Doctor Who Story Starters

How the Doctor Saved Me

My dreams. My dreams are filled with them. Filled to the brim and over flowing. They spill out during the day and consume my every thought.

I used to be a nobody. A girl you passed every day without noticing. I had a meaningless job, drab appearance and a personality that would put you to sleep.

Then the angels came. They invaded my very being. I don't know where they came from, but took over every aspect of my life.

The angels crept in slowly. Taking their time. It wasn't apparent at first. What they were. What they wanted. Soon it would all become clear to me.

Whenever I could no longer go about my life without them interfering somehow, I started to incorporate them in everything I did. That's how they won. That's how they took over.

I first started with little notes about them. Things I had noticed about them. Then they started whispering to me. I'd have dreams where I was totally blind and all I heard was stone moving against stone and whispers. Sometimes they'd laugh.

They asked me to draw them.

"Show others what you see," they told me.

So I did. I drew them, and when family would come to visit, they'd see the drawings littered across my walls and scattered along my tables. At first they were worried, but became impressed.

They didn't know I had such talent. Neither did I. I believed the angels had done it. Something in my head, so that I could spread them.

"More," they always insisted. I couldn't deny them. The angels were in control.

For Christmas, my family gave me art supplies. They told me art was something I should pursue. With my new paints, it began.

My new life. I painted and painted, and the angels screamed. I would wake with my ears ringing and started each day with more painting. Anything to get them out of my mind.

Canvas after canvas, I made angels.

Suddenly there would come phone calls. My family had spread world. My angels were wanted in galleries. All of Leeds wanted to bare witness to the angels. The angels wanted to bare witness to Leeds.

And they did.

My angels spread far and wide, like a wild fire. My collection grew and stretched across the nation.

Then it happened.

"Disaster struck," as my mum had said. Because the angels had stopped. Walking home from the shops one day, I was hit by a car and sent into a coma.

My angels abandoned me. I awoke three months later. A man at my bedside, and the telly telling of hundreds of people gone missing at my galleries.

The man was an enigma. Old and young. A stranger and yet ever so familiar, and when he spoke his name, I knew. The Doctor. The angels spoke of him. They laughed often that he "didn't know."

He was a part of their plans. He fell right into the trap. Yet there he stood, at my bedside. Smiling like a fool, asking about my life before the angels. I told him it was nothing. I insisted every time he told me "everyone is important." He asked what I liked to do. I told him I liked to walk.

Because I did. I worked in the backrooms of some shop down the street, and my walk home was the best part of my every day. He disappeared for a few days, but when I was released from hospital, there he was. Waiting.

He asked me to show him my walk home. I had never noticed, but there was an angel. And every day, I had looked straight into it's eyes.

"That's how it all started," he'd told me.

I couldn't believe it had all started just by admiring a statue on my walk home. The Doctor asked me to help him get rid of the angels. He told me it was to be sure he'd gotten all of the angels, because I knew where they all were. Though it seemed to me that what he really wanted, was for me to know my worth.

So we stopped them, my angels. The Doctor flew away, and I moved far from that angel down the street. No longer able to paint without my muse, I fell back into working behind a shop. Not that I needed it. My angels had provided much money for me.

And although now my mind was clear of angels, my dreams were subject to the Doctor. He filled them with wonder, and each night I became more and more excited for our next adventure.

I wrote stories of the Doctor, and published them. I had found a muse. One that would inspire and not destroy. That is how the Doctor saved me.