Dont mind this, its just a coping mechanism for the fact that I will never meet the Doctor, because you know, he’s fictional.
SUMMARY: Summer finds The Doctor in her closet, asking about a strange signal.
The beautiful rhythm of Lynyrd Skynyrd tugged at my body, pulling it every which way with every beat. I was well aware that my dancing could easily be mistaken for a possession-gone-wrong kind of deal, like a rooky demon had infiltrated my body, but lost its footing and didn’t quite know how to compensate for the sudden influx of weight. A sudden, pulsating sound echoed through my room. I almost didn’t hear it because my belching of the chorus to Simple Man had practically rendered my ears useless. Fortunately for me, I had forgotten what verse it was on, and stopped to listen.
I turned the sound down, but not completely off. Tuesday’s Gone had begun, and I couldn’t butcher a perfect song like that by stopping it right in the middle. Much like good old Scooby Doo sniffed for clues, my ears turned this way and that, sniffing out the origin of the odd noise. I threw open my closet door, confident in my ear-sniffing abilities. Sure enough, I found the source of the sound. At first, I figured I had just gotten up too quickly, and full-on passed out (I’m in really bad shape, get over it) because a faded blue, old-timey, British phone box had suddenly appeared in my closet.
I figured that whether this was a dream or not, I should act quickly, just in case it wasn’t. Better safe than sorry. I figured that if I actually gave myself time to process, I would just pass out (if I hadn’t already), so I got to it. The first thing that came to mind was to attach two of my guitar straps to each other, and tie one end to the closet door handle and the other to my main door handle. This way, the closet door wouldn’t open.
It’s amazing how fast you can do something when you’re in shock. It’s like your main brain is all clogged up, leaving your small brain (others may call it the “subconscious”, and I call those people pricks) free of any main brain stuff that might slow you down. You know like, “Oh, should I tie it this way, or that way?”? (I know the punctuation looks funny, suck it up.) Instead, you just act on auto-pilot.
I finished so quickly, I was sure was a world record for something. The contraption was finished, and I directed my attention the phone booth in my closet. I stood silent for about a minute, waiting. The song had just finished and Free Bird had just come on. From my closet came a strange, British voice saying, “Aw, it’s over. I quite like Tuesday’s Gone. Free Bird is good too, I suppose. A bit mainstream for my liking, but good none the less. Now, where the hell am I?”
After this, both my main brain and my small brain were sufficiently clogged, because I stood there dumbfounded. The knob started to jiggle and budge, but the object behind the voice couldn’t seem to get it open. “Well that’s odd,” the voice said, “nothing a little sonic screw driver can’t fix.”
At this, a weird sound was emitted and I could see the knot untying itself. I turned to run, but realized that by tying the string to the door not only kept the thing in my closet in my closet, but also kept me in my room. I was trapped.
I jumped behind my dresser just in time for the man walking out of my closet to not see me. I bent down to the ground, and practically on the floor, peeped over the side (a quick tip I learned from Psych (what a magnificent show)) (Oh grow up, so I don’t know when to stop using parenthesis. Sue me.)
The man who walked out of my closet had a magnificent hair line, and was wearing a casual kind of suit with a trench coat and a pair of Converse. Proof that Converse literally go with everything.
The man looked at the make-shift lock that was keeping him in, then looked around the room for the author of the piece of work. I quickly receded behind the dresser as he scanned my area of the room, but as he turned his back to me and was facing the wall, I pounced.
Utilizing my skills learned from many years of watching cop shows, I grabbed his wrist, brought it up between his shoulder blades, and pinned him against the wall. All before he could even get out, “Who the-.” I was quite proud of myself. I was still in shock, and everything that had happened in the past sixty seconds had been pure adrenaline, but still, impressed.
“Oye!” he cried, “No need to get handsy.” I opened my mouth to speak, but my adrenalin was flushing out of my system, and I couldn’t get anything out. I could barely move at all.
