Disclaimer, I know it's hard to believe, but I do not own Doctor Who, and I am not making any profit from this fic. Enjoy!
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1: Ceilings
Ceilings are an interesting concept. There are so many types of ceilings, ones with tiles, ones made from plaster, ones made from metal, any number of materials really. Some of them were plain, others dynamic, painted, or patterned. Some were chipped or broken and some were clean and new. Some told funny stories about exploding burritos, and others told stories of adventure, or laser cannon misfires. But sadly, no one ever really thinks about ceilings. No one ever seemed to have enough free time to consider something so mundane.
Well, almost no one.
Nino, a prisoner at the Gontanix Space Penitentiary (A high security prison stationed on a space craft,) had spent her lives, all nine of them, with far too much free time.
Nino's favorite type of ceiling was that of a blanket fort. Or just a blanket in general. Fun things happened under blankets. Her least favorite type of ceiling was one made of smooth, oppressive, grey, and cold concrete, suspended above a dull room and bars. She stared at that sort of ceiling now. A jail cell ceiling. Her jail cell ceiling.
She knew every spot on that ceiling. When she had first been put in the cell, the Ceiling had been clean, smooth and distant. The distantness of the ceiling, she remembered, was maddening. So grey and plain. She remembered how, the very second she was able to, she had shot at it with a laser cannon she had nabbed from a guard. It was not a misfire. It put a sort of rebellious dent on the ceiling, it had made a scorch mark.
The scorch mark on the smooth, maddening concrete had acted as a sort of friend for Nino in the past. She had named it George. George the ceiling scorch mark. She had spent long nights telling George secrets and stories. Only half of which were actually true, she wasn't sure if George knew the difference between her true secrets and her fake ones, but whether or not she told the truth didn't seem to matter to George. The Scorch Mark was a good listener, and he never, well, almost never, told Nino to shut up. Nino decided that George trusted her too much. But no matter how much she told George not to trust her, he always did anyway.
At the time, she was saying goodbye to George.
"They're going to burn me." She informed, "I think they know I can't come back from that."
George was silent, but his sadness shone through.
"Don't cry for me, alright?" She asked earnestly, "I've had a good run. Nine hundred years." She sighed, "I've seen war in that time George. I've seen blood, destruction, hate and violence the likes of which you wouldn't believe." Her blue eyes were sad in the florescent lights, "And I've also seen laughter, love, peace, and kindness. I've seen the very best of the universe, and the very worse. But do you know what's scary, George? There's always better to see. There's always worse to see. But I won't see any of the better, or any of the worse. Not anymore. What I have is what I leave with. What I leave with is grey colors and cruel conditions, than I will be gone. But can I tell you a secret?"
Nino allowed a small smile to grace her lips, "What I left will live. I have, had, a daughter. After some bad things happened," She was crying now, still smiling with hot tears dripping down her face, her voice was clear as she went on, "I left her someplace. Someplace safe, where she can grow. By now, so far into the future, she is probably dead. But, in the past, in her present, she lived. I might go see her today, but I probably won't." She breathed in, her breath was shaky, sobbing now. "I just thought…" Her voice was tight, "That someone should know."
George gave no response. His silence was Nino's comforting grace.
More silence passed between them then. Nino didn't know how long the silence lasted, but it was broken by the sound of a cell door opening.
Into her cell stepped a man, he was dressed in black with a hood draped over his head. He walked with silent footsteps over the cold floor. He was the bringer of Nino's death. "It's time to go." Was all the man said.
Nino stood from the small cot where she lied, she didn't bother to wipe her tears. Silently she made her way to the guard, the man wrapped a pair of handcuffs around Nino's wrists, than dragged her from the cold cell into the cold halls. She stared at the ceilings as she walked, trying not to consider the flames.
0o0o0o0oAuthors Noteo0o0o0o0
Alright Prologue=written! Tons of fun here, huh? Executions and loss of mental stability are always great topics. I swear there are happier chapters coming up. ;) Alright, four things, in case you were wondering, 1) Yes, Nino is a timelord, 2)No, this isn't the last you'll hear of her, 3) Upcoming chapters will be narrated from her daughters point of view, Clara's point of view, and sometimes the Doctor's, and 4) This was just a short piece to set the story up, future chapters will be much longer.
I have a pretty clear idea on where I want to take this story, however, suggestions are always welcome, listened too, and often headed. Any review posted will be responded to at the end of the next chapter. Thank you all so much for reading! Really, you guys rock! Hope to hear from you all.
With lots of love, MissShadowBolt