At last. He’s sitting
back on the bed, a moment of calm.
So then. Options.
I could make it outside, get away, but then what? Have Mum and Dad come back to another psychotic Time Lord in the house? Not a chance. I need to see this through.
Oh great. He wants me to sit down next to him.
‘Come along Pond, take a pew. Better still, take a doll! Here, you be Amelia, I’ll be the Doctor. Oh no, mistaken identity! It’s like a West End farce!’
And now I’m playing dolls with a crazy Time Lord. This day just doesn’t do “normal.”
‘You see, Melody? This is more like it! So you poisoned me. So I strangled you. So, are we gonna let a little bit of attempted murder come between us? Call me crazy, but this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.’
‘You wanna “kiss and make up?”’
‘Put the lipstick away, Melody.’
Damn.
‘We’re the same, Melody, you and I. All our lives, obsessed with him. Devising new ways in our head to make him suffer, to kick away that pedestal, watch him eat the dirt when he falls, and then, to end him. I mean, really end him. Some days I wonder...If I could actually do it. Actually bring my old friend’s life to an end. I mean, what would I do without him?'
‘Get a boyfriend?’
ah.
Little bit awkward. Should probably try and clear that up -
‘I mean me, obviously. Me get a boyfriend? I’ve never really, you know... because of the work and...’
Oh god, shut up Melody. You’re about to start talking boys with a 900 year old virgin.
Not that he’s listening. Too busy bouncing on the bed and shouting -
‘And then there’s other times I say “Are you crazy? Kill him! Kill him good!” The do-good, Jiminy Cricket, holier-than-thou, MILK MONITOR OF THE UNIVERSE!!!’
Look out, he’s sitting down again, leaning in close. Too close actually. Whispering -
‘I like to call those days “win days.”’
Okay...
‘Think about it though, Melody, the drumming in my head. “Silence will fall.” It’s a sign, isn’t it? We want the same thing.’
‘Noise reduction?’
‘The Doctor. Dead.’
Can’t argue with that, It’s what I was born for. I have a destiny, like it or not. And I like it a lot. Only...
I dunno, might be fun. Old Time Lord. New tricks. Bit of work experience.
If he can really do it, that is. I mean, he talks a good fight, but theres been about a million mouths through history who made their last words “Goodbye, Doctor.”
So the question you need to ask this guy is -
‘You really think that you can beat him?’
And there it is again. The devil in the smile.
‘Trust me. I’m the Master.’
Oh he is good, I’ll give him that. “The master of disguise.”
You wouldn’t think that handsome charmer on the TV screen was even close to being the same lunatic who tumbled out the sky all those months ago. Have to say, he scrubs up pretty well for a psychopathic murderer.
New suit, new wife, new name.
New job.
Still got the devil in his smile, though, look at him, sucking up to the camera. Oh, and sucking face with the Missus too. He really is a master of disguise. Still, he always wanted a “companion.” Hope she makes a better packed lunch than I do.
And he’s off, addressing the press. This should be good. Turn it up a sec, hear what our new Prime Minister has got to say for himself...
‘...needs medicine. In fact I’d go as far as to say that what this country really needs, right now, is a Doctor.’
Ha, nice. You hear that Doctor? You just got called out.
Wherever he is, he’s gotta know by now that “Saxon’s” won this. Though what he won’t know is how.
And that’s the power of television.
You see Doctor, nobody watches moon landing stuff anymore. But they do watch the “X Factor.”
Mr Saxon sandwiched between Simon Cowell and a couple of Munsch-skins. There's a party political broadcast no-one's ever gonna remember. And a subliminal message no-one's ever gonna forget.
‘Vote Saxon.’
And thanks to the Archangel Network we’re pumping out our PR twenty-four-seven, making a bigger impression than Neil Armstrong’s footprint ever did.
Working to the master plan; a coalition with a common goal.
We deliver him the election, he delivers us the Doctor. Silent partners.
Not that it’ll last of course. This is politics after all. I’m sure there’ll soon be the inevitable betrayal.
Only, next time?
I won’t go so easy on the mustard.
written by
PAUL PARNCUTT
copyright 2013
artwork by
COLIN JOHN
copyright 2013
So then. Options.
