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Labor Day Distraction

September 2, 2014

“I was debating a couple Jehovah Witnesses yesterday and I challenged them for proof God has answered their prayers. After minutes of vague, emotional replies, one replied, ‘It was hot earlier today, now it’s cool.'”

“I thought, well, of course, science. I almost told the two, ‘Look at the forecast on the Web and you will plainly see your fallacy.'”

“Instead, I said, ‘That’s one answered prayer; a miracle.’ And I grin.”

“‘How do you know the god you’re thinking about is responsible? You gave me one miracle. Is that all He does, air conditioning? You know, the Greeks saw that happening a lot. All their gods each had only one thing to do. Maybe it’s one of them.'”

“One objected, held up the Good Book and said, ‘Nuh*, the Bible…'”

“I said, ‘That’s like a plagiarized edition of Aesop’s Fables.'”

“The ladies walked away.”

* The actual noise she made.

 

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The Sermon On Squirrels

August 29, 2014

The Sermon On Squirrels
Mr. Binger

“I remember the year after Wisconsin became a permanent Republican stronghold. America’s Dairyland had always been a conservative state. “It’s full of cheap Swiss,” expatriate citizens often say.

“These same people then grow old and have delusional hankerings to roll back time. They get desperate before they die. They come home to the North and dream to freeze the date to nineteen eighty-three – before Big Brother, who is the true Satan, introduced the sinful World-Wide-Web to worldwide sinners. It was the year good folk stopped coming to church.”

“Before then, a rash of Democrats occupied the county houses and State house. These godless souls destined for Hell had been negligent and they allowed evil to saturate the countryside. So when our anointed Representatives were elected into office and seized control, they necessarily instituted decency laws.”

“Nudity was not allowed in parks, whether the public spaces were owned by cities or the State itself. But disenfranchised Liberals demanded the bill be specific. Politicians employed lawyers and every detail was defined. The law was passed with one hundred percent of votes.”

“Specifically, male and female reproductive organs were to be completely covered. The anus was also to stay unseen. A clothe or paper patch no bigger than a quarter adequately met the condition. But then there remained the distressing vision of people’s butts – their buttocks, their corn-overly-fed buns. These shined in glossy white and red pairs throughout the summer.”

“By Fall, outraged radical conservatives engineered a way to broaden the law. They found a means of forcing everyone to cover themselves more completely. These people claimed. ‘The law applies to animals, too.’”

“’The government paid lawyers to write the bill,’ grassroots campaigns and lobbyists declared. ‘There is no language that says the law pertains only to human beings.’”

“’The issue went all the way to the Head of State,’ they said. ‘The governor recognized the documented will of every elected official. Not one member of Congress went on record saying, ‘Nay.””

“The problem became how to dress animals. Those kept on farms were okay being naked. There was no issue with what happened in private. And if any nude creature stayed hidden in the woods, that was not a problem either.”

“Squirrels presented the dilemma. They were everywhere. Old folks often fed cheese to them. Longhorn Colby was popular, and so much had made the naked tree-rats virile. There were so many, so activists decided, ‘We’ll make them pants.’”

“Their thinking went like, ‘If the only way animals can obey the law is to wear pants, everybody will wear pants. Let’s give them pants, for charity. It will be the thing to do, because why not? Nobody wants to break the law on purpose, except Democrats.’”

“They had to do something – cops never arrested the animals nor tossed them into jail. Every fine issued to the creatures went unpaid. Midwestern cities were losing the only new revenue available to the municipalities.”

“After school before Halloween, kids joined the effort. They and their parents chased and dressed unabashed squirrels in colorful bell-bottom trousers. The crazed campaign went a week before someone got bit.”

“After the matter, scientists found all that cheese Wisconsin squirrels were eating affected their DNA. The bushy rodents weren’t only acting frisky, they were passing on their mutated genes. The transfer was as simply practical as a blood-borne infection introduced through a bite.”

“The transmission was so effective, human beings were infected with the mutation, too. A lot of people who were bitten, quite a few Christian folks, they changed into squirrels. They became fuzzy comparisons to themselves, everyone growing a tail. All the pairs of pants they owned no longer fit.”

“The squirrel-people were the same height they were when they were regular people, their waistlines neither shrank or grew, but they had nowhere to put their tails – these always longer than their poor hosts were tall.”

