2,000,001 Gallifreyan days since the Time War.
Every day I keep counting. The days since I had lost everything. A little reminder in my head. This is a journal I've had since my days on Gallifrey. A memoir. Of what I gave—and what they couldn't give back.
I tried to take my mind off things. This new body. New teeth. Very nice. When all is gone, I still have Rose. Today, she came bounding in with a backpack filled with who-knows what, and was all smiley. I took her to New Earth. One lesson—being possessed, is not fun. And, my heartbeats are not a samba, more of a cha cha or a tango.
Christina flipped through more pages to see a photograph of an African-American girl in a leather jacket and tight flair-jeans. The caption under the photo read: Doctor Martha Jones, 2007.
2, 000, 370 Gallifreyan days since the Time War.
After I took Martha to New Earth, she wanted to have a chat. About my people. End of story.
Underneath that line was a detailed sketch of a city enclosed in a glass dome. Red patches of grass and purple mountains habited the planet. Two suns rose in the East, shining upon the reflective water that was running through the city. It was beautiful.
Christina slammed the book shut and thrust it behind her back to see the Doctor march in, bold as a peacock, hair freshly combed. "Doctor, before we leave… how many others have you taken to New Earth?" she asked, gingerly. The Doctor hesitated, and then quickly replied, "No one. You're special," he flashed a smile.
"Right," Christina muttered, doubtfully. "Is that what you say to 'em all?" "What?" the Doctor asked, innocently, not hearing what she had said. Christina, ignoring him, marched out of the TARDIS, into New Earth.