Why Are You Running?

        Flames and sparks flew wild as the TARDIS traveled through the Vortex, shaking furiously, and throwing the man within about like an old rag doll or a bouncy ball. Had this man been any regular person, he would suffer major injuries from this disastrous trip of his. But, as things seemed to be at the moment, this man was not a regular person at all. He was a Time Lord who had once lived on a planet called Gallifrey. He certainly wasn't a normal man, because, traveling in a blue police box that goes through time and space and has a mind of it's own isn't normal. It's farther from normal than insane is. This man, is the Doctor.

   As the situation goes at the moment, the TARDIS may appear to be throwing a temper tantrum. But that's not what it is at all. The TARDIS is flying in a freak panic of trying to escape an attack. But, as luck would have it, the attacker followed them into the Vortex. The TARDIS jetted to the side fiercly, throwing the Doctor against the protective covering over the time rotor. A loud crack resounded through out the interior of the bigger-on-the-inside ship and more sparks flew as red lights flashed like mad. Emergency, emergency, emergency! But from who? The Doctor struggles up to the main controls, he was going to have to bruises, maybe a couple broken bones. Nope. He fell back to the floor, his legs useless at the moment. He certainly broke something important.

    Another shudder and jerk and the TARDIS doors fly open. Swirling black, blue, red and purple. So many different colors. This was the Vortex. And the Doctor was slowly beginning to feel like he might not be making it back to Earth, or out of the Vortex for that matter. The TARDIS thrust forwards, flinging the Doctor toward the open doors. "No!" He shouts, reaching out a hand as the TARDIS tips over onto it's side. A sudden yank, horrible pain and the feeling of being ripped apart and shredded into a million pieces. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. He has been lucky and had gotten a hold on the handle on the TARDIS doors. Had he not reached out his hand, he'd be dead, or stuck in the Vortex for the rest of his Regenerations.

    The TARDIS twisted suddenly, yanking the Doctor to the side and almost ripping his arm out of its socket. He reached up with his other hand and tried to reach the door frame. He needed to get back into! Just as he got a grip on the door frame, something hit the TARDIS, causing her to spin madly, the Doctor almost lost his grip, but, thankfully, he didn't. But, as the TARDIS jerked and jumped and rocked and twisted, he had lost his Sonic Screwdriver. "Oh! My Sonic!" He whined, then a yank and a tug and jerk brought him back to the dilemma at hand. He was still hanging outside the TARDIS while it was in the Vortex. Reaching up his free hand, he stretched, trying to grasp the door frame again.

    The inside of the TARDIS pulsed a magnificent red. "No no no no! No!" A sudden burst and the Doctor lost his grip on the door frame. Another burst and the TARDIS twisted maniacally, the Doctor like a ribbon on a kite, hanging on for fear life. A third blast and the TARDIS spirals into the side of the Vortex, screeching it's tune of emergency. And, if horrible things can't be made worse, the Doctor had lost his grip.


    The entry into the atmosphere was a ball of flames and sparks. A comet soared across the skies of London and fell over in fields on trees and grass. A loud boom echoing throughout the world. Dirt and dust thrown in the air, craters the size of a large tractor and flames that lit the stalks of the now dead crops. Little did anyone know that in the center of the mess, a lonely blue box sat. Scratched, chipped and destroyed inside, this box, with it's locked doors, would be the talk of the town.