A Fantasy of a Nightmare (Doctor Who fanfiction)

Chapter 3

A flood of emotions run through me as I stare, dumbfounded, at the man and the box who seemed to appear out of nowhere. Terror smashed into curiosity which tripped over shock and knocked into surprise. At last, I manage to stutter out, "Y-you. You're the man from my dreams..." He furrowed his brows and tilted his head to the side, utterly confused. A tidal wave of words seems to flow from me as I explained the dreams. How every night I dreamt about his blue box and how he invited me to travel with him, but I could never make it to him. The path to the doors seemed to stay the same distance, no matter how much I ran. And after I exhausted myself running, I just woke up.

Once I finished my explanation, he just looked at me. Not in an I-think-you're-crazy way, but in a way a young boy would look at a new type of bug. Curiosity shone in his eyes and I could almost see the gears turning in his head. New thoughts brewing and churning all around. "What's your name?" He asked at last.

"Clara," I say hesitatingly. "Clara Oswin Oswald."

His eyes widen in shock. "Why is that such a surprise?" I ask. "Nothing, it's just... I had a friend who went by that same name." He says. I know he's not telling me the whole truth, but for now I let it slide. "What is this place?" He asks, letting the subject change purposely.

"Madame Halton's home for young orphaned girls. Also known as living hell."

"Why are you here?" He gestured to the cold and frigid setting that was so appropriate for young girls.

"I'm an orphan. My mother died giving birth and my dad died in the war. I stayed with my aunt and uncle for a bit, but, well, their health wasn't exactly in the best shape and eventually they passed on as well. It's just me now. The last Oswald." Depressing as it is, it's the inevitable truth. "And anyway, what's with this interrogation?" I add.

"Nothing, just... Curious is all." He replies.

My instincts are telling me that I can trust this man, but that he also carries sadness within him. He's a traveller, a nomad. Can I really put my trust in him? "I-I have to get back to the kitchen." I say hastily. He grabs my arm as I begin to walk away. I stiffen. "Why?" I hear from behind me.

"Because I have to eat."

"Why can't you eat in the mess hall with everybody else?"

I turn to face him. "I can't eat in the mess hall with everybody else. They don't want me there." I say curtly.

He cocks his head at me in surprise. "Who doesn't want you there?" Exasperated with his constant questions, I storm off in a cloud of impatience. "Sophie and her little posse! They push me around and act like I'm their little servant because they could turn this whole orphanage against me if they wanted. It's safer just to play by their rules and keep my head down." Listening to my own words, I realize how hopeless I sound. How broken. And how much it needs to end. "But not anymore." I declare defiantly.

Everyone turns to look at me as I thunder into the hall. I match straight up to Sophie's table, where the whole clique is clustered together like bees in a hive, gossiping and finding new ways to make my life miserable. My brain seems to have shut off, and adrenaline is doing all the talking. I reach out, grab Sophie by her hair, and pull. She reels back, her pretty face pinched with pain. "What are you DOING?!" She screeched. "Giving you the payback you deserve." I say with my teeth gritted. And with that I let go of her hair and slap her right across the face. Her milky white skin is red where my hand made contact. But soon her whole face is tomato red with anger, so it doesn't really make a difference. "At least your whole face is red now so you can't see the mark I made," I jeer. A low, guttural growl emits from her throat, more doglike than human. All of a sudden, she begins to twitch and convulse.