New Wolfina Jones Fanfiction!
I've begun a new fanfiction series featuring my character Wolfina Jones and...da da da duh! THE DOCTOR! Which Doctor you may ask because now there are 13 actors who have portrayed him. I grew up with Christopher Eccleston so he will always have a special place in my heart, David Tennant's version grew on me after much resistance, Matt Smith seems to do a bang-up job and I've seen a few of the older Doctors, but the Doctor with whom I feel the most connected to is Paul McGann's version:
I think it's because he only got the movie which was a failed attempt at a television series in the U.S. but I love the fact that he cares enough about the character to continue in audio. It's more mysterious that way and he has such a soothing, doctor-like voice. I've always wished that people these days would play more stories on the radio. I've only heard the Shada series and "Storm Warning", so I know I am VERY far behind in the audios. But I am planning to catch up.
So, without further ado, here is Part 1 of my fanfiction story.
"Don't worry, my brother," I think, "I'm not afraid of Death."
It is moments such as these that I remember. I remember now my old friend Mary. We had had fun times. I thought I had at last found a kindred spirit in her, and in her husband and friend, but then she reminded me all too well that she was a human. Curse her book! Her Frankenstein! To create such a monstrosity from a... monster. Mary, sweet Mary, how she tried to explain the deeper meanings, but it hurt too much. I should not have been surprised, after all, it is my powers they were interested in, my Beast. But we did have such passionate conversations! Oh, why is there always pain with pleasure!?
The sudden rumbling of thunder brought me back and the waves crashed against the cliff below. Death may not be a Bogeyman to me, but water is. My aversion to it has never quite left me. Even in the dreamy depths of sleep, it haunts me. I was in water when I was experimented on and given my adamantium claws. The trauma of an experience such as that, even for a being who can physically heal... it never goes away.
My self-healing power has prolonged my physical appearance. My body may look eighteen, but oh, how my mind and soul are weathered and beaten! I have been through just over three centuries of life and to think that more is to come. Ugh, kill me now!
A crescent of sun remains. The screeching of the gulls persists, but they too are fading for the night. I decide to turn and walk back to the little English village I'm staying in. Sunsets always make me nostalgic and melancholy.
Inhaling, the fresh country air fills me with even more memories. I remember in the olden days when 'travelers' meant you were walking on foot from town to town and would bring an assortment of mystical tales to tell. I enjoyed that, especially in Ireland. When I went elsewhere, I'd speak with an Irish accent to add exoticism to my stories. I'd sing and play instruments. Seeing the magic in the little ones' eyes was what kept me going. But then, things changed. Technology changed. I had to change. I can still find the magic in the corners of towns, in nooks and crannies, but I have to search for it and I hardly ever have the energy to do that.
Just as I enter the village, friends and family are walking to the local pub, restaurant or dance hall. Children are still running around, straining to see and to play another five minutes. Along the path of a house, three girls are skipping rope; their rhymes floating towards me:
"Mother, Mother, I am sick.
Send for the doctor, quick, quick, quick!
Doctor, Doctor, will I die?
Yes, my dear, and so will I!
How many..."
The call of dinner breaks the chant and they rush up to the house, skipping rope trailing behind. In my early years, I never thought to indulge in that type of fun or maybe I didn't get the chance? I was too busy encountering the real world from the beginning. And I shall continue for Eternity. I wish there was one being on this planet, just one, who could accept me and love me. But I have given up. My heart cannot take any more pain, mockery or betrayal. They say it is better to have loved than to have never have loved at all, but I have loved, ever so briefly, and felt only the stinging bite of venom that has poisoned my heart and soul against hope. No more, no more.
But that nightingale I hear still has hope. She continues to sing to the very end. I remember you, John, and oh, how we argued about that nightingale poem of yours! I still think that bird has knowledge, a different knowledge from humans. You never thought you'd be eternal, you and your poems. How many times did I say I'd trade you my immortality for your mortality?
I've always enjoyed twilight; the realm between dreaming and waking, when the Good People come out. I had some great times with you, Yeats. As I recall, you dedicated a poem to me. A poem of temporality, what I wish to be. It was "Ephemera". I liked the first version, never understood why you shortened it. I guess it was to match your theme. Never mind. I'm just going to lie on this bench and enjoy the night sky with all its mystery... huuuuuuhhhhhhhh mystery..........
* * *
I am startled awake partly due to my nightmares and partly due to my fall off the bench. It is like falling out of the sky and hitting a wall on impact. I pull myself back onto the bench and as I dust myself off, I try to get my bearings back. It is still night, the middle of it, with the moon high. I lean back, sighing. To feel you have all the time in the world is not always a nice feeling, neither is knowing that whatever happens, I will survive it because of my powers.
