He waited until the opportune moment to step out of the bright blue box, cautiously examining the surrounding thingamabobs and thingamajigs, before extracting the sonic screwdriver from his top left pocket. The mechanism was his favorite little watchamacallit and proved to be the most reliable. At least, most of the time. Curiously, it seemed to smartly slip out of his hands most inconveniently and during some rather worrisome disasters; a particular few came to mind.
Looking at his wrist, he intended to tap the ancient device that sat upon it, eventually realizing, he left it somewhere or some time ago – he couldn’t be sure which. This made him frown, but whether it was because of the missing timepiece, or the small, tenacious frame of the girl who now stood before him, he didn’t know. Her hands were placed determinedly on her hips and her ruby-painted smile held an all-knowing smirk. He did not like this. The way she was looking at him, it was as if he were a riddle she had to break and reassemble; or as if he were something to eat – sweet in a delicious sort of way. It scared him, though he would never admit to such a thing. The little wisp of a girl would be his undoing, he was sure of it.
“What are you doing?” She asked.
“Um, I’m not sure exactly,” was his brilliant reply.
The girl had been a regular occurrence in his long life. They had been on more adventures than he could count, though all bizarrely ended before he could give her a proper goodbye. Their exploits tended to be rather strange, as well. Even stranger than they usually were, for him, at least. He never knew what was going to happen when she was around, who might pop up or what peculiar situation they might find themselves in. She was an anomaly, an impossibly puzzling girl.
“Well, what am I doing here, then?” She wondered.
“Uh, I’m not sure . . . exactly?” He shrugged, realizing the screwdriver was still in his hand, speedily placing it back where it belonged.
He continued, “Something timey wimey, perhaps? All stringy and loopy, like string cheese! I like string cheese.”
He paced back and forth, twiddling his hands. “Or you could be a figment of my imagination. A hallucination. A thought. A memory forced into my brain to trick me.”
He ran up to her, grabbing her shoulders, looking at her so quizzically, wide-eyed and hurt. “We have the most wonderful adventures, you and I. You’ve turned my whole world upside down. Who are you, you strange and wonderful girl? What do you want with me? Why are you here?”
She looked at him, oddly, quite puzzled herself. “Actually, I think I fell asleep with the television on. Again.”
This had happened often, practically weekly. She dreamed of her most beloved fictional faces and their fantasy worlds with unusual frequency. They ranged from the normal to outlandish, to the exceptional and the weird. On the other hand, she really had to commend herself for the ability to dream mostly in canon. Her recollections were astonishingly accurate.
They varied, of course. Sometimes, like today, she visited the Doctor. At other times, she’d be hunting with the Winchesters, Sam and Dean. She’d go to concerts with her best friend, Florence Welch (Obviously). Fall in love over and over again with Edward Cullen. She’d even have tea and cake with Ryan Gosling. Her dream life was sporadic in plot, but predictable in nature.
Each night, as she prepared herself for sleep and softly pressed her head against her pillow, she’d wonder what kind of unusual adventure she’d be participating in during her short, action-packed stay in dreamland. What kind of fun was to be had? Who would she meet? She wondered if everyone else also dreamed like the television was on.
The End
Do you frequently dream about your favorite show, fictional character, or celebrity? What is the strangest dream you’ve had? Your absolute favorite? Are your characters true to the original or more distinct? Is there a specific show or character you’d like to have a dream about but haven’t? Tell me in the comments!
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