“When some went naked into communities, law-abiding conservatives screamed, ‘You have to wear pants. The law still applies to you.’”

“’How,’ inquired talking squirrel-people. ‘We are neither people nor squirrels. We are a species in-between. Where does it say specifically the law applies to us?’”

“We came into existence after the legislature,” clarified a monster who was yet a lawyer. “I believe we are a special consideration.”

“Other mutants said in secret, ‘We will escape society and live in trees.’”

“And there is the Midwest today. America’s Dairyland is where everyone wears pants except where mutants live in trees. Older cheese-eaters there in Wisconsin are dying off, muffling an aggregate conservative voice. And so indecent Liberal hating-God-speech gets louder.”

“Soon, naked animals will have run of of the Capitol Dome in rodent-infested Madison. All year and not just homecoming, the rally is heard, “Liberty, Longhorn Colby Squirrels! Vida Cheddar.” Squirrel-people bark the expression with religious zeal. They do so as they crawl through people’s yards on Sundays looking for acorns.”

 

-End

Want more surreal politics and horror, well then come and read my stories – The Strange Apocrypha of Mr. Binger at Smashwords

 

 

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A Clandestine Review of Doctor Who S08E04 Listen

August 25, 2014

A review of a future episode of Doctor Who sounds fitting, doesn’t it? And like the Doctor himself, that feat is accomplished through clever daring…

It’s so bad I had say something about it!

I admit I’ve been watching the leaked season 8 episodes of Doctor Who. Peter Capaldi excels at being the Doctor but his companions just don’t make for interesting characters – I know, I was critical about this throughout Season 6 and 7. The fault hasn’t been actors who can’t pull their weight, but the scripts or the direction or even the too-much post-production work, it all makes holes in the boat, er, TARDIS.

Even so, I am a fan and I struggle on. I gritted my teeth with episodes of the classic Doctor Who after Tom Baker passed his key to Peter Davison. My dedicated agony persisted until the end in 1986. Then after the crappy millennial movie, I was sure the Time Lord was dead. That was until 2005 when Christopher Eccleston gave the BBC sci-fi serial new life.

The series regeneration was going well. Every episode since 2005 had at least surpassed the mechanics of the classic years (except when those scripts were written by enviable Douglas Adams). I have at minimum been satisfied with the stories. This after the needling shortcomings of the previous couple years. Oh, I had such high hopes for Matt Smith’s potential as an iconic figure…

Now after seeing “Listen,” the fourth episode in season 8 of Doctor Who, I feel I’ve been kicked in the teeth. I won’t spoil a thing, well maybe you’ll read I repeat what more popular reviewers have said online. Regardless, my opinion in summary is anyone could have been the Doctor’s companion in this episode. Indeed, the whole season.

Hey, Moffat, what makes a character likable, memorable, is what he or she brings to the tale. Yes, Clara is making choices and revealing more of her tedious, hodgepodge of a back story but viewers don’t care about her. They never have and that is the problem. She is too late to show.

You know who would have been a perfect companion for this disjointed drama is Riversong. Riversong should have said the same things Clara said. And if Clara absolutely had to be in the episode, she might have overheard the Doctor’s future wife give him those encouraging words. Those are Riversong words and they would have given the woman enormous dimension. It falls flat on Clara. Pff – was that something she overheard a better someone say? Such a paradox.

Her story aside, we also experience the convoluted life of Danny Pink in “Listen.” Honestly, I had a preconception already – based on what I’ve read online – Danny would be another Vislor Turlough – Gad, I hated that character. Him being a ginger may have had a little to do with that ;). Or not, I’m glad him and Adric never spun off together on their own show. I envision, here, a real shitty rebirth of the 1960’s The Time Tunnel.

Matching my biased projection after all, Danny Pink looks as happy to be here as we are to meet him. I instantly hear the miserable echo of how we started with Clara – and she goes on a date with this guy? I suppose it makes sense, like attracts like.

Well, I fear my complaining says too much. This was something I had to express. I didn’t want to give anything away. What I can say about Danny Pink in season 8 is he better work harder to make us care if he survive what all time and space can toss at him. He needs help already just doing salvage on himself.

PS, I wrote my own story for Clara. Well, it’s more for the actress Jenna-Louise Coleman. She needs a new role. It’s called “Clara is Dead! Long Live Clara!” and it’s free at Smashwords.

