The Doctor is a Woman – A Short Story
“I’m not watching!” he hurumphed, his face turning red as he stomped his foot, swung his shoulders and huffed off to his bedroom.
With the greatest force he had ever mustered, he threw himself on his bed and began to cry.
And sob. And howl. And moan. And finally, whimper at the ceiling.
His mummy opened the door, smiling in that soft way mothers do when they know their child’s hurt is not justified. But because children don’t understand the world, a mother feels sorry for her child just the same.
He hid his face, covered in snot, and red with tear stains and exhausted anger.
Mummy sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed his back.
“It’s just not fair!” he burst out. “That’s not the way it’s supposed to be!”
The tears started again.
“I just can’t enjoy anything if I don’t see myself in the physical appearance of the main character!
I can’t enjoy a story that isn’t centred around someone like me!
I cannot relate to people who aren’t white males!
I don’t have the imagination to explore the world through the eyes of someone different!
I don’t have the capacity to care about a story if the protagonist is a woman, a person of colour, does not share my sexual orientation, does not share my gender orientation, is not neurotypical, is somehow differently-abled…
EVERYONE KNOWS THAT TIME TRAVELLING ALIENS ARE WHITE MALES, MUMMY!”
Mummy smiled, gently rubbing the back of the boy’s head.
And then, with the force of a billion stars exploding, crushed the boy’s skull with her bare hand.
“You were right, little Timmy. This is what we were planning all along!”
When Mummy’s eyes stopped glowing crimson, she washed her hands and continued setting the table.