“I’m the Doctor. I won’t hurt you, pinky promise,” said the man as he raised his pinky. Whether I believed him, or my muscles stopped working from the realization of what was happening, my grip loosened. He slowly turned around, but kept his back on the wall and his hands up. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.”
Everything had settled in, somewhat. A phone booth had appeared in my closet, and man had come out of it. I figured that it would take me at least a week to fully process, so I should just go with it. The man looked at me and lightly said, “I’m the Doctor. What’s your name?”
All I could muster was, “… what the… what the hell?”
“Yes, yes I know this must be hard to process bu-“
“My name,” I said as sternly as I could, although I couldn’t meet his eye, “My name is Summer.”
“Well hello, Summer. As I said, I’m the Doctor. Nice to meet you.” He started to lower his hands and get off of the wall. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.” He gestured to the bed and said, “May I?”
I nodded, and he slowly got off the wall and flopped on my bed. It was odd, and yet impressive, how his steps seemed both careful and spontaneous. “So, uh, Summer, could you please enlighten me as to where I am?”
“Um… Well you’re in my room.”
“More macro, if you don’t mind.”
His face seemed to light up as he said, “Jupiter is it? Haven’t been to Jupiter in ages. Funny, it looks like Earth to me.”
“Good observational skills. This is, in fact, planet Earth.” I retorted.
“Well then why did you say Jupiter?” He asked, then added under his breath, “You really got me excited for a second.”
“You are currently in Jupiter, Florida. Continent: North America, Country: United States.”
“Hm,” he said with a half smile, “That’s a fun name. How did that come about?”
“Communication errors and incorrect Spanish translation.”
“Fun. So, ha, funny question. Uh, what year is it?”
“Year eight hundred and two thousand, seven hundred and one.”
“Really? What are you, a pure pure pure bread?”
“Wait, what?” I asked with a nervous laugh, “No, I was joking. That was the plot to The Time Machine. No, It’s 2015. May I ask why you’re wondering?”
“Never mind that, why did I end up here? My ship picked up some sort of signal, but what?”
“I-I’m sorry, your ship?” I asked.
“I mean your planet doesn’t look like it’s in any immediate danger…”
“I’m sorry, my planet? Like it needs to be specified?”
“I was in, what, Galaxy Gotynic was it? A signal strong enough to travel from Earth across 1,365 galaxies should leave a trace…” he trailed off as he reached into his shirt and pulled out a thin piece of metal with a blue light at the top that made the same noises I heard when the my guitar strap holding the door closed untied itself. He bounced to his feet and followed his pocket-sized orb out of my room and through the hallway.
He walked quickly past the family room into the kitchen but suddenly stopped, and walked backwards back into the family room.
“Um sir?” I asked, following him out.
“Trying to find what the signal came fro- what a magnificent cat you have! May I hold her?”
“I don’t see why not,” I answered.
“I see,” he said, cat in hand, “and what is this collar around her neck?”
“I mean, it’s exactly that: a collar. Why?”
“Because…” he said, removing it, “It’s not just a collar.” He had it in his hands, and was turning it over in the light.
“Okay, you can’t just say something super vague like that and not follow it up with an explanation,” I said.
“Fair enough. This is an alien radio-telepath from the planet Samor.”
“Oh, my apologies. Hundreds of Billions of years ago, Earth wa-”
Just then, a thunder shook through the house as a huge stone was hurtled through the roof. It was about 10 feet in diameter and was a perfect sphere. My ears rung as I stood agape at my new sky-light and debris-ridden kitchen. I looked at myself and brushed off the dust I was now shrouded in, when I realized a sharp pain in my arm. I turned my arm over to find a sharp rock lodged firmly in my bicep and a warm river of blood cascading down my body. The Doctor turned to me and screamed, “Are you okay?!” I looked at the hole in the roof, then at the mega over-sized marble that now lay on my pancaked couch, then to the Doctor, and whispered, “What WAS that?”
“THAT,” he replied, “is very, very bad.”
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