justprompts: What Have I Done
You were born in London.
You were born in London to a mum and a dad. Your dad died. Your mum did the best she could. You did the best you could. You filled your life with fish and chips and gymnastics and organizing strikes with choirs. You find ways to make yourself special and you listen to your mum tell you about how special your dad was. You think if you’re that special you might make him proud too, if he was here to see you.
You were born in London and then you became a teenager.
You were born in London and then you became a teenager, so you decided you were too old for certain things. Gymnastics and choir strikes were not for you anymore. Fish and chips were still for you. Your mum liked fish and chips. Mickey liked fish and chips. And you liked Mickey. It was all sweaty palms, pulse racing, stupid insults trying to prove that you don’t care. Stolen kisses and fights and laughing and being more comfortable then you ever knew you could be. You thought you and Mickey were forever.
You were born in London and then you became a teenager and you thought you were in love with Mickey Smith.
You were born in London and then you became a teenager and you thought you were in love with Mickey Smith. But then you met another boy. Not that one, not quite yet. You outgrow things so quickly. Gymnastics and choir strikes and your mum and even Mickey Smith. You still like fish and chips. And now you liked Jimmy Stone. You ran off with Jimmy Stone. He seemed exciting and older and more experienced. Eventually he left you with nothing but £800 in debt. You wondered if things were worth getting your heart broken for, or losing £800.
You were born in London and you were bored and £800 in debt.
You were born in London and you were bored and £800 in debt. Jimmy Stone outgrew you. You thought you had outgrown Mickey. You ran back to him anyway. You thought maybe you could love him like you did at first. You might be able to love him in a new way. You were in denial. You thought you could force yourself to love something the way you once had.
You were born in London and you were bored and living with things you had long since outgrown.
You were born in London and you were bored and living with things you had long since outgrown. And then you met a boy parading around as a man. Yes that one. You had long since outgrown your mum and Mickey. You still liked fish and chips. A boy in a blue box forced you to think these things out loud. He showed you that maybe you still loved gymnastics and organizing strikes, too. Except now it wasn’t choirs, but something concerning time and relative dimensions. You don’t understand it all, but that’s good. It means you can’t outgrow it. You don’t think you could, even if you did begin to understand this all.
You were born in London and you were bored with your life and a boy parading as a man in a blue box took you away from it all.
You were born in London and a you were bored with your life and a boy parading as a man in a blue box took you away from it all. Except you forgot there were people waiting for you. You had outgrown them, but they never outgrew you. You broke their hearts, but they loved you still. Even if you outgrew them, you loved them, too. You didn’t know how to show this to them, but they knew how to show this to you. Your mum, hanging up posters, looking for a lost daughter for almost a year, finally said goodbye. Finally let you run away with that boy. Brought a truck, it said Rescue and Recovery. Mickey was behind the wheel. They loved you so much they were letting you runaway from them. They were sending you back to that man, or boy, or whatever he was. He was stuck somewhere in the middle. They saved you from a life you had outgrown, you saved him from a past he couldn’t run away from. You loved him, too.
You were born in London and you fell in love with a boy (man?) who took you away from a life you had outgrown and showed you a better way of living.
You were born in London and you fell in love with a boy (man?) who took you away from a life you had outgrown and showed you a better way of living. He changed his face, because he could do things like that. He outgrew that face, and now he had a new one. You couldn’t remember the last thing you had outgrown. Mickey and Mum and working in shops, but you had outgrown that a long time ago. But you still loved fish and chips. You thought you loved a man in a jumper and leather jacket. But he wasn’t here anymore. It scared you at first, but you learned how to love this new face in a new way. You think of your mum and Mickey who learned how to love you in new ways, too. You think of Mickey still, who outgrew himself and found a new universe. You thought of your mum and a stupid boy who hurt her feeling. You relearned how to hold hands and hop for your life. You had the universe and women who looked like strange versions of yourself reminding you that things are worth getting your heart broken for, and forever is different with boys who outgrow faces and bodies and personalities. He told you it was forever, and you believed him. He was the one thing you found you couldn’t outgrow.
You were born in London and you died in London and you were given a new life on a strange beach in Norway.
You were born in London and you died in London and you were given a new life on a beach in Norway. You should have seen it coming. The universe and strange women who looked like stranger reflections of yourself had been warning you. You had outgrown common sense because a boy in a blue box showed you common sense was boring and dull and to be ignored at all costs. So you find yourself stranded on a beach in Norway, and he’s burning up a star to say goodbye to you. Faces and stars and years and time are things he outgrows. An entire star, just to say goodbye. You tell him you love him, and he says your name, and then there’s nothing. He’s gone. And you’re here. Back to where you began.
You were born in London and you live in London with a mum and a dad and a boy named Mickey not too far away.
