BECAUSE I CAN.
So, I've started writing a Doctor/Rose fic! I just hope I finish it. Anyway, preview behind the cut.
In early July a slow moving U-Haul weaves its way through the sleeping streets of Bridgewood, a small fishing town on the western coast of the United States. Sitting in the passenger seat of the cab is Rose Tyler; her cheek is pressed against the window. She sighs, tugs at her seat belt, asks “How much further?”
“We’re very close,” the driver answers. He has been in the confines of the moving van for going on six hours and already he is half in love with Rose. In his head he imagines Christmas dinners with her, undressing her slowly beneath the remaining stars, whispering to her how he will take that sadness from her eyes.
Rose nods, sighs once more. Within her is a great longing. It is so powerful that it seeps from her skin, spreads like a low lying storm cloud over the town. It rains down on the residents and gets inside them. In the morning they will wake with a craving so strong they won’t know what to do with themselves for the first few moments of consciousness.
The U-Haul turns down a street in desperate need of repair, dips and jumps until it comes to a stop at 341 Lemon Street. It’s an old house with shuttered windows and a screened in porch. A bougainvillea with flowers like tiny paper lanterns grows over the fence surrounding the yard. Rose loves it instantly.
“Well,” the drivers says, “This is it.”
Rose exits the cab first. She raises her arms in a stretch, bends to touch her toes. Her spine melts with relief and she turns to help the driver unload the five boxes she brought over from London. Each is labeled with the Torchwood logo. They make quick work of taking the boxes inside, and when it’s over they stand on the porch.
“I never asked, what’s your name?”
“Mike.”
“Right.” Rose smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thanks, Mike.”
His tongue is heavy and swollen in his mouth. He wants to say I love you and Please let me make you happy, but Rose is turning away and in seconds the front door is shut. Mike spends an hour on that porch after Rose disappears inside. He listens to the sounds she makes - muffled through wall and glass and pink insulation, watches as the warm glow of lights tracks her progress through the house.
For the remainder of his life Mike will only fall in love with blondes.
-
The ghosts appear a week after Rose’s arrival.
They only come in the nighttime, and they never harm anyone. The children of Bridgewood are fascinated with the ghosts, which are nothing like what they’ve seen in horror films. The ghosts, when they materialize from the dark, are nothing more than a flash of blue lightening. One can always feel a ghost before it emerges from nothing; a static fills the air, makes a person’s hair stand on end. Then the light flashes, followed by the sound of pounding footsteps.
The running ghosts, they’re called. Not only for the noise they make, but because one can never quite seem to catch them. Susan Miller - of the lime green bungalow on Plum - has been seen running down the streets at night trying to track down the ghostly steps. Once, she claims, she saw a flash of yellow hair that glowed gold in the moonlight.
Also, I'm so hyped for Summer!! I can't wait to swim and barbeque and look smokin' in a bikini!
In early July a slow moving U-Haul weaves its way through the sleeping streets of Bridgewood, a small fishing town on the western coast of the United States. Sitting in the passenger seat of the cab is Rose Tyler; her cheek is pressed against the window. She sighs, tugs at her seat belt, asks “How much further?”
“We’re very close,” the driver answers. He has been in the confines of the moving van for going on six hours and already he is half in love with Rose. In his head he imagines Christmas dinners with her, undressing her slowly beneath the remaining stars, whispering to her how he will take that sadness from her eyes.
Rose nods, sighs once more. Within her is a great longing. It is so powerful that it seeps from her skin, spreads like a low lying storm cloud over the town. It rains down on the residents and gets inside them. In the morning they will wake with a craving so strong they won’t know what to do with themselves for the first few moments of consciousness.
The U-Haul turns down a street in desperate need of repair, dips and jumps until it comes to a stop at 341 Lemon Street. It’s an old house with shuttered windows and a screened in porch. A bougainvillea with flowers like tiny paper lanterns grows over the fence surrounding the yard. Rose loves it instantly.
“Well,” the drivers says, “This is it.”
Rose exits the cab first. She raises her arms in a stretch, bends to touch her toes. Her spine melts with relief and she turns to help the driver unload the five boxes she brought over from London. Each is labeled with the Torchwood logo. They make quick work of taking the boxes inside, and when it’s over they stand on the porch.
“I never asked, what’s your name?”
“Mike.”
“Right.” Rose smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thanks, Mike.”
His tongue is heavy and swollen in his mouth. He wants to say I love you and Please let me make you happy, but Rose is turning away and in seconds the front door is shut. Mike spends an hour on that porch after Rose disappears inside. He listens to the sounds she makes - muffled through wall and glass and pink insulation, watches as the warm glow of lights tracks her progress through the house.
For the remainder of his life Mike will only fall in love with blondes.
-
The ghosts appear a week after Rose’s arrival.
They only come in the nighttime, and they never harm anyone. The children of Bridgewood are fascinated with the ghosts, which are nothing like what they’ve seen in horror films. The ghosts, when they materialize from the dark, are nothing more than a flash of blue lightening. One can always feel a ghost before it emerges from nothing; a static fills the air, makes a person’s hair stand on end. Then the light flashes, followed by the sound of pounding footsteps.
The running ghosts, they’re called. Not only for the noise they make, but because one can never quite seem to catch them. Susan Miller - of the lime green bungalow on Plum - has been seen running down the streets at night trying to track down the ghostly steps. Once, she claims, she saw a flash of yellow hair that glowed gold in the moonlight.
Also, I'm so hyped for Summer!! I can't wait to swim and barbeque and look smokin' in a bikini!