(no subject)
Donna had often lamented her boring life. After all, she was thirty-six, living with her mum again, working a temp job that she was often loudly reminded was not a "career," hadn't had a relationship that lasted longer than three dates since she was in her twenties, and well, nothing really interesting had ever happened to her. Heck, she'd even been on holiday during the whole supposed spaceship thing.
... and now this. This being winding up on an island with no idea how she'd gotten here, greeted by people who cheerfully informed her that there was no way off, and no worries, she'd get used to it, traipsing around in the jungle only to find that civilization consisted of what basically amounted to a large bunker and a bunch of grass huts straight out of National Geographic. She'd spent the last few days basically in a daze, wandering around and waiting to wake up. Drinking tea and eating mangos and spending her nights on a cot in a room filled with other people, though at least some of them seemed as freaked out as her.
And then, of course, there was the memory issue. And the dream issue. The weird flashes of memories that she was more than certain weren't hers. They were worse around that man, Captain Jack, the one who'd seemed so enthralled with the police box. Whenever she saw him, she had a flash of something. Once he was holding a giant gun. Once he was standing around that console in the police box, one of a half dozen people with blurry faces. And of course, there was the hand in a jar, which kept showing up in her dreams as well... along with the Man. She had no idea who he was, but he was plaguing her dreams like she was some schoolgirl with an obsessive crush. He usually wasn't doing much of anything, just standing around, hands in his pockets in the same striped suit, watching her, sometimes looking sad. He wasn't even her type, way too skinny, and if she was going to dream obsessively about a man, shouldn't there be at least some sex involved?
In any case, between it all, she was dealing with some very sleepless nights and what amounted to pretty pointless days. Not only was there not a chocolate bar in sight, but she had no idea what was happening on Eastenders. Sitting at the table in the kitchen and stirring sugar into a cup of tea that was just getting colder and colder, she tried to think of a game plan that wasn't simply, "kill self immediately."
... and now this. This being winding up on an island with no idea how she'd gotten here, greeted by people who cheerfully informed her that there was no way off, and no worries, she'd get used to it, traipsing around in the jungle only to find that civilization consisted of what basically amounted to a large bunker and a bunch of grass huts straight out of National Geographic. She'd spent the last few days basically in a daze, wandering around and waiting to wake up. Drinking tea and eating mangos and spending her nights on a cot in a room filled with other people, though at least some of them seemed as freaked out as her.
And then, of course, there was the memory issue. And the dream issue. The weird flashes of memories that she was more than certain weren't hers. They were worse around that man, Captain Jack, the one who'd seemed so enthralled with the police box. Whenever she saw him, she had a flash of something. Once he was holding a giant gun. Once he was standing around that console in the police box, one of a half dozen people with blurry faces. And of course, there was the hand in a jar, which kept showing up in her dreams as well... along with the Man. She had no idea who he was, but he was plaguing her dreams like she was some schoolgirl with an obsessive crush. He usually wasn't doing much of anything, just standing around, hands in his pockets in the same striped suit, watching her, sometimes looking sad. He wasn't even her type, way too skinny, and if she was going to dream obsessively about a man, shouldn't there be at least some sex involved?
In any case, between it all, she was dealing with some very sleepless nights and what amounted to pretty pointless days. Not only was there not a chocolate bar in sight, but she had no idea what was happening on Eastenders. Sitting at the table in the kitchen and stirring sugar into a cup of tea that was just getting colder and colder, she tried to think of a game plan that wasn't simply, "kill self immediately."