Clara went to visit her brother that day. The sky that's normally blue was smothered in a blanket of dark gray clouds, and the air was brisk with the promise of a harsh winter just around the corner.

Today she brought flowers, since it was such a special day. Bright yellow with a few white buds, like the kind they used to pick from the countryside when they were younger. Perfect for his

His name was Michael, and he was Clara's only sibling, and best friend. Sure they fought a lot, but they always made up in the end, closer than they were before the fight. Clara smiled a little at the memory, tears in her eyes. She had been devastated, more than anyone when he died in the car crash a year ago.

She found her younger brother's gravestone, and sat beside it, staring st the cold, bleak stone with his name carved into it. Michael Brian Oswald. 2011-2028. Aged seventeen. If you blink, you miss everything. So don't blink.

Clara didn't fully understand the quote, but it seemed like something he would say. One minute he was goofing off and playing basketball with his friends, and the next, saying something incredibly deep and philosophical.

Clara rested the flowers in front of grave, the yellow a stark comparison to the pale, frosty green of the grass. She wiped a tear from her face as she remembered the crash. She had been driving. Looking at Michael, laughing at a stupid joke he had made. She didn't see the truck barreling towards them. It had been nighttime, and raining. The road they were on was empty, as per usual. It was on the side of a mountain, leading up to their secluded neighborhood. She had just picked him up from his school's football game, because he didn't pass his driver's test, even after three times. By the time Clara had reverted her eyes to the road again, it was too late. Within seconds, the truck crashed into the car, and everything went black. She woke up buried in the mangled remains of her car the next morning. Police were just beginning to arrive. Apparently the truck had lost control and drove right off the side of the mountain, and rolled down several miles, killing the driver in the process. Clara was the only one alive. The only reason she was still alive, was that mostly the right side of the car had been hit, then rolled over a few times before skidding to a halt on it's side.

A sudden movement from behind her made Clara snap out of her trance. She turned around, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. A few gravestones. Delanie Faucet, age 53. Jennifer Smith, age 79, and Amelia and Rory Williams, ages 82 and 87, along with the usual angel statue above the Williams' shared gravestone.

Clara turned back to Michael's headstone. "I'm sorry, Michael," she whispered, her eyes closed. She almost expected him to say "It's alright, Oswin," but he didn't. And Clara was only talking to a cold, hard piece of rock, not her baby brother. Oswin was the nickname Michael had given Clara when they were kids, for reasons she had forgotten long ago.

Clara turned around suddenly. She had the strangest feeling, like someone was watching her. But no one was there. Everything was the same as last time. Except...the angel statue that was standing over the married couple's grave... Clara could have sworn it had been covering its eyes completely, but now only one hand was covering an eye, and the other arm was half-outstretched.

Clara shook her head and declared that she was imagining things...it must have been the lack of sleep she's been getting lately. But when she took another glance back at the angel statue, her heart skipped a beat.

This time one of the angel's arms was by its side, and it was pointing, right at Clara. She stared at the statue in shock. A statue of an angel, no less, didn't seem like it could do much harm, but Clara had this terrible feeling deep inside that she didn't want it to touch her. If it did, something unspeakably terrible would happen to her. After a few moments though, it seemed less real, and Clara thought it was just her mind playing tricks on her. Until she blinked. In milliseconds, the statue was several feet closer to her. The quote from Michael's tombstone came to her mind. If you blink, you miss everything. So don't blink.

It was a long shot, and certainly impossible, but it was all she had. Clara stared at the statue without blinking as she slowly backed away. She was practiced at the art of not blinking, from all those staring contests she used to do. But as she was backing up, she tripped over a grave, but caught herself just in time. Unfortunately, though, she had to look down.

When Clara looked back up the angel. it was inches from her. Clara rushed backwards, trying to put as much distance between herself, and that thing.

But when she opened her eyes she was in a different place.

It was dark, lit by only a few old-fashioned lights, and the air was damp and cold.

Ding!

"He-hello?" she said a little groggily, not expecting an answer.

"Hello, I'm the Doctor, and this is Martha!" Clara's eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she saw two figures, a man and a woman. The man had brown hair that stuck up oddly, a brown, pinstriped suit that was just too tight, a long, light brown coat, white converse and a pair of glasses. He was also holding some sort of bulky gadget. The woman had dark skin, straight, black hair, and was checking Clara's pulse.

"Clara," she breathed out, still sure she was hallucinating.

"What's wrong with her, Doctor?"

"She's in shock."

"Yes, I can see that."

"Oh, the other thing! Traveling through the time vortex for the first time can make you...sick. Well, without a vessel, most of the time. Well, only happens to some people.

"Are you all right?" the woman, Martha, addressed Clara this time.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I just-" Clara didn't know what to ask first, she had so many questions, and it looked like these people had answers. "Where am I?"

"Not entirely sure yet," the man, called the Doctor said, "somewhere in London, we think. We just got here ourselves."

"London? I was in New York!"

"Yes, the Weeping Angels can send you through space, too."

"The- the what?"

"Weeping Angels. They are what sent you back through time. They can only move when they're not being observed, it would've looked like an angel statue."

"Back in time? What re you talking about?"

This time it was Martha who supplied an answer. "These...things, when they touch you, you're sent back in time. We came from 2007-ish."

"What year did you come from?" the Doctor asked Clara.

"I came from 2029," Clara was staring to hyperventilate from all the shock and how unbelievable this was.

"I'm so sorry, you're an awful long way from home. It's...1969."

Clara's eyes widened. "What? But...sixty years?"

"I'm so sorry. I wish there was something we could do. But, we're working on it."

"But...my family! My parents are waiting for me to get home! I was in my second year of college. I go to NYU! I have to get back!"

"I'm sorry," the Doctor's eyes begged for understanding and mercy, "but if we took you back, assuming we can get back, it would rip a hole in the fabric of space and time. It would be another paradox, and the angels have already created enough, or they wouldn't be there in the first place. If I take you back, they'll just grow in power, and they won't stop hunting you. You won't be safe for the rest of your life. This is the safest way. I'm so, so sorry."

"It's-" Clara was about to say it was fine, but she would be lying, "I'll make do."

The Doctor's body physically relaxed. "Thank you."

Besides, Clara thought, in 42 years Michael was going to be born. I can see my baby brother again.