I get up, because I know sleep will now be impossible to return to, and decide to stroll through the village, viewing it in the light of darkness. I marvel at its shadow dances and its feeble attempts to scare me. I fear nothing, except water and myself.
The lights in the buildings are out and a peaceful tranquility exudes from the wind. It caresses the trees and flowers in the sparkles of the moonlight. With my heightened hearing, it is nice to hear the quiet, but then footsteps in the distance intrude. Who is out at this time of night?
"It must be a drunk," I listen, "No, the steps are too fast, too sober."
I follow them through the streets, taking care to hug the buildings; the element of surprise is always handy.
Once I catch sight of the figure, I use my powers to command the stifling of my own footsteps. I feel some of my energy drain, but I refuse to be caught snapping a twig as I follow them.
From my vantage point, I see it is a Caucasian man with short brown hair wearing a blue jacket reaching just below the buttocks, blue jeans with cuffs at the ankle and brown shoes. His accessory consists of a dark taupe messenger bag. The man is also hugging the buildings as if he is in pursuit of someone. Or something.
Whatever it is, it keeps running until it reaches the edge of the village where there is an expanse of field before the beginnings of a forest. As it exits the village, I stop between two houses and catch a glimpse: a child! What violence does this man have in mind for it!?
Hoping to give the child some time to escape into the forest, I run and jump on the man's back. Because of the added weight of my adamantium skeleton, he falls to the ground, with a yell of surprise. I sit on his back and hold down his arms.
"Just what do you think you're doing!?" He turns his head in an attempt to see me. I detect his British accent.
"What are you doing, chasing a defenseless child through the village in the middle of the night!?"
"What I'm chasing is not a child, but a boggart. It only looks like a child because it can deceive humans and use that deception, among various things, to eat them! Now get off of me before I lose all traces of it—" he turns to face forward again, "In the forest, which I now have."
I follow his gaze and see the child has successfully disappeared into the forest.
"Aw, gee, too bad," I get off of him and help the poor guy up while maintaining a firm grip on one of his arms. Face-to-face, I see he has brilliant blue eyes that shine in the darkness. They remind me very much of my own.
"Look, I know you don't believe me so come with me and I will show you that it's not a child. Please! It is a dangerous creature," his expression displays desperation and seriousness.
"I have half a mind to escort you to the police right now. To use a British expression "You sound like a bloody nutta"!" I confess. I'm also surprised he hasn't tried to fight me yet.
"And the other half?"
"What?"
"You said you have "half a mind". What has the other half decided?"
I think, "He's a clever one. I had better keep an eye on him."
"The other half," I start, wondering if I should enter into his game, "Wants to know why you used the word "humans" instead of "people" when you said that a boggart will eat humans. Funny word choice," I regard him suspiciously.
"Oh, you're perceptive! I said "humans" because that is the name of your species and because I'm not one of you.
Despite having heard an infinite number of ravings in my time, I believe him instantly. I don't know why, maybe it is that the whole situation made sense suddenly or I am so desperate to believe that I am not alone or maybe it's his eyes, but regardless, I believe him and before I know it, I'm running through the field to follow the foreign scent of the boggart.
As I'm running, I perceive the sound of the man running behind me. As I sprint through the tall willowy grass, I feel the wind rushing past me and I also feel alarm. It is a curious sensation, one I hadn't felt since I was very young. Usually it is adrenaline I feel and the excitement of having to exert my body and powers, but this time they are not there. It's only the alarm that I am up against the unknown and have no control over the situation as I am always the one who does have it. The alarm not only breeds scary questions in my mind like "what if I'm not strong enough or my powers have no effect", but the fact that I am feeling alarm after so long a time is breeding more alarm. It is after all this that I realize the man is shouting from behind me.
"Stop! Stop! You don't know what it does! Stop!"
I can feel him almost on top of me, trying to pull me back, but I don't stop. I can't stop. I let the thing get away and I won't have more innocent blood on my hands!
Just as I reach the mouth of the forest, the man manages to catch hold of me and I try to fight him off.
"If you won't let me do this alone, then let me explain!" he shouts and I calm down, "You must stay behind me at all times because if you face the boggart without an obstacle between you, it will take the form of your worse fear. And I can't have that. Now, I will let you help me, but for the world's sake, do as I say!" he pauses as if expecting me to protest, "What is your name?"
"Wolfina."
"Hello, I'm The Doctor. Do you have any questions?"
I open my mouth, but with so many questions crowding in my mind, none can make it to my mouth.
"Good," The Doctor says at my silence and takes my hand before proceeding into the forest.
