[Friday Five] Best friend.

1. Who is your best friend?

The Doctor. I believe that, so far, this may in fact be the easiest question I've had to answer yet.

2. Why did you become friends?

Well, it's rather hard not to when you're practically living in that blue box of his travelling across the universe. If you know hime, I'm sure you'll understand what I mean implicity.

3. How did you meet?

I was undercover trying to get a scoop on disappearing scientists from Think Tank. He was there as well, still serving as UNIT's scientific advisor. He wanted me to make him a cup of coffee after he saw through my disguise (the nerve!). I still haven't let him forget that to this day.

4. Why have you stayed friends?

Because, despite everything, I couldn't ever imagine my life without him in it.

5. How long (realistically) do you think you'll be friends?

I won't ever have another friend like the Doctor. It's rather impossible to, if you ask me. Forever, even if we're no longer travelling together.

[OOC] State of the Mun (and pup)

If you all haven't quite figured it out, my computer is still broken. So all threads and prompts and what not have been slow in coming. I'm debating going out and buying a whole new laptop today if Dell doesn't come by to repair it; I can't keep going using public computers -- for school and personal reasons.

So: tags and prompts will be done, but at a slower rate than usual. I haven't quite dropped off the face of this planet (although I sort of wish I did, yay depression), but life these past couple of weeks have been insane. My grandfather died last week, and because of who he is, it was a very public event. I'm still trying to adjust to graduate school, and mostly right now, trying hard not to continually break down.

Sarah Jane, however, is doing fine. She's still adventuring with the Doctor in TM land, stuck in Milliways pregnant in Milliways 'verse, and I'm not quite sure what she's up to in RS -- probably exploring Ealing, if I know her. Right. Like I said, I'm still trying to tag things, although I probably won't start anything new anymore until the computer gets straightened out.

And hopefully, I won't get kicked out of any prompt communities for being rather uninspired right now. Right. This probably goes so much better in my mun LJ, but I guess I just needed to let ya'll know cause I feel way too much like a slacker when it comes to SJ's journal right now.

[Theatrical Muse] Response

"The true magic of this broken world lay in the ability of the things it contained to vanish, to become so thoroughly lost, that they might never have existed in the first place."--The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, by Michael Chabon

It didn’t happen quickly. In fact, it took years for her to finally forget. By the time Sarah Jane Smith was eighty-nine years old she was certain that, like everyone else in this rather daft world, those books she had published at a younger age were nothing but fiction.

The aliens that did exist proved themselves to be nothing but radicals that had succeeded in conquering the human race. They weren’t at all easy to banish and ridiculous in their simplicity, like those described in her stories.

There was no Doctor, no awe inspiring alien, the last of his kind, the bumbling but dashing hero to save the day.

UNIT had never existed. If it had, it had been so buried in records that none of it seemed to matter any more.

A tin dog? Oh, that was ridiculous.

And a police box was nothing more than a police box. She had seen the newer models, those coffins standing on the street corners implemented in the year 2008 under Harold Saxon. She had been thankful that, at an old age, she had lived never to set foot inside one. Like all people in the know, she had heard the stories. But she had never printed them.

Freedom of press had been lost long ago.

She sat alongside the others crowded into the interment camp dorm, wondering when it would be her turn. Saxon seemed to be using his slaves at a quicker rate to continue to expand his empire. It was only a matter of time that he would catch her – one of the few surviving elderly – among the crowd that hid her. Maria had been steadfast, though, ever since the drones had killed her father.

Still, Sarah Jane forgot.

She forgot how she ever came to know the girl. Things like soda pop aliens and sonic lipstick were pure rubbish. A boy without a belly button – absolute barmy. She didn’t understand where Maria got these ideas. Perhaps the girl had read too many fictional works before the New Era. She didn’t know. She had never cared much.

The world was ending around them. It was shattered now, broken beyond repair – rather much like Sarah’s memories. Events that happened one day seemed to have happened years before. Memories of another time seemed to wink their way in and out of her mind. Her fictional works that had gotten her notoriety in the science fiction cult crowds mixed with her memories and her dreams. Sarah Jane Smith was, at age eighty-seven, nothing but a woman wishing she had lived another life.

She wished she had known a man such as the Doctor.

She wished she had traveled with him.

She wished that, for once, her dreams might have existed in more than just her--













--it was a thought never finished. At 3.55 am, Sunday, November 4, 2043, the last true memories of the Doctor were wiped from existence with the last of the elderly. In this broken world, he had vanished for good.

Elsewhere, one Harold Saxon, ruler of the known galaxy, delighted with the thought.