Doctor Who Oneshots

a prompt...

Just a little d r a b b l e for a new story I intend to write. It is also some writing practice and warming up for me, because I've kind of had a block lately.

Enjoy.

~~~

Everything suddenly appears in my sight, and I feel as if I have woken up from a long sleep.

I don't know where I am.

Was I asleep? No. . . was I? Can't have been. I would have dreamed.

I did not dream.

I always dream.

Or do I have nightmares?

I don't know where I am, I think again.

I can't remember what happened before. What am I doing here? I look around to see a dark room. That's it. A dark room. I assume it is a room. But who knows? All I see is blackness.

I don't know where I am! I am frantic now.

Suddenly, I hear a noise.

A footsteps.

"Hello? Who's there?" I try to shout, but my voice is hoarse, and it comes out weak and cracked. I try to stand up, but I realize that I have shackles around my wrists, and they seem to pull me back against a hard, stone wall.

Am I a prisoner?

The footsteps had stopped when I had shouted out, but they continued now.

"Excuse me," my croaked. "Can you tell me what I'm doing here?"

The footsteps stopped again. A few seconds later, a bright light was switched on, practically blinding me until my eyes adjusted. And when they did, I saw that I was in a completely empty, wide white room, going on to the left and right and, as far as I could see, didn't end. Except for me and the silver steel shackles, the room was devoid of anything that you could pinpoint with your eyes: the walls, floor and ceiling were all completely white, without any bit of furniture, texture, nor scratch or smudge. Just smooth, white solidity. I indeed felt like a prisoner.

Especially with the elderly-looking man with the black suit standing in the doorway, keys in hand, staring at me like I was the world's worst creation.

"Excuse me, could you tell me what's," I coughed, my throat unable to handle speaking loudky. "What's going on?"

The man just glared at me with dreading, angry eyes. He made a turn to go, but I called out, not wanting to be left in this eerie room.

"Please!" I shouted as loud as my throat could take. "Where am I? Who are you?" Then I whispeted the question that had not yet occurred to me-

"Who-who am I?"

He had stopped in his turn, and he turned back towards me.

"You are in one of the strongest prison cells in the universe, as you are on one of the strongest ships in the universe." He replied in a strictly-informational voice that sounded vaguely Scottish.

"As for me, I am the Doctor-just the Doctor, nothing else, if that was what you were going to ask." I was in fact going to ask, but I closed my mouth shut, and my mind was reeling.

"And you. . .you are a prisoner. You have caused much destruction, peril, and loss of precious, innocent lives in hundreds of galaxies, on thousands upon thousands of planets. That is all you need to know." His tone had become angry, and his face seemed to tense. "That you deserve to be in your cell."

He walked away quickly, leaving me alone with my thoughts burning and my mind spinning.

Which was a terrible thing, because some memories were returning.

I screamed for this Doctor, but he did not come.

I was alone with the monster that is myself.

~~~

I have to say, I am extremely excited to write this. Like the prisoner, my mind is reeling. Go read my book, which I have decided to make starting with this, called Veni Vidi Vici: A Doctor Who Epic. (That's Latin, people. A dead language, but a brilliant one!)

Thanks for reading!