Streaks of Starlight || Doctor Who [ON HOLD]

The Cornelius Escapades

published: 27/08/21 | words: 3870 | status: unedited

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-ˋˏThe Cornelius Escapadesˎˊ-

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The ground beneath her feet was dry, parched, she would have taken the gander that it hadn't rained in months. She wasn't moving like she wanted to be. She wasn't running away. Not yet anyway. The thought of running away, of escaping, it hadn't been in her mind long, it was only a newly implanted seed.  Her hands were held around her eyes, tunnelling her vision down at her feet. She knew that people were talking around her but she couldn't hear them anymore. Shame fizzed through her like a mento to cola (not that she knew what that was at the time but it was the only example I could think of), she could hear the judgement in their voices, their stares and their actions and it overwhelmed her. Gradually, as much as she wanted it to stop, tears pooled in her eyes blurring her vision but she refused to blink. If she blinked it would only cause their fall to the ground, it would bring more attention to her and she wanted more than anything to get away, to stop being perceived. A tear fell anyway, followed by another and another. Her shame was climbing. She wasn't ashamed of crying, just that it was in front of them. She always felt a sense of shame around them, something in the way they looked at her. The way the spoke to her. The way they spoke about her.

Something about the ground changed as she watched her shameful tears fall. It was still parched, yes, but there were dark shadows woven into it, ones not made by her tears. She couldn't hear their voices anymore but she didn't remember them moving away. Curiosity allowed her to glance up and that was when the noise kicked in. Screaming. Children were yelling and kicking as they were dragged away from the mayhem by concerned parents. Or just strangers who had found the children and taken pity. She had no way of knowing. The stains on the ground, shadows of lives now lost, haunted her for as longer than they could have ever stayed. Which wasn't very long as an orange fire consumed the land, blending with the orange sky, where ships hung in the exact way that bricks don't.

Across from her was a small child, whom was looking at her with wide eyes. Looking wildly for an adult for the child and drawing a blank, she took her first steps towards the child.

Too late. She'd heard the screams as horrific things happened. To a child.

Lyra launched up from where she had been lying on her bed. Her breathes were heavy as she desperately blinked away the orange hue of fire from her eyesight. On the floor opposite her bed were her boots. They weren't together at all, nor up right, and, if she remembered correctly, she'd definitely thrown one, if not both, of the shoes. She leaned forwards crawling up the bed, gripping to the bed frame as she gazed down at the ground.

Ah. She had thrown a shoe. At a plant pot. Shards of pottery were littered across the ground like malicious blades of grass waiting to slice feet and hands alike. Soil was also scattered about in clumps, the largest of which was held together by the interwoven roots of a single lily. The fairly strong stem of the previously blossoming flower was snapped at about half way, leaving it dangling over the edge, a moment from being detached entirely.  

Lyra sighed as she swung her legs over the end of her bed, avoiding the pottery and standing carefully on the floor. Maybe she had over reacted a bit. But maybe she didn't. No one had told her the right way to react. Was there a right way to react? She supposed it would have been better to have let him explain himself but if she was being honest she didn't want to hear it. It pained her, it all did. On one breath she wanted to be fine with this, after all she hadn't been there in ages and, in fact, she'd chosen to leave and not to return a long while ago. And it wasn't like he'd wanted to do it. Lyra looked at all the pieces of pottery she'd picked up and glanced between the bin and her desk. In the next breath she was angry. Angry that she wasn't there. Angry that she'd done nothing. Angry that she'd never even said goodbye. Angry that it was all gone, everything she'd ever had, or that's what she thought. Her Willow: gone. Her relatives: gone. Her friends: gone. She wasn't a good friend anyway. Or a child, or a council member, or a student, or an asset, or a loved one. She'd chosen to leave it all behind. Was any of this the Doctor's fault specifically? Probably not, but she was angry and he was there.