Shooting Star // Eternalian Chronicles Book 1

44) .The TARDIS Opens.

(Edited)

.The Pandorica Opens.

~Third Person~

A lightning bolt lit the sky in the year 1890. It was a stormy night, but that wasn't unusual in the little town in France. It also wasn't unusual for Vincent Van Gogh to be having one of his fits. They weren't uncommon anymore and as he lay there on his back, the sweat dripping down his forehead, his doctor rushed back and forth, trying to cool his fever with a cloth. What he didn't know was of the visions Vincent was seeing, bestowed to him by his dear friend Catherine not a month before. And what a burden these visions were.

Madame Vernet was assisting the doctor in every way she could. Though her disliking for the poor artists was above any in the town, she couldn't stand by and watch the poor man die to a measly fit. She held the bowl of cold water in her hands, gazing at the odd paintings that were around her, on the walls and easels.

"Vincent!" the doctor called over Vincent's cries. "Can you hear me?" 

Madame Vernet scoffed at the doctor. "It's bad enough he goes drinking all around town. Now the whole neighborhood has to listen to his screams." 

"He's very ill, Madame Vernet," he insisted. 

She didn't hear him, but her attention was caught by another painting. This one was odder than the rest, unlike anything she had seen before. She peered at it, wondering what in the world it could have possibly been.

"Look at this," she said aloud, grabbing the doctor and pointing to it. "Even worse than his usual rubbish. Wonder what it is supposed to be..."

*~~~~~*~~~~~*

Doctor Bracewell marched down the corridor of the Cabinet War Rooms in 1941 in a terrible hurry. An old, rolled up piece of parchment sat underneath his arm and as he passed people, the accounts of what he'd seen echoed through his head. What was such a painting doing in this world, and could it possibly be a warning?

"It was found behind the wall in an attic in France," Doctor Bracewell explained to his friend, the man in charge, Winston Churchill. 

Churchill peered at the painting, laying out on an easel,the edges curling inwards after being bent for so long. 

"It's genuine. It's a Van Gogh."

"Why bring it to me?" Churchill asked the scientist. 

Bracewell shook his head. "Because it's obviously a message. And you can tell who it's for."

"Can't say I understand it," he told Bracewell honestly.

"You're not supposed to understand it, Prime Minister," Bracewell insisted. "You're supposed to deliver it."

*~~~~~*~~~~~*

Halfway across the universe in another time far in the future, 5145 to be exact, in Stormcage Containment Facility, a phone rang. Across the empty halls, the ringing echoed across the walls and into a cell where a woman, her hair full of secrets, sat, not expecting what was going to happen. A guard walked over and grabbed the phone off the wall.

"Cell four two six," he answered. "The Doctor? Do you mean Doctor Song?" 

River Song hopped up, hoping, begging, that the call was from who she thought it was. It had been oh so long since she had last seen them.

"Give me that!" she called through the bars of her cell, reaching a hand out to hurry the guard to her. "I'm entitled to phone calls." Hesitantly, the guard walked over and handed her the phone. River sank back into her cell, her eyes wide, and put the phone to her ear. "Doctor?" she asked, her heart pounding.