Mr. Sanders
January 28th, 2008, 10:47 PM
Hi, in my profile (Not that you've read it) it mentions that I'm writing a doctor who book. Here it is. Is this the right section for it? I'll post it chapter by chapter. Thanks.
This fic is rated PG -10: Children under the age of 10 may find this story mildly frightning. I will not be held responsible for any nightmares caused.

I do not own Doctor Who, it is a registered trademark of BBC.

Below is Doctor Who: Future Nostalgia Chapter One by Mr. Sanders, by reading this chapter you agree to the following conditions:
You will not use any part of this story, for any reason other than quoting.
You will not post this story on other sites without permission.
You will not use this story for any public use (Reading out at Schools, Offices, Etc.)
The only reason you may copy this text onto your computer or computer in your use, is to print it for home use or transportation.
If you are unsure whether what you wish to do is legal please PM me.

Chapter One:


Yvonne found herself growing tired of life. She was beginning to wonder how much more of it she had left.
The world seemed so pre-programmed now. Her daily schedule was virtually unchanging.

Get up about at nine, water the garden, while she could (The water restrictions had made her job all the harder), Have breakfast, usually a small piece of toast with jam, go shopping and perhaps see an old friend. Then it was time for sleep again, the only peace she ever got, not that she got much of it with all those bloody teens and their drink, not to mention what else they may have consumed to bring about the behavior during the night...

Yvonne didn’t like to think about it much, she never had had that sort of freedom when she was that age.
Thank god.
The school was it’s usual babble of noise.
No, wait a minute. It was silent as a grave. Why hadn’t she noticed yet? She was sure it had been when she started watering the plants. Or had she imagined it? Oh, her memory wasn’t half as good as it used to be. Was it Monday? Or was it Sunday? No, it was definitely Monday. She’d heard that on the television this morning. Was the school having a curriculum day?
No, she’d have heard about it. There’s no way she couldn’t have the way those teens reacted when they found out they didn’t have to go to school. The only decent one was that bright young Philip. Decent future ahead for that one.
She looked down at her watch.
Was it ten already?
She turned off the hose and walked back inside the house.

As she entered the kitchen she could almost picture her husband standing there, smiling at her, waiting for the toast to pop. Lovely man. So sad he’d gone now. She didn’t like to dwell on it.
She put a piece of toast into the toaster and leaned on the bench.
Poor old Jacob. She still couldn’t work out what caused the stroke. Still, she did have turquoise.
Turquoise was her cat. She’d had him since her 21st birthday. Beautiful cat. It was all she had left from the old days now.
But she always looked forward to Tuesday evenings. That’s when Philip came round for dinner. He’d have a small glass of sherry with her and tell her all about his ideas and what he’d learnt at school. Then they’d sit down for dinner and eat a delicious meal she’d prepared a couple of hours earlier. Then she’d offer him a fiver. He’d always refuse, stating that he should pay her for the lovely meal. Then when he was getting himself a quick drink of water she’d slip it into his blazer pocket. He was the only child in the school who wore a uniform by choice. He reminded her so much of-

The toast popped. She walked over to the fridge and poured herself a cup of milk before placing her one piece of toast on a plate.
As she sat down at the table she felt a pain in her head.
She groaned in despair and cupped her hands to her ears. A strange man entered the room. She tried to scream but couldn’t. The pain was too strong. His looked at her with a deadpan, expressionless face.
He pulled out a strange gun.
This was it.
The end.
The last moment of her life.
He pulled the trigger.
Her hand flung out and knocked the cup over, spilling milk all over the floor.
But she felt no pain, and heard no explosion.
She heard and felt nothing at all.
The figure stood alone in the kitchen. Staring at the spilt milk.
Slowly it moved into the living room, where it hid itself under a sheet on the couch...

Bentleigh East was perfect silent. Apart from the sound of the strong wind, and the birds singing in the trees. All the houses lay still, no voices, no sounds of people walking round their homes. Lights remained on, kettles still whistling, But no a soul to be heard or seen. Anywhere. The sky was a soft blue with various fluffy white clouds drifting slowly, peacefully through time, and inside Yvonne’s house, a cat, by the name of Turquoise, licked up some milk, lying on the kitchen floor.

(C) 2008 Mr. Sanders

Mr. Sanders
January 30th, 2008, 10:07 PM
Simon Lucas Small is my pen name.