The Girl of Time (Doctor Who Fan-fiction)

Chapter 49

Hey Brielle.

Or should I say Me-elle.

Ha.

Sorry, I'll stop now.

But anyways, we need to talk about you, you naughty girl.

I told you not to ask the Doctor questions, and yet you completely threw all orders out the window because what, you were getting antsy?

Not cool, alright?

I know it's hard, but you need to grow up (I mean...mentally. Not much you can do about the physical part. I'm afraid you're stuck with the way you look...forever. Sorry...)

Because listen, after I had gotten away from...that place, I more or less completely wasted my second chance at life.

I'm hoping third time's the charm.

But if you go snooping into things that you shouldn't be, that's going to be a real problem.

So I'm asking you, begging you - again - to walk away from it all. At least for now.

Okay? Shush. Go do something dangerous, go have fun.

Talk later,

You

~🌺~

"Listen. Up." I growl at my enemy, "I don't know who you are, but I've dealt with your kind before. I know all your weaknesses, and I know exactly how to stop you." I raise my arms, revealing my weapon.

"I don't know how you found me," I continue,"or how you managed to locate my home, but I'll give you one chance. Leave now, or I swear, I will rain wrath down on you and your entire family. What's left of your kind will tell stories about the idiot who provoked the beast, unless you stand down."

The squirrel blinks at me curiously, scratching at his face. He tilts his head slightly as if bidding farewell, then scurries out the door and out of sight. "Good choice," I mutter, leaning my broom against the wall. I shut the patio door, making sure to close it completely this time.

"Ugh," I sigh, slouching onto my couch. My eyes glide to the neatly stacked pile of aged papers on the edge of my coffee table.

These past few weeks my journal has been nothing more than a mess in my living room. The amount of information that past-me has been supplying me is minuscule. All she ever does now is yell at me in her creepy, melodramatic way.

This waiting thing is much harder than I thought.

I haven't left my house in weeks. There is not a single part of me that wants to do anything. I have no motivation.

Not a good combination when I'm supposed to live up to my past title of "warrior of the cosmos" or whatever they were calling me.

I look up and survey the ceiling, taking note of the browning water stains. If I don't get those fixed one of these days, the ceiling is going to come crashing down on me. I should probably start working on repairing it.

Or not.

A strange vibration causes the table to shake and it takes me ten entire seconds before I realize it's my phone ringing. I glance down on it, looking at an unknown number.