10 November 1913
Dreams slip away if one does not keep them written down. It is as I was telling Martha this morning. The way the mind works is that the more important stays in the forefront while those things that are less important to the moment stay hidden. My dreams, as I've come to discover, are less important to my mind than they are to me, so they vanish.
All the same, let me be more brief. Professor Moffat always finds time to tell me that the Bard says brevity is the soul of wit. While I prefer history to literature, I can take that idea to heart.
Last night I dreamed I was running. (The story takes place in the year of our Lord 2007!) It was Martha and I, running. There is almost always some sort of danger or running involved in these dreams, as I have come to notice. The Doctor's life is always one of adventure, occasionally heartbreak, and danger from which he must always run. He wears the most unusual shoes because of how they improve this ability.
Martha and I are running from some sort of evil (another constant in the dreams), pushing past people and running along corridors until we arrive back at the magic box. I'm not safe in the box because the evil can track me. Martha is unlike her normally well-collected self; she appears to be very frustrated, anxious, and confused.
In my dreams, Martha and I have a significantly different relationship. She is my traveling companion. An equal, of sorts. The concept itself seems ridiculous as I write it because a world where a woman of color could be on equal terms with a respected schoolteacher is absurd. However, in the Doctor's world Martha stands on equal footing with him and he trusts her. There is no doubt in his mind that she is loyal and brave.
Audaces Fortuna Juvat.
The magic box has the answer, as it frequently does. I move beneath the front spiral desk of the main room and pull objects out from within her depths.
Martha, you trust me, don't you? I say to my companion.
Her response is both immediate and endearing. Of course I do. She says the words with conviction as I have never heard from my quiet housemaid.
It all depends on you, I tell her. I then stand and hold my fob watch to her. I begin to explain to her the importance of the watch, but as I have said, dreams fade away at times. No, they don't fade. Not the dreams about the Doctor.
They run. Run away at full gallop and I am left wondering what it was I dreamt at all. It feels as if my mind only shows me a glimmer to remind me that this storybook hero in my mind is there, but I'm not allowed to see his full story just yet.
It is funny how dreams are like that.
Muse: John Smith / the Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 489
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