Doctor Who: The Time Warp Warrior

Chapter 5: A Spoiled Plan and Soiled Cream

After my brilliant discovery of transporting other things through time with me, I decided to time how long I was inbetween the time warp. Maybe I could use this to my advantage! If I discovered that I had, say an hour in between sundown and the time when I re-awakened on my own boring old bed, then I would, as I like to say, be in tomorrow. This theory means that I actually travel to "tomorrow" before time catches up with me and brings me back. If I can find some way to escape this... maybe... tomorrow might be just a theory away. I want this so bad. If I can figure out how to fight this... how to become the time warp warrior.

My first theory was that perhaps a pocketwatch just recently wound would work, but then after experimenting and thinking a little while longer I remembered that time is the problem here. My stopwatch returns to the same position every morning when I awaken, why wouldn't it restart then, too? I need some kind of contraption that starts at my disgression and stops when it goes through the time warp. I'll bet the clever know it all Doctor would have something like that up his sleeve, but as he hasn't shown up for nearly three years of todays, I don't think asking him for help is an option.

My second theory was that something would mold in the time it took. I already know that it takes less than thirty minutes to transport me to my own time, due to my cream experiment. But what takes less time than thirty minutes? Nothing. So, what I have to do is take my thirty -minute -to -sour cream and let it sit for twenty minutes. In this way, it will be timing for ten minutes. If it is molded, then I can know that there is a certain world in between. I will do this at sundown tonight.

"Elizabeth!" I hear a voice call out twenty minutes from sundown. I am certainly in trouble. "What are you doing?" I recognize this nagging voice immediately and turn to see my mother in the doorway.

"Er, what are you doing here, mother?" I stutter as I try to hide the cream. I know she would not be pleased to find that not only do I have cream - a delicacy she doesn't allow me because of its price- but that I am wasting cream.

"If I am not mistaken, Elizabeth, I live here and graciously allow you to do the same... If anything I should be asking you what you are doing here!" she stared at me stern at first, then turning her attention to the bag that smelt of rotten goods. "And apparently I ought to be asking you what you're doing with rotten..." She smelled for a minute then her nostrils flared the smallest bit, "cream?" she rolled this word out of her mouth slyly and through her London accent managed to roll the 'R' the slightest bit. She wasn't too incredibly angry yet, as her cream idea was still but a theory.

"Er," I muttered. This seemed my favorite word of the late and the first one I have said not to myself in many todays. "to start off, yes..." I said the word yes so slowly it seemed to leak out of my mouth, "it is cream." I was still speaking slowly, but then her face lit up in anger and rage and my words seemed to find their way more quickly. I thought to myself, 'good thing this will all be over in less than twenty minutes.' "But you see I bought it with me own money, and with all the money I bring into this house every week, I do believe I deserve just an ounce of cream every now and then. And, it's not like I stole it..."

"You must have." she glared hard at me, "for you've only got a shilling in your pocket." This last remark seemed half like a question and half like a fact, as if she were saying, "You only have a shilling... right, Elizabeth?!" but a little more subtly.

"Er... okay, Mother, I admit that I..." I paused just a second to think of something. I honestly considered telling her my crazy tale just to make her shut up for another 20 minutes or so, but instead my clever mind came up with, "I found another job. I thought you would be angry with me and I thought you take all of my new income for yourself so I didn't tell you, and instead bought cream for my coffee. I had some leftover, so I brought it for the...cat."

"We don't have a cat, Elizabeth."

"Alright!" I said defensively, "It's...for the servant. The poor girl is starving..." I added a little chuckle on the end by accident, but she didn't seem to mind.

She let out a large sigh and rolled her eyes. "As punishment for your obstinence," she said looking for a punishment harsh enough to 'teach me a lesson', "you will NOT attend the dance tomorrow, and will donate your dress to my collection." When she said 'her collection' I immediately knew what she meant. She meant her cupboard in the basement full of things that are meaningful to me, that I care about. My father's photograph was there. She only kept for blackmail saying,'do what I say or this photograph will be burned.' It was valid blackmail, too. Also, she had a letter Grace had written to my father, my favorite slippers from childhood and more.

In my head, I was thinking I got off lucky. I wouldn't have been going tomorrow anyways. My dress, it would just return to my closet by next today. I was lucky. But then, the sun went down. The cream was not in my bag. The bag and I disappeared into tomorrow and all of my beautiful plan was lost. I would have to do this all again and again. Such torture. Why can't the silly Doctor come back so I can tell him that I hate him, slap him and then beg for him to help me after apologizing for the smiting. I wouldn't hate the doctor, if he would just come back I might trust him again. DOCTOR! COME BACK DOCTOR! COME BACK!