of U.N.I.T, an alien organisation. She didn't dabble in her father's work; for she was told to stay directly away. She never asked any questions, nor did she want to. In reality, she thought the whole "aliens" thing was a farce, a legend, rather like the Loch Ness Monster. Her mother thought the same. A simple housewife, she cooked and cleaned the house, looked after her brood of children and always had a hot meal of the table when her husband came home; just what you expect of the Co-Head of U.N.I.T. In fact, right about now, in the Fishers' drawing room, a very important meeting was taking place between Mr Fisher, the US President, the Prime Minister of Great Britain and some more very important people. Mr Fishers' future at U.N.I.T was riding on this meeting going well. He just sat in his seat, said what was needed to be said and hoped that Carrie, or any other the other children, did not cause a scene.
DOCTOR WHO;;DOCTOR WHO
"I want it, Mother!" Carrie whined. She wanted her ice-cream, and she wanted it now. Such things in life were frivolous, but at this present time, ice-cream meant the world to Carrie.
"No, darling," her mother replied, somewhat wearily.
"Mother…" Carrie's voice came, a warning for what was to come. Not wanting to cause a scene, within a second the ice-cream bowl landed in front of the fifteen year old, the spoon barely being set in it before it clicked against the side as it hit the table. Smiling smugly, the girl dug in, her mother watching. She was torn between loving her daughter, wanting to give her the world, and making her see right from wrong. It could wait 'til another time, for she could her husband saying goodbye to the guests, and soon the old, heavy wooden doors clanged shut. Footsteps announced the arrival of her husband, and she quickly withdrew his dinner from the microwave, setting it down on the long wooden dining table just as the doorknob turned.
"Thanks, Josie," was the only words spoken while he eat his meal. It was custom, for the Fishers'. Carrie's father never spoke to them unless he needed to, or giving orders. He did not have the love radiating from him that Josie did, although the girls were reminded frequently that even though he may not show it at times, he did love them. There were some pictures around the house, from when they were small, that showed a younger, happier, less grey Johnny Fisher, playing with his daughters on various picnics, outings and in the house. The girls never knew what happened when they went to bed, between their mother and father, but she stuck by him thick and thin, and that's what mattered.
DOCTOR WHO;;DOCTOR WHO
It was later, when Carrie was lying in bed, that she heard the noise. It was a wheezing noise, and it was most peculiar to her. She'd never heard a noise like it in her life. It was coming from outside. She sat bolt upright, straining her ears to listen, in case it sounded again. Glancing at her clock, she saw it read 2:05 am, and she knew that everyone else in the house would be asleep. Throwing back her duvet to reveal clotted cream-coloured legs, glad in a short pair of boxers, for it was July. Her top half was in a tee-shirt that had become too small for her – everytime she moved, a thin slice of flesh peeked out from underneath the top.
The window showed nothing out of the ordinary. The streetlamp was lit, making the pavement glow an eerie orange. Carrie peered through the window, nose pressing on the glass that was quickly becoming condensed thanks to Carrie's warm breath, hot and rapid with anticipation. She was disappointed, though, for nothing appeared. She must have imagined it. Shaking her head, she padded back to her bed, her feet barely making any sound on her thick carpet. She had just sat down on her bed when she heard it again. She was reluctant to go, at first. Was it just in her imagination again? Her body soon made its own mind up, as she felt her feet once again touch the thick carpet as she made her way over to the box window. A gasp rose its way up her throat, soon escaping her lips. She was sure, so defiantly sure that that blue police box hadn't been there two minutes ago.