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| Copyright: http://onceuponageek.com/wordpress/2010/11/02/paul-mcgann-doctor-who-new-outfit/ |
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| Copyright: http://blog.commarts.wisc.edu/2013/12/05/the-cultural-lives-of-doctor-who-of-anniversaries-and-authenticity-costumes-and-canon/ |
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| Copyright: |
I think it's because he only got the movie which was a failed attempt at a television series in the U.S. but I love the fact that he cares enough about the character to continue in audio. It's more mysterious that way and he has such a soothing, doctor-like voice. I've always wished that people these days would play more stories on the radio. I've only heard the Shada series and "Storm Warning", so I know I am VERY far behind in the audios. But I am planning to catch up.
So, without further ado, here is Part 1 of my fanfiction story.
An Otherworldly Experience Part 1: The Lamia Within
The brilliance of the sky's peachy colors flow into each other like
the waves of the sea below it. How they compliment one another as the
sun descends into its watery grave! It is a wondrous sight. To be the
only being on the entire planet able to fully appreciate moments like
these is sometimes worth being immortal. Only I can look directly at
the sun. What glory! But then, I would say that since it is my source
of food.
With the heat from the day's last rays, I feel the clash of
the wind pushing against me as if protecting me from the edge of the
cliffs. "Don't worry, my brother," I think, "I'm not afraid of Death."
It is moments such as these that I remember. I remember now my old friend Mary. We had had fun times. I thought I had at last found a kindred spirit in her, and in her husband and friend, but then she reminded me all too well that she was a human. Curse her book! Her Frankenstein! To create such a monstrosity from a... monster. Mary, sweet Mary, how she tried to explain the deeper meanings, but it hurt too much. I should not have been surprised, after all, it is my powers they were interested in, my Beast. But we did have such passionate conversations! Oh, why is there always pain with pleasure!?
The sudden rumbling of thunder brought me back and the waves crashed against the cliff below. Death may not be a Bogeyman to me, but water is. My aversion to it has never quite left me. Even in the dreamy depths of sleep, it haunts me. I was in water when I was experimented on and given my adamantium claws. The trauma of an experience such as that, even for a being who can physically heal... it never goes away.
My self-healing power has prolonged my physical appearance. My body may look eighteen, but oh, how my mind and soul are weathered and beaten! I have been through just over three centuries of life and to think that more is to come. Ugh, kill me now!
A crescent of sun remains. The screeching of the gulls persists, but they too are fading for the night. I decide to turn and walk back to the little English village I'm staying in. Sunsets always make me nostalgic and melancholy.
Inhaling, the fresh country air fills me with even more memories. I remember in the olden days when 'travelers' meant you were walking on foot from town to town and would bring an assortment of mystical tales to tell. I enjoyed that, especially in Ireland. When I went elsewhere, I'd speak with an Irish accent to add exoticism to my stories. I'd sing and play instruments. Seeing the magic in the little ones' eyes was what kept me going. But then, things changed. Technology changed. I had to change. I can still find the magic in the corners of towns, in nooks and crannies, but I have to search for it and I hardly ever have the energy to do that.
Just as I enter the village, friends and family are walking to the local pub, restaurant or dance hall. Children are still running around, straining to see and to play another five minutes. Along the path of a house, three girls are skipping rope; their rhymes floating towards me:
"Mother, Mother, I am sick.
Send for the doctor, quick, quick, quick!
Doctor, Doctor, will I die?
Yes, my dear, and so will I!
How many..."
The call of dinner breaks the chant and they rush up to the house, skipping rope trailing behind. In my early years, I never thought to indulge in that type of fun or maybe I didn't get the chance? I was too busy encountering the real world from the beginning. And I shall continue for Eternity. I wish there was one being on this planet, just one, who could accept me and love me. But I have given up. My heart cannot take any more pain, mockery or betrayal. They say it is better to have loved than to have never have loved at all, but I have loved, ever so briefly, and felt only the stinging bite of venom that has poisoned my heart and soul against hope. No more, no more.
But that nightingale I hear still has hope. She continues to sing to the very end. I remember you, John, and oh, how we argued about that nightingale poem of yours! I still think that bird has knowledge, a different knowledge from humans. You never thought you'd be eternal, you and your poems. How many times did I say I'd trade you my immortality for your mortality?
I've always enjoyed twilight; the realm between dreaming and waking, when the Good People come out. I had some great times with you, Yeats. As I recall, you dedicated a poem to me. A poem of temporality, what I wish to be. It was "Ephemera". I liked the first version, never understood why you shortened it. I guess it was to match your theme. Never mind. I'm just going to lie on this bench and enjoy the night sky with all its mystery... huuuuuuhhhhhhhh mystery..........
* * *
I am startled awake partly due to my nightmares and partly due to my fall off the bench. It is like falling out of the sky and hitting a wall on impact. I pull myself back onto the bench and as I dust myself off, I try to get my bearings back. It is still night, the middle of it, with the moon high. I lean back, sighing. To feel you have all the time in the world is not always a nice feeling, neither is knowing that whatever happens, I will survive it because of my powers.
