You're Not the Doctor- I Am
The World Meetings were normally horrible, but on this day, it was worse. If that is even possible. On this day, it degraded into an argument between England and America over whose doctor was better.
England slammed his hands down. "You stupid git! It's bloody impossible to be better than the Doctor. He's the Doctor!"
"Ahaha! I'll admit your Doctor is pretty cool, but my Dr. House is even better! He's a hero who solves impossible cases and saves the day!" America folded his arms over his chest. "He's a hero, like me!"
"The Doctor does that too! He's a hero!"
"Yeah, but he doesn't do the things he does with House's cool sarcasm."
"The Doctor regenerates from time to time with a new face and new personality, so sometimes he does!"
"Would you two shut up!?!" Germany roared. "You're fighting about TV shows!"
North and South Italy both cried and jumped back as a blue police box appeared in front of them. A short teenage girl with long brown hair tied in a ponytail and a baseball cap
Christmas-or actually, just the holiday season-is the best time of the year.
It doesn't matter who you are or what you celebrate. Unless you thrive on ill-will and bad feelings, the Holidays are brilliant. The air fills with wonder and beauty, joy and excitement, harmony and melody.
Lights glisten. The chill urges people to get out and play, then come in for some nice, hot cocoa and a cuddle. People are always bustling about, shopping and greeting each other with a kind smile and a "How do you do?"
People open their hearts during the Holidays. Sure some may consider it a curse to have to spend, but others are more giving and generous this time of year. It's all about trying to make those you care about most happy.
The best thing you can give someone is your time and affection. This Holiday season, take time to tell your friends, family, pets-whoever it is that you cherish greatly-just how much they mean to you. Spend whatever time you have with them. Winter is a time for togetherness,
Death of a Muse
My muse died on me.
See, it happened something like this:
I was in the middle of writing on epic battle for that Christmas present I promised you. My muse, a handsome man by the name of Apollo (sadly-or perhaps thankfully-not the Greek god), was sitting on my lap as I typed my story. Well, your story, sort of. All was peaceful until this huge dude with an axe burst through the door.
I spun (span? spinned? Nothing sounds right now that Apollo is gone) my swivel chair around to face the monster. His unevenly-sized eyes were electric blue and gleaming. His black hair was styled like a Mohawk on the left (well, his right) and a really bad, uneven bowl-cut (how the hell is that even possible?) on the right (or his left). This strange man towered over me at 9'7" tall...when he was slouching! His teeth were extremely crooked and his clothes were so torn and dirty that they had become rags.
The guy pulled Apollo off of my lap and slammed him down on the ground. He chopped both of