You were born in London and you live in London with a mum and a dad and a boy named Mickey not too far away. You even have a job. It feels like working in a shop at times. You save the world. It fits in well, with gymnastics and strikes and lives lived with boys in blue boxes. You have a trinket and it tells you when the weather changes, and you have to hold onto it, because you refuse to let yourself outgrow the girl you were when you were with him.
You live in London and you work at a shop that defends the Earth and you hold onto trinkets to protect yourself from outgrowing things.
You live in London and you work at a shop that defends the Earth and you hold onto trinkets to protect yourself from outgrowing things. You meet a man. He’s not a boy. He builds things. He’s an architect. You tell yourself he is dull and average and you wish he would just go away. Except you don’t really. You don’t think you’ve ever really known a man before. Eventually you get married and you have children. You have a daughter. She looks like you, it’s what everyone says. You have long since outgrown the trinket, even though you still think about that boy in a blue box. You give it to your daughter to hold onto instead. At least until she outgrows it, too.
You live in London and you defend the Earth and you married a man and now you are someone’s mum.
You live in London and you defend the Earth and you married a man and now you are someone’s mum. You outgrew trinkets from boys in blue boxes. You gave them to your daughter. You still like fish and chips. You grew back into your mum and Mickey and you discovered a man who you sometimes outgrow, but that is all right.
You live in London and you’re a mum and one day you look outside your window and you see a blue box.
You live in London and you’re a mum and one day you look outside your window and you see a blue box. Time doesn’t mean anything to boys. You know this. Your heart still skips a beat. Except he’s not coming for you, is he. His face is different, he must have outgrown that one. You have a daughter now, and she looks so much like you. He doesn’t even recognize you at first, and you almost don’t recognize him either. But he’s not here for you. You’ve outgrown him. That doesn’t even matter though, because this isn’t about you.
You live in London and you wait by windows and you think of your mum.
A man in a blue box came for a girl. He took her away from her day to day life. Except you weren’t that girl. You were a woman now. You were a mother. He never takes mothers, he only takes children. You think of your mum. You think of your poor mum. You think of that year and her slapping your Doctor. You think of her bringing you tea and talking about dinner and catching up, and all you could do was pack your bag and run away. You think of a year spent hanging posters and looking for her lost daughter. You think of a truck that said Rescue and Recovery and you think your dad who died saving you might have been beside her that day when she sent you off to find a boy who traveled around in a blue box. You spend nights staring out windows and you think of your mum and you think of the ways a person says I love you. It’s one thing that can never be outgrown.
You live in London and you wait by windows until the day your daughter outgrows boys in blue boxes.
[ooc: this is written as if S4 never happened]
You were born in London to a mum and a dad. Your dad died. Your mum did the best she could. You did the best you could. You filled your life with fish and chips and gymnastics and organizing strikes with choirs. You find ways to make yourself special and you listen to your mum tell you about how special your dad was. You think if you’re that special you might make him proud too, if he was here to see you.
You were born in London and then you became a teenager.
You were born in London and then you became a teenager, so you decided you were too old for certain things. Gymnastics and choir strikes were not for you anymore. Fish and chips were still for you. Your mum liked fish and chips. Mickey liked fish and chips. And you liked Mickey. It was all sweaty palms, pulse racing, stupid insults trying to prove that you don’t care. Stolen kisses and fights and laughing and being more comfortable then you ever knew you could be. You thought you and Mickey were forever.
You were born in London and then you became a teenager and you thought you were in love with Mickey Smith.
You were born in London and then you became a teenager and you thought you were in love with Mickey Smith. But then you met another boy. Not that one, not quite yet. You outgrow things so quickly. Gymnastics and choir strikes and your mum and even Mickey Smith. You still like fish and chips. And now you liked Jimmy Stone. You ran off with Jimmy Stone. He seemed exciting and older and more experienced. Eventually he left you with nothing but £800 in debt. You wondered if things were worth getting your heart broken for, or losing £800.
You were born in London and you were bored and £800 in debt.
You were born in London and you were bored and £800 in debt. Jimmy Stone outgrew you. You thought you had outgrown Mickey. You ran back to him anyway. You thought maybe you could love him like you did at first. You might be able to love him in a new way. You were in denial. You thought you could force yourself to love something the way you once had.
You were born in London and you were bored and living with things you had long since outgrown.
You were born in London and you were bored and living with things you had long since outgrown. And then you met a boy parading around as a man. Yes that one. You had long since outgrown your mum and Mickey. You still liked fish and chips. A boy in a blue box forced you to think these things out loud. He showed you that maybe you still loved gymnastics and organizing strikes, too. Except now it wasn’t choirs, but something concerning time and relative dimensions. You don’t understand it all, but that’s good. It means you can’t outgrow it. You don’t think you could, even if you did begin to understand this all.
You were born in London and you were bored with your life and a boy parading as a man in a blue box took you away from it all.
