Status: Complete.
Time
False Knight On The Road
Time is the most efficient killer ever thought of. Even if we dodge the murderers and villains, are careful enough to avoid the accidents, are lucky enough to survive the tragedies and the illnesses and even ourselves, time gets us in the end. Wherever you run to, wherever you hide, time will be hot on your heels, lying in wait, letting you feel it catching up with you. Time has no mercy. Time is the measure of life. Time is the slowest of deaths.
For Steffi, death came by water, gushing over her in a torrent. They watched, unable to aid her, helpless to stop at least the tears of a dying woman. The moment she started to play the recording of her daughters, sobbing bitterly, the knowledge that she’d never see them again stinging her insides, Roman knew he was dead too. Some of us know when it is coming, just like he knew then.
One drop, the tiniest of trickles, was all it took. He didn’t cry, didn’t scream, didn’t curse at the walls `why me and not them`? Somehow, it didn’t matter; his life had become just another insignificance, like a single drop of water in the vast ocean. “You’d better go without me.” Somehow it wasn’t being brave, it wasn’t being self-sacrificing and glorious. Bitter lemons, it seemed, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.
There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t fight it, he couldn’t take it with him. What did he think of? His family? His friends? His colleagues? No, he found himself thinking of that day in the park. He’d maybe have been five years old, watching the little girl on the swing and thinking she was the prettiest person he’d ever laid eyes on. The next time he’d seen her, it had been on page 7 of the local newspaper. A blurry picture and a few lines on a hit and run and suddenly, it isn’t just him, it’s everyone all at once and there’s nothing he can do.
For Ianto, death came by air, poison in every breath taken in. It seemed to embrace him, to linger a little longer, to hold him like a stillborn child. There are those of us whom the universe mourns the passing of, that it is wanton to let slip through its fingers into that dark unknown. Jack knew all along that sooner or later, he was going to loose him, but he was never going to be prepared.
“Would you have stayed ‘til I was old?” The recording asks, hoping to reconcile, to relieve, but there can never been any atonement found in the folders of a flat screen computer. He cried, bent over the body, holding the lost lover in his arms, knowing that the only thing crueller than death is living. He howls at the glass, looking for someone to blame, a direction for his anger, for his hatred of existence. He quakes, begging for the darkness to take him too, to comfort, to hold his hand.
And he knows, in that moment, that Time was never on his side. Time sees everything and nothing. Time does not take sides, or pick favourites. Time is the fairest of all things, and somehow so unfair that it tears his heart in two. Immortality doesn’t mean living forever, it doesn’t even mean being remembered forever; sooner or later, you run out of people to remember, and your life, your work, your message becomes just a blip in Time. “After all, I’m nothing more than a blip in Time to you.”And Jack cries. He breaks down and cries like a child, knowing that we are helpless to do anything.
For Luke, death came by fire, burning everything in its path, tearing down everything he had built up. Once in a while, working on her computer, Martha will think of him and his wasted genius, wasted youth and wonder. Time wastes the best of us, it seems, squanders our gifts on so few people and then lets us go out like a candle flame in a gust of wind. Perhaps he was heroic, perhaps he was vain, perhaps he was wounded, but none of those things explained his revelation.
It didn’t look like he was looking for forgiveness, to make things right, no, he wasn’t the sort. Time takes the villains young sometimes, as well as the heroes and the innocent bystanders. The knowledge hurts her deep inside, that Time welcomes some, and forces others out. That some get a longer turn than others, seems like the most sadistic rule ever invented, and in some ways she envies Luke, knowing that he’ll never grow old, never grow weary, never grow tired.
She can’t make up her mind who the looser is her. Is it Luke, nipped in the bud before the bloom, herself, doomed to shrivel and die eventually, or those that go on forever while the universe decays around them. Time has no battle scars. Nothing could ever stop Time or change it in its ways, nothing at all. Time bends to no-one’s will, and that is the most fearsome quality of all.
For The Hostess, death came by choice, in the vast emptiness of space. There was something lost in the moment between their descent into savagery and the moment she pressed the air lock button that no-one would ever truly understand. One moment of absolute selflessness was all it took to save them, and to condemn herself. Jethro sees and fails to understand. He’ll be lying awake in his bed at night, and the memory will creep back to him and he will turn it over and over in his mind and will never comprehend it any better. He didn’t even know her name.
And he wonders if death will come for him so suddenly; if he’ll slip off stage so quickly that no-one sees until it is far too late. He wonders if he’ll have his moment of heroics, or if he’ll be the coward that he always has been and save himself ahead of others. He knows that some people choose death, but more often than not, death chooses you.
Sometimes, he cries in the darkness of his bedroom, sickened by the void of black. Could he ever know...? Did he ever want to know what was lurking in the midnight emptiness of death? Did he want to know what evil demon was hiding behind the curtain? He fears it. He fears not just the unknown, but judgement. He fears realising the absolute truth about himself. Time is realisation, and that is a cruel fate.
