A/N: Well. I feel slightly rude returning to the world of Doctor Who fanfiction after abandoning it for so long. And starting a new story when I've already got two sitting there unfinished. But, well... I couldn't help it. I've been practising with first person stories (which I'm usually terrible at) and I decided to post this one. I won't be updating like crazy like I normally do because I'm kind of taking my time with this one, plus I'm in the middle of finishing off a rather epicly long 40-plus chapter Bully story, but anywhooo I hope you like it and it makes up for the abandoning thing. :D

Oh, and this prologue is very short, but the next chapter will be longer. Honest.

Also, I couldn't think of a title. So I called it 'Chicken Oriental' because it rhymes with Mental :) (cockney rhyming slang ftw)

Chicken Oriental


I always thought I was successful. Well, not the kind of successful where you have more cars than toes or have enough money to buy a apricot and custard muffin and one of those tall choca-moca-creamy-chino coffee things every single morning on your way to work. No, the kind of successful I always thought I was is the poor mans successful; having a relatively decent job that just covers rent and the essentials, a group of nice (albeit slightly crazy) friends, having a local pub that knew my usual drink and a neighbour who actually turned their music down when I asked them. I used to watch the news and worry about politics, worry about the state of other country's economies. I used to feel guilty when I dropped a piece of rubbish on the pavement. I tried to recycle. I felt like I was making a difference. Actually, I was convinced I was making a difference, up until someone showed me just how pointless my efforts were.

The moment I realised just how much I had wasted my twenty-seven years and six months, I was ankle deep in a mixture of sour milk, rotten mushrooms and something I tried my best not to think about. This wasn't part of my usual day-to-day routine by the way (although it wasn't the first time I had been inside a dumpster); I was hiding. When you resort to hiding in a dumpster, you know the situation is pretty desperate. I had been there for almost twenty minutes when the fresh-faced man with the spiky brown hair peered in at me, grinned and told me that he had been looking around in dumpsters for me all day.

But before I try to explain him, I should explain a little more about why I was sitting in a half full dumpster behind Tescos. And to be perfectly honest, I wouldn't be surprised if this has happened to the majority of people these days. Well… the majority of people are prone to hallucinations or have addictions to mind altering drugs…