Scott Matthewman » Drabbles

The Face of Boe’s secret

Scott Matthewman — Wed, 19 Apr 2006 00:44:28 +0000

“Welcome for a third and final time, Doctor. And my secret is…

“I am your father… no, wait, that’s not it, sorry, memory’s not what it was… Soylent Green is people!… er… it’ll come to me in a minute… Laura Palmer’s father is BOB? The Apes’ planet is really Earth? Bruce Willis is a ghost? Your companion has grafittied that bloody ‘Bad Wolf’ tag all over space/time with no consideration for other people?

“Give me a minute… yes! I remember now!

“I’ve worked out what the fuck the ending of 2001 was all about. Only took me five billion years…”

Another Year On

Scott Matthewman — Tue, 28 Nov 2000 17:34:54 +0000

She strolled down towards Via Fossa. Three hours to get ready tonight, more than she spent for her first date with Michael Chambers in Year 12.

The door swung open, knocking the gift from her hand. Picking it up, she realized who was passing her.

“Nathan!” she called. “Happy seventeenth!”

He looked at her like she was nothing. “Oh,” he said eventually. “Hi, Donna.”

“I…” got you a present, she started to say. “See ya later,” he called back, already walking away.

See ya later: the last words her mum said to Gary. Words she said when she meant goodbye.

The Cherub

Scott Matthewman — Tue, 27 Jun 2000 17:34:23 +0000

He had skin of gold. In all Stuart’s nights of searching for the perfect man, he’d never found flesh of such perfection.

The boy stared all around, taking in the sights of the cobbled street. Every so often their eyes locked, and a gentle smile emerged. All too soon, his gaze started wandering again, desperately consuming each passing figure. A wide grin broke out as a familiar face approached.

Vince sat down next to Stuart, causing Alfie to gurgle with joy. Stuart cursed. Just his luck - to fall for someone who only has eyes for his best friend…

Unconventional

Scott Matthewman — Tue, 20 Jun 2000 17:28:09 +0000

Vince took a deep breath and burst through the door. It wasn’t what he had been expecting. No long scarves, no silver foil Cyberman costumes - some of them even had decent haircuts.

It was nice to feel like he wasn’t alone. There were other Doctor Who fans out there.

He bought a Budweiser (declining the Beck’s out of protest), looked round and spotted a friendly-looking crowd nearby. As he approached, he heard a dumpy looking chap with wandering hands say, “Of course, everybody knows that Russell based the character of Vince on me…”

He turned on his heels and ran.

Imperfect Timing

Scott Matthewman — Tue, 06 Jun 2000 19:51:03 +0000

“You will wait for me, won’t you?”

The warm squeeze of her shoulder told her everything.

Mel began the walk up the driveway. It had only been a few months since leaving home, yet to her parents she had been away for nearly fifteen years. She wondered what to expect: would Dad have given up golf by now, Mum admitted to grey hair?

She reached out for the doorbell — and dematerialised.

In the distance, the Doctor sighed. He knew Mel would be sent back to his courtroom at some point, but… Some Time Lords just had no sense of timing.

Today…

Scott Matthewman — Tue, 16 May 2000 17:28:11 +0000

Stuart Alan Jones had done some seriously stupid things in his time, but this had to be right up there with the worst of them. For someone who normally felt no shame, he was absolutely shitting himself.

He looked over to his mother. She could barely raise a smile in support, but her presence was gratifying.

The lights came up. Stuart took a deep breath, and tried not to notice the single bead of sweat running down his neck and under his designer collar.

The woman stepped forward. “Today on Trisha, ‘I flushed my blackmailing nephew’s head down the toilet!’”

Post mortem

Scott Matthewman — Sun, 14 May 2000 17:23:30 +0000

“Well I think he captured us all really well,” Vince said as the Weather Girls segued into the theme music.

“Of course you do,” grumbled Stuart. “You’re the everyman hero who every mother wishes their faggoty son will meet and settle down with.”

“But you’re the one that everybody will want to fuck all night.”

Phil groaned. “Oh, give it a rest, the pair of you. There’ll be miles of slash fiction on the Internet about you. Nobody will remember the fat one who died halfway through.”

