Useless Drabbles
Two Doctor Who/Torchwood Drabbles I wrote in Japan, ages ago, when I was really, really bored.
These are even worse than my usual works, and the English might not make too much sense at times.
1. Jack, Torchwood and the Hand, to the promt 'Cold'.
“Aren’t you cold?”, Gwen asks one day when they are stomping though a stormy winter night and Jack’s coat is flapping around him in the icy wind, and he only says “No”, because that’s the truth. He doesn’t feel the cold like he used to, anymore, not since. Maybe it’s got something to do with the way his body’s been changed, every cell so full of life, too much of it. He considers it, briefly, during a long night he’s spend in the morgue without so much as getting clam fingers, but usually it isn’t something he much bothers thinking about. It just is.
(Maybe something in him just decided to no longer notice the cold, because he knows it can’t hurt him anymore.)
Still, he remembers, all the time, the day she broke the jar and he held the hand in his, feeling the icy cold liquid running over his finger, while the other fingers, the alien ones, twitched ever so slightly (and he likes to think that this moment, lying in his, the hand moved stronger than ever), and from time to time he touches the glass of the jar, the coldness seeping through from the inside, and shivers.
2. Rose on parallel Earth, to the promt 'Melody'.
Rose still, in a way, remembered the song of the TARDIS, the song it sang to her when she looked into its heart that day. Everything after that is gone, not a trace left in her mind, until she woke up inside and everything was about to change, but the song was constantly with her, always at the edge of her awareness. It fled her, whenever she tried to grasp it, slippery, just the shadow of a memory. Always there but not really, like the lines of a poem you knew long ago but can’t quiet remember, even though you should. (But then again, the song hadn’t been meant for her after all, not really.)
Rose had never had a liking for poetry.
It drove her insane, but still she clung to it, refused to let go of this not-quiet-memory, just like it refused to let go of her. Everyday she got up, went to work, got home, repeated the process the next day, ate chips in the shop at the corner (sometimes Mickey ate with her and they spend the evening running from the things they both wanted to say), went to the movies, lead an ordinary life. The days blurred into one as the years went by, and there was happiness as well, and joy, and new memories to be treasured. Yet, they were plain and pale, because she couldn’t (and wouldn’t) stop comparing them to the oh-so-short time of her life when she was nineteen and in love (with the universe, but not only) and she needed so long, so very, very long to accept the fact that it was over and would never, never ever return.
Rose Tyler kept dreaming of the stars every night for the rest of her life.
These are even worse than my usual works, and the English might not make too much sense at times.
1. Jack, Torchwood and the Hand, to the promt 'Cold'.
“Aren’t you cold?”, Gwen asks one day when they are stomping though a stormy winter night and Jack’s coat is flapping around him in the icy wind, and he only says “No”, because that’s the truth. He doesn’t feel the cold like he used to, anymore, not since. Maybe it’s got something to do with the way his body’s been changed, every cell so full of life, too much of it. He considers it, briefly, during a long night he’s spend in the morgue without so much as getting clam fingers, but usually it isn’t something he much bothers thinking about. It just is.
(Maybe something in him just decided to no longer notice the cold, because he knows it can’t hurt him anymore.)
Still, he remembers, all the time, the day she broke the jar and he held the hand in his, feeling the icy cold liquid running over his finger, while the other fingers, the alien ones, twitched ever so slightly (and he likes to think that this moment, lying in his, the hand moved stronger than ever), and from time to time he touches the glass of the jar, the coldness seeping through from the inside, and shivers.
2. Rose on parallel Earth, to the promt 'Melody'.
Rose still, in a way, remembered the song of the TARDIS, the song it sang to her when she looked into its heart that day. Everything after that is gone, not a trace left in her mind, until she woke up inside and everything was about to change, but the song was constantly with her, always at the edge of her awareness. It fled her, whenever she tried to grasp it, slippery, just the shadow of a memory. Always there but not really, like the lines of a poem you knew long ago but can’t quiet remember, even though you should. (But then again, the song hadn’t been meant for her after all, not really.)
Rose had never had a liking for poetry.
It drove her insane, but still she clung to it, refused to let go of this not-quiet-memory, just like it refused to let go of her. Everyday she got up, went to work, got home, repeated the process the next day, ate chips in the shop at the corner (sometimes Mickey ate with her and they spend the evening running from the things they both wanted to say), went to the movies, lead an ordinary life. The days blurred into one as the years went by, and there was happiness as well, and joy, and new memories to be treasured. Yet, they were plain and pale, because she couldn’t (and wouldn’t) stop comparing them to the oh-so-short time of her life when she was nineteen and in love (with the universe, but not only) and she needed so long, so very, very long to accept the fact that it was over and would never, never ever return.
Rose Tyler kept dreaming of the stars every night for the rest of her life.