You were born in London and a you were bored with your life and a boy parading as a man in a blue box took you away from it all. Except you forgot there were people waiting for you. You had outgrown them, but they never outgrew you. You broke their hearts, but they loved you still. Even if you outgrew them, you loved them, too. You didn’t know how to show this to them, but they knew how to show this to you. Your mum, hanging up posters, looking for a lost daughter for almost a year, finally said goodbye. Finally let you run away with that boy. Brought a truck, it said Rescue and Recovery. Mickey was behind the wheel. They loved you so much they were letting you runaway from them. They were sending you back to that man, or boy, or whatever he was. He was stuck somewhere in the middle. They saved you from a life you had outgrown, you saved him from a past he couldn’t run away from. You loved him, too.
You were born in London and you fell in love with a boy (man?) who took you away from a life you had outgrown and showed you a better way of living.
You were born in London and you fell in love with a boy (man?) who took you away from a life you had outgrown and showed you a better way of living. He changed his face, because he could do things like that. He outgrew that face, and now he had a new one. You couldn’t remember the last thing you had outgrown. Mickey and Mum and working in shops, but you had outgrown that a long time ago. But you still loved fish and chips. You thought you loved a man in a jumper and leather jacket. But he wasn’t here anymore. It scared you at first, but you learned how to love this new face in a new way. You think of your mum and Mickey who learned how to love you in new ways, too. You think of Mickey still, who outgrew himself and found a new universe. You thought of your mum and a stupid boy who hurt her feeling. You relearned how to hold hands and hop for your life. You had the universe and women who looked like strange versions of yourself reminding you that things are worth getting your heart broken for, and forever is different with boys who outgrow faces and bodies and personalities. He told you it was forever, and you believed him. He was the one thing you found you couldn’t outgrow.
You were born in London and you died in London and you were given a new life on a strange beach in Norway.
You were born in London and you died in London and you were given a new life on a beach in Norway. You should have seen it coming. The universe and strange women who looked like stranger reflections of yourself had been warning you. You had outgrown common sense because a boy in a blue box showed you common sense was boring and dull and to be ignored at all costs. So you find yourself stranded on a beach in Norway, and he’s burning up a star to say goodbye to you. Faces and stars and years and time are things he outgrows. An entire star, just to say goodbye. You tell him you love him, and he says your name, and then there’s nothing. He’s gone. And you’re here. Back to where you began.
You were born in London and you live in London with a mum and a dad and a boy named Mickey not too far away.
You were born in London and you live in London with a mum and a dad and a boy named Mickey not too far away. You even have a job. It feels like working in a shop at times. You save the world. It fits in well, with gymnastics and strikes and lives lived with boys in blue boxes. You have a trinket and it tells you when the weather changes, and you have to hold onto it, because you refuse to let yourself outgrow the girl you were when you were with him.
You live in London and you work at a shop that defends the Earth and you hold onto trinkets to protect yourself from outgrowing things.
You live in London and you work at a shop that defends the Earth and you hold onto trinkets to protect yourself from outgrowing things. You meet a man. He’s not a boy. He builds things. He’s an architect. You tell yourself he is dull and average and you wish he would just go away. Except you don’t really. You don’t think you’ve ever really known a man before. Eventually you get married and you have children. You have a daughter. She looks like you, it’s what everyone says. You have long since outgrown the trinket, even though you still think about that boy in a blue box. You give it to your daughter to hold onto instead. At least until she outgrows it, too.
You live in London and you defend the Earth and you married a man and now you are someone’s mum.
You live in London and you defend the Earth and you married a man and now you are someone’s mum. You outgrew trinkets from boys in blue boxes. You gave them to your daughter. You still like fish and chips. You grew back into your mum and Mickey and you discovered a man who you sometimes outgrow, but that is all right.
You live in London and you’re a mum and one day you look outside your window and you see a blue box.
You live in London and you’re a mum and one day you look outside your window and you see a blue box. Time doesn’t mean anything to boys. You know this. Your heart still skips a beat. Except he’s not coming for you, is he. His face is different, he must have outgrown that one. You have a daughter now, and she looks so much like you. He doesn’t even recognize you at first, and you almost don’t recognize him either. But he’s not here for you. You’ve outgrown him. That doesn’t even matter though, because this isn’t about you.
You live in London and you wait by windows and you think of your mum.
A man in a blue box came for a girl. He took her away from her day to day life. Except you weren’t that girl. You were a woman now. You were a mother. He never takes mothers, he only takes children. You think of your mum. You think of your poor mum. You think of that year and her slapping your Doctor. You think of her bringing you tea and talking about dinner and catching up, and all you could do was pack your bag and run away. You think of a year spent hanging posters and looking for her lost daughter. You think of a truck that said Rescue and Recovery and you think your dad who died saving you might have been beside her that day when she sent you off to find a boy who traveled around in a blue box. You spend nights staring out windows and you think of your mum and you think of the ways a person says I love you. It’s one thing that can never be outgrown.
You live in London and you wait by windows until the day your daughter outgrows boys in blue boxes.
[ooc: this is written as if S4 never happened]