The Lost Ships

The Gift of Hope (In Memory of Clara Oswald)

A/N: So on Sunday I finished reading I Never Know Why, I Only Know Who by Claraandthedoctor (AWESOME fic!! You'll be laughing and crying all throughout.) And I was exhausted (partially from lack of sleep, partially from crying). I was feeling rubbish about some of my writing and decided I wanted to write something artsy. It was originally going to be Danny x Clara but awhile while ago I read a one shot ("He's in love with her [Whouffaldi]" from lonelyoldtardis 's project Making the perfect Whoufflé: one shots. It's really good. I highly recommend it) where they didn't give names so I decided to do that. So it can be any ship you want. The video above is by Francesca Young.
Anyway... here goes!! Hope you enjoy!!

She was standing still. A gentle breeze caressed her cheek, laughing lightly as it slipped away, through the trees. Leaves fluttered down from the sky, their bright colours echoing fire, the crackling they made when stepped on mirroring the quiet sounds of flames. The sky was painted with gentle hues, brush strokes of pale oranges and pinks layered over one another, blended together in a symphony of colour.

She let out a soft sigh, letting it flit away, lost in the growing dusk. Pulling her sweater closer around her against the chilly air, she stood, watching the birds that flew from tree to tree around her, calling to their mates as they prepared for the night.

She felt lonely for some reason. It was an empty, aching feeling, as if she had lost something... or someone. Sorrow pooled in her eyes, making its way down her cheeks slowly, glistening in the fading light.

The pain rolled over her in waves, a dull ache. She stood there, letting it hurt, knowing there was nothing she could do. It felt empty, the pain; hollow, like hunger, eating away at her stomach. Except she wasn't hungry.

She was so alone. So very alone. She couldn't handle the pain alone. But the one person who could heal her was gone. Gone forever.

Death is such a strange thing. It strikes so suddenly, when you are least prepared. It is quiet, and still. It takes one whom you love, and leaves you standing alone. Alone to face the pain it leaves in its wake. For one so quiet it leaves far too much pain.

She remembered him suddenly, so clearly. Standing, framed in light. His smile, his laughter. The way he would pull her into his embrace and make her feel as if nothing had ever been wrong. How perfect he always was.

And she needed that now. But he was gone. Blown away with the wind, like all the other leaves, all the other lives, carelessly tossed away and forgotten.

Life is such a fragile thing. It departs so suddenly, when you are least prepared. It is quiet, unnoticed. It is with you always, yet you never realize how precious it is. Precious like the sunshine that fades so quickly. For one so untreasured it seems far too short when you loose it.

She stood still, the pain trickling down her cheeks. She felt so tired, and done with life. It would just desert everyone she loved, one by one. What was the use of it if it never stayed?

But then, slowly, a strange feeling entered her chest, and seemed to pass through her. Almost as if a bird had flown through her chest as she stood there. A warmth came with it, a comfort. And a confidence.

The brokenness wouldn't leave anytime soon. That she knew. The pain would last for long after everyone else had moved on. But maybe, just maybe, there was hope.

Hope is a gift. Passed almost unnoticed from one to the other. Slid from one hand to the other as two people pass in the hallway. It is delivered in a small comment, just a passing thought. But it sticks in the receivers heart, and they never forget it. They treasure it and use it as best they can. But sometimes it gets put away at the end of the day and forgotten. The person wakes up in the morning and walks past it without a second thought. But it stays there, on that shelf, never gathering dust. Just waiting. And then one day, another person will pass the one who has forgotten and deliver another comment when the they need it most. Just a passing thought in this tumultuous world, but the receiver will remember. They will run back to that shelf and take hope back into their life, treasuring it as if it had never been forgotten.

And then, one day, they would give that same gift to someone else. Whether purposefully or not, they will speak those loving words that will press the gift of hope into someone else's hand.

Now, as the birds sang their melodies, the melodies that echoed through the trees, enchanting the ear, she felt that gift, pressed into her palm by some invisible hand. It was a hand that came with memories. The memories of heroes, warriors who never gave up, no matter how hard it was, who, no matter how many times their hearts were broken, still kept moving, still kept loving.

And so she kept moving, kept loving, kept living. Because she had received the gift. The gift of hope.

In loving memory of Clara Oswald, The Impossible Girl, who never gave up hope.