 

 

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The ISIS Messiah

August 24, 2014

Imagine a turbulent time like now in the Middle East but in 66 AD…

(Or if you pagans and Wiccans are worth your talismans and know your seasons, can we call this the Arab Spring?)

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The Primitive Reason To Keep Your Chin Up

August 21, 2014

I will say it simply. According to the pagan roots of Christianity, the Apocalypse happens everyday. The Book of Revelations happens daily. It’s an element of the Christ myth theory, one that claims Jesus never existed. Mostly anonymous authors cobbled together myths in order to construct a majestic figurehead – a Jewish messiah become savior to all mankind after a Jerusalem Temple is rebuilt a third time – because three is a charm. He, the aforesaid Living Lord, was the son of some god. He assumed the providence and the identity of the rising and dying sun itself. A fellow named Saul tweaked and took that nonsense throughout the Roman empire until when hundreds of years later Constantine discovered the slave-class religion was suitable to his nascent fascist barbarism.

The Emperor agreed with the suspected Antichrist Paul the Apostle, then got Christ a little confused with a Persian devil called Mithra, and eventually installed Christianity as a religion of the remnants of Rome. See, by then, after 300 AD, heretical rebels, barbarians and insane despots were eating the Empire alive. Even at that date, it was actually Theodosius who established the vaguely monogamist faith as official nearly a hundred years later.

The idea that Jesus Christ is all mythology is old. A German historian with the name Bruno Bauer made the argument in the 1800s. Freethinking bloggers today all over the world address its tenants and veracity ad nauseam. I wanted to overstep that refuse and only reiterate the Christian dying-and-rising god reflects a core pagan principle whether that Son of Man ever existed or not. As I told you, beloved reader, Jesus is the sun.

He is like Horus, the son of a slain god, who takes his chariot across the sky everyday. Jesus is like the ancient Egyptian god Horus, born of Osiris whose brother is the evil Set. The names of these pagan gods change everywhere they are spoken about – in Classical Greece they became Apollo and Zeus. The jealous god of the Underworld was named Charon. In archaic Canaan, their names were Baal, El and Mot. And in Christianity this day, they boil down to the convoluted Trinity and the devil, because evil had to be removed from the omnipotent being of the Old Testament. The Lord was purportedly all alone before his Son was born, Him with Creation and all the trouble he let unleashed upon innocent creatures.

But before the world became absolutely Byzantine, and characters in favorite tales retold in verse and made more captivating ad libitum, people were concerned only with the basics, the Basic Elements of Life. Survival as critical for these Stone Age desert nomads. They watched the sky and saw the sun. Someone said it watches everyone back and its radiance brought life. Without the sun there was darkness and death.

Primitive people witnessed the recurring event for themselves, the sun was born every morning and died each evening. But, “How could this be?” they asked themselves only because they thought of nothing else. “Who does this?”

“Evil slays the sun at night,” figured the prestigious astute. Day and night were evident. It followed, good and evil became synonymous with the extremes. Then is when every apparent duality earned a name. The god of night and evil killed the one of day and good. And because the god of good was a god, he was born again everyday. Eventually, when the attention of children began to wane, the tale was changed. A war was declared. Worldwide armies were mustered to kill the light. He was made a sacrifice. But a god who returns to life always prevails. This is the memory of Jesus we are given this age. And, alas, we have forgotten the sun. Popes have lived who mandated believers must look away from the day.

 

- Matthew Sawyer -

 

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A Man Who Does Not Care

August 21, 2014

 

The man is not insensitive,

The exact opposite.

He just does not care.

One day I warned him,

“I saw a spider go into your ear.”

He said, “There are three.”

“There are three of them in there.”

“Two are standing up,”

“Each on six”

“Of its own legs.”

 

- Mr. Binger

 

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Clara is Dead! Long Live Clara! – Doctor Who fan fiction

August 19, 2014

 Clara is Dead! Long Live Clara!

