CAROL SPRING ~ A DOCTOR WHO FANFICTION

Written by Creek Hymn

With my bag of…things in one hand and Milky-Way in the other, I prepare to make my great escape. This time, I will make it. I won't be caught. I know it. I can feel it.
I had waited patiently for 9:30pm to come and go as they came to make sure I was in bed, and finally, it is my moment. I'm surprised they haven't learned to put me in a room with no windows by now, or at least batten up the one I had. I guess they meant to since my last attempt, but now it's been a year and I suppose they've assumed that I grew out of it or something silly like that. There's a difference between giving up and being patient, but it's too late for them to learn that now!
I gently but swiftly toss Milky-Way through the window so she can wait for me on the other side. I've never brought her on my escapes before, but I suppose the last times I tried to escape, I wasn't really prepared and so I felt like I wouldn't succeed, therefore not have the feeling of soon being very alone. This time, it feels like it will really happen – I will escape, and then I will run alone, so very alone, but at least I'll have a companion, because there's a huge difference between my past escape attempts and this one: This one isn't an attempt. I'm not going to try to escape. I am escaping. Forever.
I toss my not-really-a-suitcase, more-of-a-shoulder-bag over, careful not to squash Milky with it. Now it's my turn. I have my hands pressed against the window sill, ready to support my weight as I climb up and over, but I feel like I'm missing something. I come back down and find a scrap piece of paper and a pen. I quickly jot out the letters, trying to make them pretty, yet tauntingly snide.
"See ya later!
Oh, never mind.
~C.S."
I tape the note up to the glass of the window. Now I can leave. I slide through the window easily and land safely 3 or 4 feet below. Here's the fun part: running.
I run. The moon, with her silver fingertips, touches the gemstones on my shoulders and makes them shine. Anybody watching would see blur of starlight, dancing upon the wind, until it – I – evaporated into the moonlit horizon.
The yard of the orphanage is rather small. Only sections of us are allowed out at a time, and they can't bother to fix up any of the playground equipment, so nobody is really brave enough to play on it. The grass is ragged, brownish, and catches on my shoes, but I run through it like I'm walking over smooth cement. Milky-Way, still confident I have milk for her tonight, prances along behind me. I can only hope she won't abandon me when she discovers I don't actually have any treats for her.
Once I get up to the fence, which is full of rotting holes, I simply push one of the planks over and walk over it like a teeter-totter. Milky-Way leaps over behind me, and then we continue to run.
We run and we run, I don't know for how long, but we run. I had to switch my bag to the other shoulder quite a few times, because we ran for so long that it would start to get tired. By the time we stop running, and I can't not move another step, the sun is already starting to push back its hilly covers and yawn into the sky. My guess is that it's about 5:00am. We're supposed to wake up at the orphanage at 6:30am, and then go for breakfast at 7:15am. I'm usually late for breakfast, in defiance of their silly rules, so they probably won't realize I'm actually missing until at least 7:30am. I decide that I'll take a few minutes to rest and catch my breath, have a snack, and then keep running. Milky-Way purrs her way onto my lap, and I stroke her ears and shoulders. Again, she looks at me with those big moon eyes, but all I can say is, "Sorry, girl. I brought you for company, not to be your Meals-on-Wheels." Her ear twitches as if she understood, and leaves my lap to curl up for a nap a few feet away. We had stopped in an alley, so we should be able to hide until we've stocked back up on energy. I rustle through my bag for a chocolate bar. Not exactly breakfast, but it has lots of caffeine for energy and at least tastes good. What's the point of having taste buds if you don't eat stuff you like?
I quietly peel the wrapper away and slowly slurp and nibble at it so that I have a steady flow of caffeine running through my veins and will hopefully last longer. When I'm finished, I lean back against the brick wall, still slightly exhausted, and close my eyes. It feels like it's only been seconds when I reawaken to Milky-Way, dropping a rat on my lap, telling me it has to have been at least 10 minutes - time enough for her to wake up, track it down, kill it, and bring it here. Most people would shriek and kick it away, but I smile, understanding she means it as a gift. I pick it up by the scruff and put it by her paws. "Thank you, but I already ate. Here, you have it," I tell her as if she understands every word I speak. She takes it back and nibbles on it for a while. Eventually, she tosses it to the side as if disgusted and leaves the rest of it to rot, or possibly for pigeons – or both.
I lean back again, almost ready to get up and keep going, when Milky's ears perk up and she looks all around her. At first, I assume it's just another rat scuttling along that sparked her interest, but when she stiffens up, spikey-furred and claws unsheathed, hissing and swatting, I know it can't be just a rat. She looks at me; her pupils tiny slits that I can barely see, and then she darts off in the opposite direction of whatever she heard. "Milky! Come back!"
She doesn't listen this time. I try snapping my fingers in a rhythm she would recognize, the pattern I use to call her to my window sill, but she is already long gone. I feel terribly alone, yet completely not alone. Now it's my turn for my eyes to dart and my pupils to shrink. I stand up, with a rock in my hand – more of stone, really – and get ready to run. Before I can think, I feel a ripping sensation tear down my leg. I collapse to the ground and see my attacker: A stray dog, no specific breed, probably rabid-
"Aaaeeeaaaaahhh!" I scream like I've never screamed before as the dog lunges at me, now that I'm vulnerably half-laying, half-sitting on the ground. Blood and dusty gravel mix in a pool around me and infect my wounds. More and more wounds strike me, and the dog continues to use his rabid teeth to tear my flesh away from my bones. I collapse further, from my previous position of legs bent out to the side and arms holding me up, to all the way to the ground, cheeks scratched by the broken rocks; arms and legs splayed out in awkward positions to the sides. Blood-scent taints the air. With one last act of force, I struggle to my knees, grab the dog's throat and rip it back with all of my might. His flesh breaks loose and blood begins to pour from his own body. He crumbles to the ground and is dead within a minute or two. As for me, I struggle to get back to my feet. Clawing at the bricks on the wall for a grip is all I can do to even get halfway back up to a standing position. All of my left leg is torn and stained red with blood, and my other leg shakes, trying to support my body. One of my arms is completely limp; the dog had torn at my shoulder until it felt like my arm was hanging off my body like an earring with hang off an ear. With one arm and one leg still working, I claw my way up to a standing position, but I'm only up for a second before shaking to the point of falling again to my knees. My breathing is heavy and drawn out; it feels like my lungs have been cut open and I am trying to breathe through blood and dust. I try with every bit of my life force to keep myself alive, but I am so weak now that I can hardly even whimper in pain.
"M-Milky…W-Way…" I call for her, my only lifeline. I manage to a hold on for another agonizing minute, but with every heartbeat, another few hundred blood cells have pooled around me. Milky-Way warily peeks around the corner, twitches her nose, and runs to me, probably at the scent of my blood. "Y-You have…go…" I whisper, clinging to the cliff of life in fear of falling into the pit of death below. "Go…help…" Milky's whiskers twitch, and she bounds off again. My eyelids won't even stay open anymore, and I find myself once again flat on the ground in an ever-expanding pool of blood.
I suddenly snort, finding it harder to breathe. I…I can't…
I. Can't. Breathe.
I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe! My throat is clogged with blood, and probably my lungs, too. I can't feel the wounds anymore. I can't feel anything…just my thoughts, still pulsing in my mind. I make strained gurgling sounds as I try to force the blood out of my throat in a desperate attempt to breathe, but they're soon cut off. The air can't reach my lungs anymore. I really can't breathe. My only hope is that Milky will find help before it's too late…
But I think it already is.