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She was running.
She wasn’t sure why, and she hadn’t the faintest of clues where to. She knew she had to, though. If she didn’t, she would die.
Or was it the other way around?
Her brown hair flopped onto her shoulders as she ran, the breezeless air doing little to cool her skin. She felt as though she was on fire. Maybe she was. If so, it had found its way into her cracked throat long ago.
She dared to slow, and once again the tingling in her feet turned to the feeling of a hundred needles and biting ants. She was reminded of her heart, which clawed and pounded at her rib cage, begging to be set free from the flaming prison that was her body.
Worst of all, she felt that terrible anxiety. The spiders crawling up her back, the draw of what lay waiting for her ahead, the nauseating thought of what sought her in the path behind.
No, stopping was not an option. Drawing another breath (reminded once again of that horrible fire, which was only fueled by the oxygen) she sped from her jogging pace back to an energized sprint.
Her feet tingled, her heart beat in time with the rest of her, and she was safe from whatever had forced her on this path. And, really, it was all quite bearable. The sensations all faded into the background as she withdrew from reality.
Thoughts turned to memories, and she was lulled by the faint and blurry recollections of her home in a rural town — her gentle mother, her stern father, her sisters and her brother.
What were their names, again?
She had friends there. One of them wanted to be a doctor, the fleeing (fleeing? Was that what she was doing? It didn’t feel quite like the right name for her) girl supposed. She couldn’t remember his name.
How odd.
Why had she left, though?
Danny, on the other hand… he had been her best friend. Her boyfriend?
The facts slipped through her fingers — as soon as she found a memory, it left her. She saw only half of the picture. Less, some part of her screamed. Stolen, cried another.
She had little time to ponder these thoughts further. Sprawling to the floor had a way of snapping people out of thoughtful dazes, she had found.
“Oh — sorry, mate! Are you alright?”
The feminine voice was… familiar, to say the least. The face, too — well, faces. They peered at her, and the speaker’s was outlined by blonde hair.
She took the woman’s outstretched hand, grateful for the help in getting up, and snuck a look at the man beside her.
Styled brunette hair, with an air of wildness, was perched upon his head, creeping down the sides of his face. He had a surprised expression, his wide eyes carrying hints of confusion. He had seen her before.
She wasn’t sure how she knew; she wasn’t sure how she knew his name, either, but certainly she must have, seeing as she sputtered it out.
“Doctor. You have to leave,” she found herself urging. Curious; she felt as if she had lost control of herself. She had been on autopilot for so long while running, that perhaps she had forgotten how to make her own decisions.
Running, right.
The lack of it explained the sensation of rabid creatures ravaging her body. They tore into her legs and her feet, struggling their way out of her rib cage. Fires raged in her lungs, her throat, her blood, all across her skin. The pain demanded to be noticed.
So she ignored it, as usual.
“How do you know my name?” He inquired, the war between caution and curiosity within him displayed clearly on his face.
Suppose not much really ever changes with him.
Where on earth did that come from? She didn’t know this man.
“I don’t know.” The answer was honest, and the most she could muster before succumbing to a fit of coughing.
pain pain pain pain pain
She couldn’t deny that her parched throat threw a fit at this.
pain pain pain
If she had to guess, she’d say it only lasted a few seconds, though it felt like minutes.
pain…
They murmured amongst each other, she could tell. All she made out, unfortunately, was a few disconnected words and ‘who is she?’, which she had found herself wondering, too, a surprising amount recently.
She was offered water by one of the two once the fit ended, which she accepted gratefully and soon felt the cooling effects of. The moment of relief was a wonderful distraction from the building foreboding that had crept into her emotions.
“What’s your name?” The woman (really, where had she seen her before?) asked gently.
“Clara,” apparently, she decided was best not to add. How strange that she had forgotten her own name. “And you have to leave. It’s not safe here.”
They glanced at each other, sharing loaded expressions. Excitement, worry, and amusement, Clara read in their eyes. A twinge of jealousy ran through her, followed by what was, in comparison, a tsunami of shame. She didn’t know these people, she really had to get herself under control.
“Well, Rose?” The doctor prodded his companion (Companion?) verbally, and was responded to with what might have been the widest smile Clara had ever seen.
“Sounds perfect,” Rose added, her shoulders rising in tenseness caused by, presumably, the act of containing her excitement.
Clara heard footsteps, and she knew it was time (time? She pretended, for the sake of her sanity, that she didn't know what for).
A dizzying wave of pure hatred flooded through her when she finally got a good look at her pursuer.
She wasn’t sure what he (he? Where she got that from, she was unsure, but somehow it fit the creature) was. She supposed he must want to kill her, though; she knew what was coming, after all. After reading the same story a thousand times, one begins to expect the ending.
Well, really, he must want to kill the Doctor. That was what had drawn her. The Doctor. The man she had to save.
No one had to do anything, though, right? Free will dictated that she could run, if she wanted. Safety would be hers, then.
Yes, she had the ability to choose, of course she did (she didn’t)! She could run if she wanted (she couldn’t). But she wouldn’t; this was the right thing (the only thing) to do.
Vaguely aware of movement from the pair beside her, she climbed to her feet and stumbled towards him. Her legs stung, her feet cried out against her, and she struggled forward despite it all.
The dying girl (there was the title she had been searching for) felt someone grab at her wrist and she limply pulled away. “Leave,” she whispered, her eyes beginning to sting. At least the tears they produced might numb the flame on her face.
She felt their presence was gone, indicating their departure, but she couldn’t be sure. Unfortunately, oncoming death seemed to dull her senses and turn her awareness towards herself.
Just a few minutes ago, she would have questioned this. How, after all, could a person be so familiar with death? When the end was near, though, she always remembered who she was. What she had done. Why she had done it, too.
Even how to numb her senses as death’s greedy fingers latched onto her. This time, it came in the form of claws. They raked down her stomach, tearing away flesh and allowing blood to gush out of her and trying to make the owner feel better about the fact he had lost again.
She felt it slash at her organs, though it made little difference — some had been spilling out, while others precariously hung, waiting for a good jostle to join them with the rest of their kind.
The end was near, she realized finally.
But it wasn’t an end, it was just an invitation to die again. Of course, sometimes, she would live a whole life just for the sake of one moment in which she could save her Doctor from something nonphysical. But she always died in the end.
She really hoped next time would be better.
The creature clambered over her fallen (when had that happened?) form, and Clara realized that the two had in fact not run. She thought the Doctor was saying something to her — she couldn’t make it out, but knowing him, it was probably an apology. Her memories were all still flooding back, but she remembered this regeneration better now, and she filled in his words with what he always said.
‘I’m so, so (she only got the second if she was really in trouble) sorry.’ She hoped he meant it. She hoped he got away, too — that this wasn’t in vain.
Her vision began to blur and fade, and it was time. Time, yes — she willed herself to accept it. Time for another go, so long as he had gotten away this time.
It’s okay, Doctor.
I chose this.
And there’s nothing that could make me wish I hadn’t.
"Run, you clever boy, and remember..." Clara choked out, doubtful that he heard her. It was alright; he was alive. That was what was important.
See you soon.