I like Jenna-Louise Coleman. I think her acting in the BBC television series Doctor Who is worthwhile Sci-Fi. But honestly, her character, Clara Oswin, sucks. Steven Moffat never really developed a good backstory for the character. And with season eight of the 2005 reboot of the languishing program soon airing worldwide, it is obvious the man stopped trying. So be it. One has to let eggs drop so that more might be saved. Alas, I believe the actress herself is worth salvage. Give Ms. Coleman a new role on the show, I propose. Bring back a favorite face, I dare say. I mean a rewarding character. I elect Romanadvoratrelundar, the Time Lady from Gallifrey. Jenna rejoins Peter Capaldi on Doctor Who in this exciting new role.

Clara is Dead! Long Live Clara! is a fictional story. Doctor Who and the characters in this story are properties of Doctor Who. I submit this tale as a fan for fans of the Doctor Who television series.

Clara is Dead! Long Live Clara! by Matthew Sawyer is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. Please contact the author for permissions beyond the scope of this license.

 

Clara is Dead! Long Live Clara!

Matthew Sawyer

 

Clara Oswin has no idea why she stays around. The Doctor is a maniac. He was more considerate when he was a different man. “When he wasn’t so old,” she deliberately thinks.

“Oh,” the Doctor’s companion tells herself aloud. “He’s the same Time Lord. His face has changed….”

The Tardis is jolted and the young woman grabs a safety rail inside the console room. She is then prompt and complains. “And his whole personality, that’s all.”

The perturbed young lady tells the Doctor on the other side of the console, “You were more considerate before. A gentleman. Slow down. Let me rest if you’re not tired.”

“I’m never tired,” the Doctor declares and he flips levers on the carousel control board. His time and space ship straightens itself upright.

“I remember,” he shouts and presses a single button repeatedly. “An old friend.”

The incredible machine groans and everyone knows it is about to materialize. Clara grumbles. “Oh, where are we now?”

“Home,” he answers. “My home, Gallifrey.”

“Oh,” Clara chirps suddenly chipper. “Is your friend here?”

She strolls around the console while the Doctor remains hunched and attached to its switches and dials. The young woman teases the fixed pilot. “Why else come home?”

The Doctor sounds sarcastic when he tells her, “I don’t know. It’s been about six hundred years since I’ve seen her last and I guess sometimes I wonder how she is getting on.”

“What’s her name?” Clara asks and bites her lower lip.

“Romana.”

“I’d like to see her.”

“You will,” he replies in a raised voice. “Get out. Take a look – there’s a light flashing on the console.”

Clara stops mid-step toward the time machine’s exit door. “What is it?”

“Parking authority,” he scoffs. “Evidently, I can’t park here. I’ve got to go somewhere else.”

The Doctor’s female companion stays paused near the door. “I’ll come with you.”

“No,” demands the Time Lord. “Get out. Go. Clear your head.”

The advice resonates with Clara. His precise phrases make her paranoid, but the errant school teacher has felt so about him since she first met the genius alien. He periodically makes her uneasy. And she feels as if he can read her mind.

“I will,” Clara answers the Doctor. “If it’s okay with you.”

“Go, get out, look around. I’ll be right back. I’ll meet you here.”

She cracks wise. “When?”

“Eh…”

The moment she opens the exit door, shouts come in from outside. “Take this junk to the shipyard or we’ll ship it to the junkyard. You can’t bring it here, take it to the spatially-bound staging lots.”

The Tardis dematerializes leaving Clara alone outside the time machine. The abandoned companion sees she’s been left in a strange cathedral, a wild exaggeration with an impossibly high ceiling. The enormous walls appear made of balsa slats and paper panes – like those found in medieval Japanese noble homes.

Silly soldiers dressed in shining and ornate plastic armor tinted red come and meet Clara Oswin here in this spacious antechamber. She tells the dispatch there with their crystal pistols, “I’m with someone. He’s coming back.”

“Is he?” an ancient woman asks her. The question is sincere.

“Sure,” Clara affirms for her own good. “The Doctor has to park the Tardis. That’s his name, the Doctor.”

She mumbles, “It’s still him,” then says aloud, “He’s meeting me here.”

“Clara?” asks the older woman while she approaches the young companion.

Clara wonders, “How did you know?”

She remembers her suspicion about the Doctor and she assumes everyone of his race all have telepathy. He does read her mind, he has the whole time. Her human brain is stuck contemplating how she can cope being someplace where everyone knows her thoughts. Clara stands chewing her lower lip and knitting her brow until the other woman interrupts her morass.

“I’m Romana.”

