Clara Dreams
Quick bit of Doctor Who flash fiction.
I think I must have been missing Hour of Writes while I was in the states!
Clara dreams.
Below her is the city of lies, built on a foundation of hope.
It falls away, the gears of Maratansa fade into view, its towers recording the moments in time with each whirr and click of its giant clockwork cogs.
She turns in her sleep, restless, as time passes and swirls around her.
Her mind passes through the vortex with the TARDIS, falling through walls and dimensions as easily as breathing.
The turn spins again and below her is the control room. Its console wheezing and gasping with the rhythm of a great heart. Is this the pulse of the universe? Does the TARDIS dream? If so, perhaps she snores, great gasps of breath echoing across the cosmos from her ancient lungs.
The Doctor never sleeps.
He sits there, looking at a book he has read a thousand times and never reached the end of. Even in dreams he glares. Looking up he puts a finger to his lips. We are sharing secrets here, we must take care.
Then the vortex flows around once more, colours and sounds from a thousand worlds.
A hand reaches out to Clara and a soft voice cradles her.
"Dance with me," it says like a sister.
They turn together in dreams and shadows, the real and the unreal rolling together as one.
The woman spins Clara and they laugh together as worlds pass by.
But the woman is old, even if her heart remains young. She falters, unsteady in the dance.
Clara holds her up, walks her to her rest as she gasps a little, her breath unsteady.
But still she waves away Clara's concern.
"I am just old," she says with a smile. "Not as young as I was. Not as young as you are."
The groaning and wheezing subside at last, and Clara falls into herself once more as if laid to rest by a mother's hand.
A light wakes her.
The door of the room is open and the Doctor stands there, impatient.
"Wake up sleepy head!" he orders. "We're there."
"Where?" she says half asleep still.
"I have no idea," he grins at her, eyes shining like a younger man. "Lets find out."
They stare at each other for a moment, almost serious, as if trying to out grown up each other for a moment. Then they grin like children and race each other to the door to see what lies outside.
I think I must have been missing Hour of Writes while I was in the states!
Clara dreams.
Below her is the city of lies, built on a foundation of hope.
It falls away, the gears of Maratansa fade into view, its towers recording the moments in time with each whirr and click of its giant clockwork cogs.
She turns in her sleep, restless, as time passes and swirls around her.
Her mind passes through the vortex with the TARDIS, falling through walls and dimensions as easily as breathing.
The turn spins again and below her is the control room. Its console wheezing and gasping with the rhythm of a great heart. Is this the pulse of the universe? Does the TARDIS dream? If so, perhaps she snores, great gasps of breath echoing across the cosmos from her ancient lungs.
The Doctor never sleeps.
He sits there, looking at a book he has read a thousand times and never reached the end of. Even in dreams he glares. Looking up he puts a finger to his lips. We are sharing secrets here, we must take care.
Then the vortex flows around once more, colours and sounds from a thousand worlds.
A hand reaches out to Clara and a soft voice cradles her.
"Dance with me," it says like a sister.
They turn together in dreams and shadows, the real and the unreal rolling together as one.
The woman spins Clara and they laugh together as worlds pass by.
But the woman is old, even if her heart remains young. She falters, unsteady in the dance.
Clara holds her up, walks her to her rest as she gasps a little, her breath unsteady.
But still she waves away Clara's concern.
"I am just old," she says with a smile. "Not as young as I was. Not as young as you are."
The groaning and wheezing subside at last, and Clara falls into herself once more as if laid to rest by a mother's hand.
A light wakes her.
The door of the room is open and the Doctor stands there, impatient.
"Wake up sleepy head!" he orders. "We're there."
"Where?" she says half asleep still.
"I have no idea," he grins at her, eyes shining like a younger man. "Lets find out."
They stare at each other for a moment, almost serious, as if trying to out grown up each other for a moment. Then they grin like children and race each other to the door to see what lies outside.