“You think that’s bad?” complained Alexander. “People will think I wear purple suits!”

And So, It Begins

Scott Matthewman — Mon, 08 May 2000 17:09:17 +0000

Friday night started with the usual tales of previous exploits.

Vince was bursting. “You’ll never guess who he was,” he said. “Works in television: fantastic! He lists all the programmes he’s worked on and I’m thinking: Oh my God! And then when he tells me his name, it’s like I’ve died and gone to heaven. You’ll never guess what series he wrote a book for.”

“Star Trek?” Phil deadpanned.

“Fuck off,” Vince retorted. “We talked loads, and he’s writing this new series. Set on Canal Street. Based on us. But after that comment, I’ll ask him to kill you off…”

Genesis of Despair

Scott Matthewman — Wed, 18 Aug 1999 19:58:42 +0000

Despair had been trying to ensnare her nemesis for aeons. Now she had hit on the perfect plan. A quick manipulation of a backwards little planet (whose inhabitants were far too up themselves for her liking) and the plan was in place. How ironic — that the bringer of hope would trap himself in her realm by his own hand…

Through the mirror, she watched.

With delight, she saw him raise the two wires, bring them closer together and…

The Doctor stopped. “Do I have that right?”

Blast. She nearly had him in her realm, and now the moment was passed.

Time For Bed (Boing!)

Scott Matthewman — Wed, 21 Jul 1999 19:52:28 +0000

“Wheeeee!” squealed Jo as the Magic Roundabout span. “This Land of Fiction is fun!”

“Watch out!” cried the Doctor, as Ermintrude stampeded through the garden.

Her distress’ source was soon apparent. Imhotep and the remainder of the cast of The Mummy ran amok. A eunuch servant jumped piggyback onto Florence, causing her great discomfort.

The Doctor muttered a limerick under his breath several times. Whispering it into the culprit’s ear, the ferocity subsided into laughter. He jumped down - to Florence’s relief.

“How did you do it, Doctor?” asked Jo.

“Simple. I rehearsed the hilarity of the neuter on Flo.”

Destiny’s Book

Scott Matthewman — Mon, 19 Jul 1999 19:56:24 +0000

Destiny casts no shadow as he walks through his garden. His blind eyes read every page of the book chained to his arms. He knows he should not express opinion on the truths therein, but feels a thrill as the one known as The Doctor appears once more within its pages.

He frowns. Surely not…? How can it be…?

Destiny stumbles, flipping pages back and forth. For the first time in his Endless existence, the book confuses him. Surely even the Doctor’s existence could not be this complex?

Then an inspiration: the frontispiece.

The confusion explained:
Written by Lawrence Miles

So the costume was HER idea…

Scott Matthewman — Thu, 08 Jul 1999 19:54:32 +0000

He sat on the bridge between the Dreaming and her own realm when she found him, thin and blond this time.

“Hello,” he beamed. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” But when she smiled, he remembered and his face fell. “Oh. You. Does that mean I’m… Are you going to…?”

“Maybe one day, but not today.”

From behind her, a brightly coloured head poked, surrounded by kaleidoscopic butterflies.

“i’M DeL. sIs sAYs yoU cHanGE A loT, bUt nOt liKe UNdeRWeAr. CaN i, uM, DeSiGn yOu nEXt tIme?”

The Doctor smiled. “Why not?”

Death giggled. “You’re going to regret saying that, you know.”

Funeral blues (And yellows. And reds. And greens. And…)

Scott Matthewman — Wed, 31 Mar 1999 19:50:04 +0000

The mourners wore black. The Doctor wore every other colour. He told Peri that funerals should be a time of celebration. “Life is ephemeral for the individual, but eternal for society.”

Peri replied that the melancholy atmosphere at funerals was necessary. The Doctor shushed her. “Killjoy.”

On his other side, a friend of the deceased was sobbing her heart out. Passing her a heliotrope handkerchief, he placed a kindly hand on her arm. “He was a happy man,” he told her. “In his memory, let happiness prevail.”

Helen A looked at this brightly garbed stranger. She would do her best.