“Oh.” Clara wipes her hands before taking that of the hostess. “I am Clara Oswin. I haven’t actually known him that long – the Doctor that is.”

“Well, you have,” Romana tells her. The mysterious deepens when she says, “But that is another story.”

“I’ve known the Doctor for centuries,” the worn Time Lady informs the ripe companion. “I was assigned to keep an eye on him.”

“Oh,” Clara states unsurprised.

Romana clarifies, “He was in a different reincarnation…”

“I know how that goes,” Clara blurts.

Romana finishes. “A long time ago.”

The companion promises the old companion and nanny, “You won’t recognize him now. He’s regenerated again.”

“I know,” Romana tells Clara. “It was big news on Gallifrey, unprecedented. The Doctor had been so wasteful with his lives.”

“That hasn’t changed,” Clara gripes. She talks about herself. Inside, she admits she has witnessed his tremendous sacrifices. The man was a hero and she feels guilty about her distrusting him.

“Thank you, Clara,” Romana tells the human. “Time Lords live so long, we forgot how precious life is. You helped the council remember how appreciation feels. Your words were a gift to awaken the dead.”

“Thanks?” Clara wonders.

“Let’s go to Borusa’s old office,” Romana suggests. “I’m about to have it remodeled but mine has just been started. I was going to take the day off, but by now you probably know about Time Lords. We are a restless bunch – that’s why there are laws against our intervention. I had to stay busy.”

Clara agrees with as much as she is able to relate with. “You’re telling me. Whew.”

Romana’s red escort marches away while the two women walk the opposite direction. The Time Lady leads the way by one step ahead of the unattended companion.

“Who?” Clara also inquires. “Borusa?”

“He was the Doctor’s former teacher. The man walked a controversial path, like everyone our mutual friend knows.”

“Mine is pretty straight,” opines the human woman. “I think.”

“Examine your company,” Romana reminds her.

“I’m not judgmental,” Clara assures herself aloud.

“Come to think of it, I believe I’ve met you before,” Romana tells the other woman nonchalant while she pushes open a pair of great leaden doors. A bomb then explodes from inside the room behind the loose slag-marked slabs. Both Clara and Romana die when the tiny women are crushed.

Romana then awakes with a new face. Indeed, her whole body has changed. She is a new woman with the same name. The Time Lady is proud because the fact. She praises a planet as she gets up and on her feet. “Thank you, Karn.”

Appreciation for the Sisterhood’s Art swells both of Romana’s hearts. Regeneration is erratic without the knowledge of their spiritual methods and practice. Without their help, she would have been confused. Their miraculous elixir would have been ideal but the Time Lady was reborn into the form she visualized. Romana had seen another hero while she floated in her lucid dream of death.

The Doctor then finally arrives one more time.

“Clara,” he shouts. “What happened? You look all right. Dirty, but yeah-uh…”

“Thank you for noticing,” Romana responds. “Uh-hem, it’s nice to see you too.”

“Is someone dead?” the Doctor yells. The Time Lord drags his foot against the ceramic while red armored soldiers come and investigate the explosion from Borusa’s old office. More red comes scraped from the sole of his boot.

“Yes,” Romana reports. “I was telling your companion about the disease we Time Lords suffer because we live so long over and over again. Our apathy.”

The Doctor mentions, “It’s because of all your rules.”

A pall then falls over the Doctor’s anxious expression. “What?”

Romana mentions, “I’m sorry, Doctor. Clara is dead.”

“No,” he groans. No one is certain what the man denies.

He implies a thousand questions when he asks the air, “Who?”

“I’m Romana,” she tells him. “I was here when she was killed. We both were – I lost a life.”

“Sabotage, my lady,” a soldier tells the Time Lady before he goes back to investigating.

Romana and the Doctor face each other widemouthed and overhear another soldier identify, “Sontaran.”

“You look different,” she mentions to him out of hand before the Doctor shouts, “I wasn’t here. I didn’t see this, I can fix this.”

“Doctor,” Romana begs. She follows him when he spins around and runs the length of the Citadel cathedral. She shouts while she pursues her longtime friend. “I think I know what you’re doing. Your sense of boundaries got you in trouble during your last set of regenerations, don’t waste your new lives.”

“It’s what I do,” he yells when they arrive together at his Tardis. “I save people.”

