The Last Seer

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I planted my feet firmly on the ground.

"What're you going to do, freak?" My eyes narrowed at the bully, and I didn't let his taunts or insults effect me, apart from fighting back. He was trying to psyche me out, and it wasn't going to work.

As I curled my hand into a fist, I retorted, "I'm going to send you to the nurse."

He and the crowd laughed. I suppose it was amusing, seeing a petite 5"2' girl threatening a 6 foot soccer player. I smirked. "Funny, huh?" My fist flew out and he deflected it, but there was another thing coming. My right fist, though weaker, landed in his stomach. Hard.

Quickly shaking my hand out, I bounced back from an attack. He could only do one thing at a time, the dunderhead. Just as I raised my arms to block a blow, a shadow passed over me and I looked up. It was another soccer player, except he was facing away from me.

Not many people stood up for me, but when one started in, the rest of the team backed me. They didn't want to form a rep based on one person's behavior.

"Thanks!" I exclaimed, backing away and straightening up.

"What was it this time?" one asked. I didn't really know their names.

I shrugged. "Same old." He was making fun of me for drawing a time machine/spaceship that looked like a 1960's British Police Call box. Nothing out of the ordinary.

"Get home," the one who had stepped in front of me said.

"No argument here." I laughed and grabbed my bag off the ground, jogging around the building to the road that would lead me to the empty house the government didn't know I lived in.

A foster parent, whose name was Amelia Williams, had seen my drawings when I was little and adopted me. But when I tried a few times to run away, she decided that maybe I liked living alone and had gotten a house a block away from her own, where she lived with her husband Rory and several other kids.

It was the happiest day of my life. They provided groceries weekly, paid the electric and water and heat, and I got to be by myself.

I'd made enough money to buy some decorations, so the inside was dressed up in TARDIS blue paint, wall hangings, and lamp shades. The floor was red as the grass of Gallifrey, and a couple walls facing east burned when the morning sun hit them, like they were the two suns.

I'd dreamed up a story when I was very little. The Doctor, a time traveler from the planet Gallifrey. He changed his face sometimes, but it was always him. And I had dreamed about him every night since. Sometimes he was alone, sometimes people were with him.

One night I had a nightmare. The Doctor was crying in his TARDIS, burning up a sun just to say goodbye to a companion of his, someone he dearly loved. I had wanted to comfort him, but I could never move my body in the dreams. I called the nightmare Doomsday.

As I approached the seemingly normal house and stepped into the completely Doctor-TARDIS-Gallifrey'd interior, I took a deep breath and let my bag slip off my shoulder.

On the wall was a drawing, my first drawing of the Doctor. He looked a bit like Einstein; it was after he had taken his TARDIS for the first joy ride of many, and he still wasn't sure how to drive her. His white hair had gotten fuzzed up, and I had laughed myself straight out of the dream.

Beside it was a detailed drawing I had done recently. It was his tenth (eleventh if you count the War Doctor) regeneration, and he looked familiar. Not in the I-dream-about-you-every-night familiar, but the familiar where you knew that you knew them, but the memory was just out of reach.

I fell down onto my bed. It was the one thing that wasn't Doctor-ified, since I couldn't find any comforters that were the right color. It had irritated me beyond belief.

"When are you coming?" I breathed, staring at the ceiling. It was a headshot I'd drawn of him staring at me, glasses and all. "I want to go with you. I wouldn't leave like Martha, or forget like Donna."

I sighed and rolled onto my stomach, which abruptly grumbled. Muttering to myself, I got up and walked down the hall to the kitchen, pulling out fish fingers to heat up in the microwave. There was something about them that was addictive.

Soon, something told me, soon he was coming. I just had to be patient.