I could make it outside, get away, but then what? Have Mum and Dad come back to another psychotic Time Lord in the house? Not a chance. I need to see this through.
Oh great. He wants me to sit down next to him.
‘Come along Pond, take a pew. Better still, take a doll! Here, you be Amelia, I’ll be the Doctor. Oh no, mistaken identity! It’s like a West End farce!’
And now I’m playing dolls with a crazy Time Lord. This day just doesn’t do “normal.”
‘You see, Melody? This is more like it! So you poisoned me. So I strangled you. So, are we gonna let a little bit of attempted murder come between us? Call me crazy, but this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.’
‘You wanna “kiss and make up?”’
‘Put the lipstick away, Melody.’
Damn.
‘We’re the same, Melody, you and I. All our lives, obsessed with him. Devising new ways in our head to make him suffer, to kick away that pedestal, watch him eat the dirt when he falls, and then, to end him. I mean, really end him. Some days I wonder...If I could actually do it. Actually bring my old friend’s life to an end. I mean, what would I do without him?'
‘Get a boyfriend?’
ah.
Little bit awkward. Should probably try and clear that up -
‘I mean me, obviously. Me get a boyfriend? I’ve never really, you know... because of the work and...’
Oh god, shut up Melody. You’re about to start talking boys with a 900 year old virgin.
Not that he’s listening. Too busy bouncing on the bed and shouting -
‘And then there’s other times I say “Are you crazy? Kill him! Kill him good!” The do-good, Jiminy Cricket, holier-than-thou, MILK MONITOR OF THE UNIVERSE!!!’
Look out, he’s sitting down again, leaning in close. Too close actually. Whispering -
‘I like to call those days “win days.”’
Okay...
‘Think about it though, Melody, the drumming in my head. “Silence will fall.” It’s a sign, isn’t it? We want the same thing.’
‘Noise reduction?’
‘The Doctor. Dead.’
Can’t argue with that, It’s what I was born for. I have a destiny, like it or not. And I like it a lot. Only...
I dunno, might be fun. Old Time Lord. New tricks. Bit of work experience.
If he can really do it, that is. I mean, he talks a good fight, but theres been about a million mouths through history who made their last words “Goodbye, Doctor.”
So the question you need to ask this guy is -
‘You really think that you can beat him?’
And there it is again. The devil in the smile.
‘Trust me. I’m the Master.’
Oh he is good, I’ll give him that. “The master of disguise.”
You wouldn’t think that handsome charmer on the TV screen was even close to being the same lunatic who tumbled out the sky all those months ago. Have to say, he scrubs up pretty well for a psychopathic murderer.
New suit, new wife, new name.
New job.
Still got the devil in his smile, though, look at him, sucking up to the camera. Oh, and sucking face with the Missus too. He really is a master of disguise. Still, he always wanted a “companion.” Hope she makes a better packed lunch than I do.
And he’s off, addressing the press. This should be good. Turn it up a sec, hear what our new Prime Minister has got to say for himself...
‘...needs medicine. In fact I’d go as far as to say that what this country really needs, right now, is a Doctor.’
Ha, nice. You hear that Doctor? You just got called out.
Wherever he is, he’s gotta know by now that “Saxon’s” won this. Though what he won’t know is how.
And that’s the power of television.
You see Doctor, nobody watches moon landing stuff anymore. But they do watch the “X Factor.”
Mr Saxon sandwiched between Simon Cowell and a couple of Munsch-skins. There's a party political broadcast no-one's ever gonna remember. And a subliminal message no-one's ever gonna forget.
‘Vote Saxon.’
And thanks to the Archangel Network we’re pumping out our PR twenty-four-seven, making a bigger impression than Neil Armstrong’s footprint ever did.
Working to the master plan; a coalition with a common goal.
We deliver him the election, he delivers us the Doctor. Silent partners.
Not that it’ll last of course. This is politics after all. I’m sure there’ll soon be the inevitable betrayal.
Only, next time?
I won’t go so easy on the mustard.
written by
PAUL PARNCUTT
copyright 2013
artwork by
COLIN JOHN
copyright 2013