His new self and the newer Romana jump into the time machine, which then disappears. The sound the Tardis makes as it vanishes is especially tedious this trip. Its noise is even more tired when the machine reappears nowhere else except back a small hop in time. Although, from a perspective inside the Tardis, that same time is frozen. It’s stopped in the past.

The Doctor and Romana save minutes while an impromptu, prolonged discussion first interrupts then delays Clara’s impractical rescue. The Time Lord is angry. He shouts at the fresh disguise of his old companion. “Why her? Why would you look like her?

The Doctor then immediately apologizes as he always has. “What I mean is…”

“It’s terribly swell to see you again, Romana. You’re one of my favorite people. I’m happy for your change, but you look like her because Clara died. How can you do that? Change back.”

“I came back to Gallifrey just to see your face. Wash-up, for goodness sake. You’re covered in ash. And is that a scab of blood?”

“Thank you, Doctor, but no,” she tells him. “I looked like I was about to topple over. Clara was a pretty girl – and fit. You’ve always like the athletics ones.”

“You did this last time,” he grumbles. A critical point then occurs to the Doctor. He reminds Romana, “Hey, they were people, human beings,”

“They weren’t Time Lords,” she retorts.

The Doctor argues. “They were still important.”

Romana confesses, “Clara still is a hero to the people of Gallifrey.”

“So you take her face?” he snorts.

“Why not? She’s been fashionable all year.”

“I think all of you have confused memorial for fashion,” the Doctor judges. “I’m happy I don’t stay here.”

“Perhaps,” concludes Romana. Her changing the topic is abrupt. “Doctor, the officer said it was the Sontarans.”

Happy the conversation now moves at a speed he is accustomed with, the Doctor replies, “I heard.”

Resentment deep in her belly compels Romana to elaborate. “They invaded our home planet after you were made president.”

“That was hardly my fault.”

“You abdicated your position after you vanished and didn’t come back.”

The Doctor argues, “I came back.”

“You were summoned, again.”

“Humph.”

He is grumpy, but his old companion has heard him act this way before and most of the time. She ignores his mood – one she knows he probably pretends – and Romana reminds him, “I think they hid a bomb in Borusa’s office when you on Gallifrey with that jungle girl. I saw the recordings in the Matrix.”

The Doctor grins. “Yes, Leela. Show some respect.”

He suddenly acts outraged. “Is that what this is all about?”

“You threw her into the wastelands.”

“For her own good.”

“Listen, Doctor,” Romana commands. “How far back in time have we come? Do you have a plan?”

“Do you?” he asks her, embarrassingly open to ideas. “I remember when Commander Stor had access to Borusa’s room. We’re here then.”

“That was an awfully long time ago.”

“I know.”

Romana calculates, “I think the bomb was set to go off when a sensor detected your DNA.”

“You think?” the Doctor answers as if he casts blame. “What about Clara? She’s the one who is dead.”

The Time Lady stays calm. “Obviously, a little of you had worn off on the girl.”

The Doctor is humbled and he states, “Right.”

Fiddling with controls on the Tardis console, he tells Romana, “I suppose that’s the reason I didn’t come back on my free will; mysterious forces, hooey and all. Let’s not talk about it and let’s just rescue the girl.”

“Are you going to stop him, Commander Stor?” she wonders. “Aren’t you worried about causing a Paradox? I won’t look like this.”

“Good,” he replies.

“Time starts over when you open the Tardis door. You don’t want to do anything bad.”

His tone is firm when he tells Romana, “Paradox? Nooo…”

“Doctor…”

He stomps his foot. “Someone I know died.”

Romana never relents. “Well, what are you going to do?”

The Doctor blows air up his nostril. “Well, considering the time…”

“Don’t be fallacious.”

“I’m not that,” he replies radiant with mischief.

“You haven’t changed, Doctor,” Romana grants the man. “You never will.”

She looks at herself. “Wait, I suppose Clara brought some of her clothes on board. I assume she came with you in the Tardis. Let me change before we go outside.”

The Doctor frowns, points down an unfamiliar hallway and says nothing. Romana does not try to understand and she goes the way her old friend has directed.

“Good,” he eventually says after she has left the console room. The Doctor shouts, “Put on someone uglier.”

“What do you mean?” Romana calls from anywhere in the bowels or rafters of the time machine.

