Day Four: River Song
Just on time (unlike some people could mention) my daily pile of letters arrive. I have no idea why I am graced with so much junk mail – perhaps the Doctor has something to do with it, possibly as revenge for the many pranks I have played on him. Nonetheless, I can see a large package atop the usual pile of useless letters and catalogues asking me to buy a jumper. The colour of the wrapping paper is TARDIS blue, so he's obviously gone and sent me something.
At this time of year, the prison guards go a bit mad. My cell is framed with surprisingly neat tinsel of various colours which sparkle in the regular storms that harass the accurately named Stormcage. A tree stands the the corridor, covered in shiny gold balls and fairy lights.
The post-bearer is arriving at my cell now as another guard unlocks the door with jangling keys and lets the post-bearer in. He looks at me in what must be shock and leaves the pile on my prison bed. The springs groan and creak under the weight. The man is out of breath and makes a quick exit. I grin at his back as he hurries off to find more post to bear. The door is locked swiftly behind him.
I turn to the pile of paper on my bed and pick up the blue package, my prison address sprawled all over one side in his writing. Almost like an excited child on Christmas morning, I shake it. There is not a sound.
I sit down cross-legged on the cold concrete floor. Slowly and with extreme care, I remove the blue paper. The sound it makes as it tears is surprisingly satisfying. The blue paper discarded, I'm now holding a white box with a photograph of a gun on it – and not just any gun, but the one that I had been talking to him about wanting. Ever more confused (since when would the Doctor of all people send me something like that?), I shake the box again. There is still no sound, but the box has weight. I raise an eyebrow and open a flap at one end.
My hand moves inside the box and lands on something soft. I pull it out.
It's something knitted, that's for sure. It's gun-shaped, but not a gun. And dear God, it's pink.
A note on red and green paper falls out of the box.
Dear River,
I thought you would like something knitted. So I got Amy to teach me knitting. Enjoy your gun cosy.
Merry Christmas!
Love,
The Doctor
I feel around the box again and pull out three one kilogram masses, bronze and perfectly round. That explains why it was so heavy.
It also explains why the Doctor is going to get a knitted TARDIS cosy for Christmas.