I get up, because I know sleep will now be impossible to return to, and decide to stroll through the village, viewing it in the light of darkness. I marvel at its shadow dances and its feeble attempts to scare me. I fear nothing, except water and myself.
The lights in the buildings are out and a peaceful tranquility exudes from the wind. It caresses the trees and flowers in the sparkles of the moonlight. With my heightened hearing, it is nice to hear the quiet, but then footsteps in the distance intrude. Who is out at this time of night?
"It must be a drunk," I listen, "No, the steps are too fast, too sober."
I follow them through the streets, taking care to hug the buildings; the element of surprise is always handy.
Once I catch sight of the figure, I use my powers to command the stifling of my own footsteps. I feel some of my energy drain, but I refuse to be caught snapping a twig as I follow them.
From my vantage point, I see it is a Caucasian man with short brown hair wearing a blue jacket reaching just below the buttocks, blue jeans with cuffs at the ankle and brown shoes. His accessory consists of a dark taupe messenger bag. The man is also hugging the buildings as if he is in pursuit of someone. Or something.
Whatever it is, it keeps running until it reaches the edge of the village where there is an expanse of field before the beginnings of a forest. As it exits the village, I stop between two houses and catch a glimpse: a child! What violence does this man have in mind for it!?
Hoping to give the child some time to escape into the forest, I run and jump on the man's back. Because of the added weight of my adamantium skeleton, he falls to the ground, with a yell of surprise. I sit on his back and hold down his arms.
"Just what do you think you're doing!?" He turns his head in an attempt to see me. I detect his British accent.
"What are you doing, chasing a defenseless child through the village in the middle of the night!?"
"What I'm chasing is not a child, but a boggart. It only looks like a child because it can deceive humans and use that deception, among various things, to eat them! Now get off of me before I lose all traces of it—" he turns to face forward again, "In the forest, which I now have."
I follow his gaze and see the child has successfully disappeared into the forest.
"Aw, gee, too bad," I get off of him and help the poor guy up while maintaining a firm grip on one of his arms. Face-to-face, I see he has brilliant blue eyes that shine in the darkness. They remind me very much of my own.
"Look, I know you don't believe me so come with me and I will show you that it's not a child. Please! It is a dangerous creature," his expression displays desperation and seriousness.
"I have half a mind to escort you to the police right now. To use a British expression "You sound like a bloody nutta"!" I confess. I'm also surprised he hasn't tried to fight me yet.
"And the other half?"
"What?"
"You said you have "half a mind". What has the other half decided?"
I think, "He's a clever one. I had better keep an eye on him."
"The other half," I start, wondering if I should enter into his game, "Wants to know why you used the word "humans" instead of "people" when you said that a boggart will eat humans. Funny word choice," I regard him suspiciously.
"Oh, you're perceptive! I said "humans" because that is the name of your species and because I'm not one of you.
Despite having heard an infinite number of ravings in my time, I believe him instantly. I don't know why, maybe it is that the whole situation made sense suddenly or I am so desperate to believe that I am not alone or maybe it's his eyes, but regardless, I believe him and before I know it, I'm running through the field to follow the foreign scent of the boggart.
As I'm running, I perceive the sound of the man running behind me. As I sprint through the tall willowy grass, I feel the wind rushing past me and I also feel alarm. It is a curious sensation, one I hadn't felt since I was very young. Usually it is adrenaline I feel and the excitement of having to exert my body and powers, but this time they are not there. It's only the alarm that I am up against the unknown and have no control over the situation as I am always the one who does have it. The alarm not only breeds scary questions in my mind like "what if I'm not strong enough or my powers have no effect", but the fact that I am feeling alarm after so long a time is breeding more alarm. It is after all this that I realize the man is shouting from behind me.
"Stop! Stop! You don't know what it does! Stop!"
I can feel him almost on top of me, trying to pull me back, but I don't stop. I can't stop. I let the thing get away and I won't have more innocent blood on my hands!
Just as I reach the mouth of the forest, the man manages to catch hold of me and I try to fight him off.
"If you won't let me do this alone, then let me explain!" he shouts and I calm down, "You must stay behind me at all times because if you face the boggart without an obstacle between you, it will take the form of your worse fear. And I can't have that. Now, I will let you help me, but for the world's sake, do as I say!" he pauses as if expecting me to protest, "What is your name?"
"Wolfina."
"Hello, I'm The Doctor. Do you have any questions?"
I open my mouth, but with so many questions crowding in my mind, none can make it to my mouth.
"Good," The Doctor says at my silence and takes my hand before proceeding into the forest.
To be Continued
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