Post by Ribs, Suthers' Pal on Dec 11, 2014 1:53:09 GMT
Another piece written for the GB fanfic competition, this time the theme is "write a Dr Who story relating to Christmas".
I honest to god have no idea how I can possibly follow this, as its taking the idea of a ridiculous, radical Dr Who story to its natural endpoint.
____
Adolf Hitler had lost the war.
There he sat, gun pressed against his temple. There was no way for him to recover.
The Nazi empire had crumbled apart.
He was weak. He was alone.
He pulled the trigger.
Confetti poured down.
“I – what?” He began.
The gun had not fired a shot, merely producing a short click. His wife, who had taken her life just moments earlier, sprang upward.
A small group of people emerged from behind a door within the bunker. Among them stood the Doctor.
“We got you!” He said, pointing at the mirror along the wall.
“It is a trick mirror?” Hitler asked. “This is very humorous indeed.”
The Doctor patted the führer on the back. “And not only that, but we’ve got a special cake behind it!”
The cake was wheeled out, alight with candles.
“Happy birthday, Adolf.” Hitler leaned in, and blew.
“So – this was all a test?” he asked the Doctor, later that evening as the party was winding down.
“Yes, Hitler, it was. Just a fun little exercise, for your birthday.” He smirked, “I’m sorry it came a bit late. Ran into a problem with the local bakery; had been shut down by some German something-or-other.”
Hitler responded, “That is truly awful. Please be sure to contact me, I’ll be sure to put it right however I can.”
They watched the dance floor buzz with life. Hitler sipped his cocktail.
“This isn’t real, is it?” Hitler asked.
The Doctor sighed. It was a long sigh, one full of regret.
“I can’t fix everything, dear friend.” He patted his confidant on the back. “I projected the holograph matrix onto your motoneuron cortex at the moment of initial decomposition using a mixture of isometric geographical subnets.”
“A dying fantasy.” Hitler looked in his friend’s eyes. “It’s getting late.”
One friend embraced the other.
“Hitler,” the Doctor said, “you may be the greatest, smartest friend I’ll ever have.”
“No, it didn’t work out.” Hitler admitted. “I think I might have been a bit too harsh. My dear friend – I just want you to promise me one thing.”
Again, they locked eyes. “Don’t be like me.” Hitler implored, “I want you to go out and save people. Please, try and right my wrongs.”
“But, Adolf-“ The Doctor began, “That’s not the Nazi way…”
“Please, mein freund, for me. Maybe murder on an industrial scale is a bad idea.”
“No, I don’t think I can-“
“-Please, go out, and help people. In the name of Nazism. Be-“ he stopped, “-The Doctor. The Nazi Doctor.”
“I like the sound of that… Doctor…”
“I thought you would.” Hitler patted his friend on the back. “I think I’m ready to move on, now. But, just one more thing, Doctor…”
“Merry Christmas.”
It was not Christmas, it was April, Hitler was dying and delusional. But, in the last seconds of this deluded fantasy of a dying man, Santa Claus burst onto the scene as well as a snowman who provided him solace, singing in yuletide cheer as his consciousness turned into blackness.
As the illusion faded away, Adolf Hitler moved onto the great beyond. But he did not, really – his influence still roams the cosmos, and, guided by new purpose, began to call himself by his new title.
A Christmas miracle; the Doctor was born, and Adolf Hitler had won the war.
____
I haven't submitted this yet because I actually think this might be horribly offensive enough to not get included. I had to talk myself out of a holocaust-never-happened line to boot. I'll sleep on it regarding any revisions but I do hope to submit this for inclusion amongst a series of other schmaltzy Christmas stuff.
I honest to god have no idea how I can possibly follow this, as its taking the idea of a ridiculous, radical Dr Who story to its natural endpoint.
____
Adolf Hitler had lost the war.
There he sat, gun pressed against his temple. There was no way for him to recover.
The Nazi empire had crumbled apart.
He was weak. He was alone.
He pulled the trigger.
Confetti poured down.
“I – what?” He began.
The gun had not fired a shot, merely producing a short click. His wife, who had taken her life just moments earlier, sprang upward.
A small group of people emerged from behind a door within the bunker. Among them stood the Doctor.
“We got you!” He said, pointing at the mirror along the wall.
“It is a trick mirror?” Hitler asked. “This is very humorous indeed.”
The Doctor patted the führer on the back. “And not only that, but we’ve got a special cake behind it!”
The cake was wheeled out, alight with candles.
“Happy birthday, Adolf.” Hitler leaned in, and blew.
“So – this was all a test?” he asked the Doctor, later that evening as the party was winding down.
“Yes, Hitler, it was. Just a fun little exercise, for your birthday.” He smirked, “I’m sorry it came a bit late. Ran into a problem with the local bakery; had been shut down by some German something-or-other.”
Hitler responded, “That is truly awful. Please be sure to contact me, I’ll be sure to put it right however I can.”
They watched the dance floor buzz with life. Hitler sipped his cocktail.
“This isn’t real, is it?” Hitler asked.
The Doctor sighed. It was a long sigh, one full of regret.
“I can’t fix everything, dear friend.” He patted his confidant on the back. “I projected the holograph matrix onto your motoneuron cortex at the moment of initial decomposition using a mixture of isometric geographical subnets.”
“A dying fantasy.” Hitler looked in his friend’s eyes. “It’s getting late.”
One friend embraced the other.
“Hitler,” the Doctor said, “you may be the greatest, smartest friend I’ll ever have.”
“No, it didn’t work out.” Hitler admitted. “I think I might have been a bit too harsh. My dear friend – I just want you to promise me one thing.”
Again, they locked eyes. “Don’t be like me.” Hitler implored, “I want you to go out and save people. Please, try and right my wrongs.”
“But, Adolf-“ The Doctor began, “That’s not the Nazi way…”
“Please, mein freund, for me. Maybe murder on an industrial scale is a bad idea.”
“No, I don’t think I can-“
“-Please, go out, and help people. In the name of Nazism. Be-“ he stopped, “-The Doctor. The Nazi Doctor.”
“I like the sound of that… Doctor…”
“I thought you would.” Hitler patted his friend on the back. “I think I’m ready to move on, now. But, just one more thing, Doctor…”
“Merry Christmas.”
It was not Christmas, it was April, Hitler was dying and delusional. But, in the last seconds of this deluded fantasy of a dying man, Santa Claus burst onto the scene as well as a snowman who provided him solace, singing in yuletide cheer as his consciousness turned into blackness.
As the illusion faded away, Adolf Hitler moved onto the great beyond. But he did not, really – his influence still roams the cosmos, and, guided by new purpose, began to call himself by his new title.
A Christmas miracle; the Doctor was born, and Adolf Hitler had won the war.
____
I haven't submitted this yet because I actually think this might be horribly offensive enough to not get included. I had to talk myself out of a holocaust-never-happened line to boot. I'll sleep on it regarding any revisions but I do hope to submit this for inclusion amongst a series of other schmaltzy Christmas stuff.