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Runaway
I want to run away in the TARDIS. I am the Doctor. I shall run away, far away. I shall hide in the fourth dimension. I shall crawl into the depths of space. Perhaps there is a corner in the Medusa Cascade where I can take my blue box, and there be isolated - but no, it’s not the great big universe I am running from!
It’s me. I cannot live with myself. But I cannot run away from it - me- either. What do I do with it?
I run a hand through my thick brown hair - why am I not ginger? - and scrunch up my face. If only I would not recognise myself in the reflection on the console.
Maybe another run would do me good. Long lanky limbs: surprising how since the War I’ve always been given a body that’s great for keeping at least a step ahead of any lifeform intending to do me harm. If I was God, I should have let me get caught long ago by them. The darkness inside - I don’t deserve to live, but I can’t stand and die. So I run.
Here is the only time I’ll ever talk about God. I manage to pick up so many companions who just don’t see why it must be so. And honestly, I’d rather forget it myself. If God exists, then I have to deal with what I’ve done, and what has been done to me.
But then, there was the day I knew that I could not avoid the question - what is outside time? I had to face the fact that I just don’t know everything. I never will know everything, and frankly, I bloody don’t want to know everything. And if there was something outside Time, then Time had to be created too. I don’t like that word, creation. I know what it means. Most of you lot just don’t use it right. You mean sub-created. Created out of something. But when it all began, it began out of nothing. And that something, you have to believe that that something is more powerful than anything here, and at least deserves a look.
And then there are miracles. Rory, oh, Rory, there isn’t really anything I can tell you that will really explain it. You came back for her - but it wasn’t you, and it wasn’t really her, and nothing in my science can really explain it. You were needed, and so you came back. Or perhaps you’d never really gone. Time’s got to be in even less of a straight line out there than it is in my head. But it really was - yes, it was. I didn’t want to talk about it. Still don’t. Don’t know why I am now. Perhaps it’s because you and Amy are gone off to your wonderful human lives, back on the best planet in the universe.
I don’t really care if some planets were created with life on them, or if some planets have evolved life. I mostly use it as an excuse to feel equal to you lot. You will always be so much more than the Timelords ever could. Our race was doomed, when we chose to control Time ourselves. To ignore those around us who needed us. To never interfere. To look down so mightily on the - I shouldn’t even say it - lower races. And when we slaughtered innocents to kill a greater threat.
But there’s no reason why you lot are so much more special.
Except, perhaps, you were created to be so.
Maybe it’s time to deal with all of that.
Now that I’m alone.
Now I that I can never be together again.
Broken.
What do I do with a creator?
What do I do with something bigger than myself?
Nothing will ever make sense again.
Fluff, fiction, and films; pottery, pictures, and ponderings. Brought to you by Jenni Noordhoek.
