"Hey, this is Ellie Haron, live and on air." I find myself saying, six years afterward. "Now, you all think that the Doctor died years ago, right?" The people on the radio show sitting with me on the panel, nod. "Well, how long ago do you think he died?"
"Twelve years." a man states, matter of factly.
"Well, I hate to say it, but I met him seven years ago, though a tragedy of epic proportions."
It started as a quiet night. I sat on my bed, watching Sherlock Holmes on my kindle. It was season two, A Scandal In Belgravia. Suddenly, BANG! -A noise, louder than a gunshot. But when I looked out the window, there was no gun. It was someone falling.
I slipped out of my bedroom, curious. I stepped outside just in time to see a large body fall to the ground. He fell right off the ship he was on. A peculiar ship it was.
Off the ship he fell. Down to the beast below. I remember that poem I heard. Thoughts On A Clock, by Edward Ritchie Junior, "Now It's Time, To take a bow/ Like all your other selves/ Eleven's Hour Is Over/ Now The Clock Is Striking Twelves."
I don't even know why it even crossed my mind. A poem, just after a man was killed. Down to the beast.
I was walking down the street, two days afterward. It was sudden when I felt something hit my shoulder, hard. Confused, I touched where the object had made contact, and felt blood. The last thing I remember was the sharp pain on my head- did it hit the ground?- before the world faded to black.
* Authors Note*
Hi! I'm the author, Madgirl In Wonderland aka Madgirl, and if you would care to stalk my twitter and instagram here they are : twitter is @pokepunzel, follow it for updates and follow my multifandom account on instagram: @beaniedictcumberbatch thanks loves!