The Time Lord waves his hand from where he pauses near the exit of his marvelous spacecraft. “Pff.”

Once he never verbalizes his expression, Romana asks the Doctor from outside the room, “Do you want me to bring you a tie? I noticed you weren’t wearing one.”

“No,” he yells.

She informs no one when she ponders aloud, “I’m not going outside. I don’t want to meet myself. I am sure I was in the Citadel the day of your coronation.”

The Time Lady walks back into the console room wearing a blue summer dress. Her pale thighs are largely exposed and tinted cool shades reflected off the borrowed garment. “How do I look?”

She asks nobody. The Doctor had left Romana alone in the Tardis with no one to talk with. She now stomps her red sandshoe and searches for a clue as to what her old friend is up to now.

“Oh,” she complains. “He’s moved everything around, like I didn’t expect that. They’ll all be different tomorrow.”

“Darn him.”

The same time she curses, Romana finds an external monitor. The Doctor had steered the flat screen’s vista toward vestibules run from the big antechamber. Borusa’s old office is located there. Watching for her friend, Romana notices the decoration.

“Wait,” she desperately mentally projects to the Doctor. She can’t know if he receives her message only because they’ve been separated so long.

Nevertheless, she thinks loud. “Look at the ornaments, Doctor. Look out a window. We landed on the wrong coordinates. We never went back in time.”

She criticizes his shadow when it appears on the view screen. “You’re no better at flying the Tardis than I remember.”

The lead doors of Borusa’s office are closed and the previous she and Clara are nowhere in sight. Romana is grateful she and the Doctor are early. She contemplates the bomb.

“Doctor, where is your head?” She scowls when his image appears on the viewer. “Don’t you remember? The explosive is triggered by your DNA.”

“I’ve got to warn him,” she urges herself. “This is such an unnecessary waste of a life.”

Yet in the guise of Clara Oswin, Romana dashes from the sanctuary of the time machine and goes searching for the Doctor. She must warn him not to open Borusa’s office.

“Doctor,” she shouts.

Romana hears her new self say, “That sounded like me.”

The Time Lady turns around and meets a living Clara. She and her doppelganger are yet dozens of meters away from each other, but the two identical woman do find the eyes of the other. The Doctor is also there. And he is too far away. He is safe from what is about to happen, and the Time Lord can’t get close in time to help.

The old Romana opens a lead door and the room inside explodes.

The next Romana watches herself die. Before her body regenerates, her future incarnation sees she is dead. The Time Lady realizes that moment she wastes her life. She looks at the Doctor standing agape in front of her.

“Well, I’m about to get here,” are the only words he will utter. Romana follows her friend back to the Tardis. She grills him only when they are alone together inside the time machine.

“Are you satisfied? You only made a horrible event more set in stone.”

“You still need someone looking over your shoulder,” she admits to her companion. “Someone who knows what she is doing. I’m coming with you. We’ll go do something anybody can do for your dead friend. We’ll go to Earth.”

The Time Lady drives the Doctor’s time machine without a sound. During the flight through space and time, Romana wonders, “Clara was that little girl we met together on Earth. It was Christmas time, is that right?”

The Doctor nods his head. His face appears fallen and dull but Romana might swear she sees him glow when she speaks to her friend. She continues talking to him.

“That was quite a while ago – and you still traveled with her? Hold on, she is the Impossible Girl. I remember her story, it’s why Gallifrey is in love with her beyond what is simply popular.”

“Say,” ponders the Time Lady. “She constantly pops up through time and saves your life.”

“Fragments,” growls the Doctor.

Romana tries to sound convincing. “You might see her again. Or are you two done? Was that it?”

“I’m only curious,” Romana mutters in silence after she realizes she has mentioned too much.

She asks the brooding Doctor, “Is she done?”

“Apparently not,” he answers after she asks him again. He looks directly into the face of his companion.

The Time Lord pledges, “I’m going to fix this.”

“Not alone,” Romana tells him.

“We will think about the solution first and take our time. Did you forget, Doctor? You always do. Time is on our side. That is our luxury.”

The Time Lady smiles wide enough for the both of them. “And we’re together again. Let’s remind ourselves what it is like to be alive.”

 

- END –

 

 

 

 

Read more of Matthew Sawyer’s Doctor Who fan fiction at Smashwords.

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