The Missing Bird
There was a newspaper held in mid air and on it, a picture of a painting. It was a painting that was on the front page of every newspaper that day, and had been for days before.
Because this painting had changed.
'An Experiment on a Bird in the Air Pump', it had written under the photograph of the painting. But there was no bird in the painting, ( Read more... )
Because this painting had changed.
'An Experiment on a Bird in the Air Pump', it had written under the photograph of the painting. But there was no bird in the painting, ( Read more... )
A tall, fair-haired girl wandered slowly through the gallery, watching the people that past by her, taking as much interest in them as they did in the paintings. She tilted her head and watched as a man took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt, an bemused sort of smile on her face. Humans were curious indeed.
She had learnt a fair bit about them before coming here, but this was still her first visit to Earth and she found them to be a rather fascinating, if lesser-developed lifeform.
That was only proved by the way her little trick had captured the headlines. In a matter of days, the news were famous world over. It really was amusing how this little planet grabbed onto mysteries so fast. But she knew it would work in her favour. If Earth was gossiping about one thing, then it was sure to catch the attention of those off-planet.
And there was one man's attention she was hoping for most of all.
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There was purpose in his footsteps, though, and he was heading to a specific room. A specific painting.
It was clear to see when he neared it; spaces that usually were barely occupied, were now full of people, all queuing to see a painting that would so often be passed by.
The Doctor looked, stepping up to the barrier that had been placed in front of the painting. He looked at it, standing a little closer than he might need, or than might have been deemed appropriate.
He frowned.
"It's the same painting," he said to himself.
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She stood silently amongst the roaming humans, staring at the doorway the man had just stepped through.
For she had just set eyes upon her father for the first time in many, many years.
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It didn't.
He looked upright again, and turned his head from side to side before back at the painting. Slowly, step by step, he moved backwards, walking into at least two people in the process. They didn't even argue, they were all too busy looking at the mysterious painting.
And that's when it struck him.
They were all looking in the wrong places.
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It had actually worked.
He'd heard about the painting and he'd come here.
She could hardly believe she was stood in the same room as such an infamous man, for he was not only her father, but one of the most disgraced Time Lords in history.
When he began to step back, she retreated also, as though uncertain if she should get too close just yet. She wanted to watch him from afar for now, try and gauge him and his behaviour. But at that moment, there was a sudden squawk from overhead and she quickly looked up, seeing the cockatoo that was missing from the famed painting.
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He smiled. Oh this was good.
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Spinning on his heel, he started to walk away from the portrait, moving instead towards the doorway that the bird sat above. He headed through it, past paintings and into another room.
And then he stopped. Stopped mid stride and turned back. Three or four steps. There was a painting, fairly small, a beautiful serene scene scene across a lake, or a river, or some body of water-- that didn't matter. What did matter, was the trickle of water that appeared to be dripping out from the edge of the frame and along the wall.
He reached a finger out and touched the water before rubbing it between two fingers. It was real. Tangible.
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Her eyes widened in realisation, but she quickly turned when she heard a security guard bark out of nowhere.
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But there was no time for that, because through the quiet mumblings in the gallery, there was suddenly a piercing scream.
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Abandoning her spot, she turned and began to hurry through the gallery, navigating herself through the many doorways that had turned maze-like in her rush. Now, people were rushing towards her, stricken expressions on their faces. She squeezed through them with grunts of effort. Really, humans were too easily spooked.
It was only a couple of paintings, she hardly thought it warranted quite this reaction. What happened to the romance of the story? The worldwide gossip over a fantastic headline?
But as she turned the corner, she realised just why people were panicking. With a gasp, she turned on her heel, sprinting on down the corridor. Behind her, the echo of horses hooves were gaining on her, the horns of a cavalry blasting through the gallery.
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The Doctor was guessing it wasn't the bird.
Whatever it was, he was sure of one thing, he needed to find it.
So as everyone was running towards the exit, and away from the ever increasing sounds, he was heading towards them.
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For a moment, she had forgotten about the Doctor's presence.
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The Doctor ran to the door and against the other one beside her.
"Go!" he called to her. "Get out of here."
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She then saw a blur of activity besides her and realised someone else was helping her to hold the door closed. She turned to look at them, staring when she realised it was the Doctor.
She didn't respond, too stunned to speak, but it cost her her attention on the door for with another shove, her side of the door burst open, thrusting her back.
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From his pocket he pulled his sonic screwdriver and held it to the door. But it did nothing.
"Why are the doors always wood!"he exclaimed as the doors continued to thud against him.
And then? They stopped.
He put his head to the door, listening, or at least trying to, to whatever was on the other side.
"No!" he said. "Really? No!" as if excited by something. "It can't be."
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