For Tosh, death came by force, blasting its way through her in the form of a metal pellet. She went quietly, hardly making a sound, willing to let herself fade into the shadows behind Owen, as always. For some, death is beautiful, and Time took her at her peak, never wanting to see her grow old and wrinkled. Owen is the opposite, just an animated corpse, and the removal of his existence is nothing short of ugly.
“Because you’re breaking my heart.” And in that moment, Owen knew what he had somehow known all along. The knowledge was crushing, the fact that his heart was breaking too an irony that Time had to have planned out. The scene played out like a film slowly draining of it’s colour, nothing but the hot, red blood on the floor really living anymore. Why did it have to be now? They’d only just started to understand, only just figured out their parts, only just slipped into character.
And then she was gone, leaving Owen with nothing but his thoughts and the slow, deliberate ugliness of his death. He wanted someone to blame, anyone to blame, but the anger he found directed itself inwards. In the end, it seemed, death was the only thing that both he and Time could agree on, a suitable compromise at least. He couldn’t bend Time to his own rules and bring her back, which only left departing shortly behind her. A fitting end, he supposed, for someone who should have been dead already.
Time lets no-one off the hook. It does not wait for us. It does not listen to out objections or heed our warnings, it carries on regardless. Time spills the lifeblood on virgin white dresses, and cradles the newborns in their only breaths. Time takes the masses, in their bombed out houses and in their gas chambers, and in their trenches. Time takes the few, in their hospital gowns, in their party clothes and in their uniforms. Time takes us all in the end, treating us each individually.
Sometimes, it is our duty to die, or to kill. Jack knew this and had to accept the consequences of killing. Adelaide knew this and couldn’t accept the consequences of surviving. The Doctor knows this too, but he will never accept it, and that’s what magnetizes him, gives him that gravity that pulls others in around him, but today, he has gone too far.
“Of all of them, he’s not the one you would have chosen to live.” A wise man once said. “But if you could choose, that would make you a monster, wouldn’t it?” The one rule of his, of Time and space, and today, The Doctor had forgotten it.
For Steffi, death came by water, gushing over her in a torrent. They watched, unable to aid her, helpless to stop at least the tears of a dying woman. The moment she started to play the recording of her daughters, sobbing bitterly, the knowledge that she’d never see them again stinging her insides, Roman knew he was dead too. Some of us know when it is coming, just like he knew then.
One drop, the tiniest of trickles, was all it took. He didn’t cry, didn’t scream, didn’t curse at the walls `why me and not them`? Somehow, it didn’t matter; his life had become just another insignificance, like a single drop of water in the vast ocean. “You’d better go without me.” Somehow it wasn’t being brave, it wasn’t being self-sacrificing and glorious. Bitter lemons, it seemed, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.
There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t fight it, he couldn’t take it with him. What did he think of? His family? His friends? His colleagues? No, he found himself thinking of that day in the park. He’d maybe have been five years old, watching the little girl on the swing and thinking she was the prettiest person he’d ever laid eyes on. The next time he’d seen her, it had been on page 7 of the local newspaper. A blurry picture and a few lines on a hit and run and suddenly, it isn’t just him, it’s everyone all at once and there’s nothing he can do.
For Ianto, death came by air, poison in every breath taken in. It seemed to embrace him, to linger a little longer, to hold him like a stillborn child. There are those of us whom the universe mourns the passing of, that it is wanton to let slip through its fingers into that dark unknown. Jack knew all along that sooner or later, he was going to loose him, but he was never going to be prepared.
“Would you have stayed ‘til I was old?” The recording asks, hoping to reconcile, to relieve, but there can never been any atonement found in the folders of a flat screen computer. He cried, bent over the body, holding the lost lover in his arms, knowing that the only thing crueller than death is living. He howls at the glass, looking for someone to blame, a direction for his anger, for his hatred of existence. He quakes, begging for the darkness to take him too, to comfort, to hold his hand.
And he knows, in that moment, that Time was never on his side. Time sees everything and nothing. Time does not take sides, or pick favourites. Time is the fairest of all things, and somehow so unfair that it tears his heart in two. Immortality doesn’t mean living forever, it doesn’t even mean being remembered forever; sooner or later, you run out of people to remember, and your life, your work, your message becomes just a blip in Time. “After all, I’m nothing more than a blip in Time to you.”And Jack cries. He breaks down and cries like a child, knowing that we are helpless to do anything.
For Luke, death came by fire, burning everything in its path, tearing down everything he had built up. Once in a while, working on her computer, Martha will think of him and his wasted genius, wasted youth and wonder. Time wastes the best of us, it seems, squanders our gifts on so few people and then lets us go out like a candle flame in a gust of wind. Perhaps he was heroic, perhaps he was vain, perhaps he was wounded, but none of those things explained his revelation.
It didn’t look like he was looking for forgiveness, to make things right, no, he wasn’t the sort. Time takes the villains young sometimes, as well as the heroes and the innocent bystanders. The knowledge hurts her deep inside, that Time welcomes some, and forces others out. That some get a longer turn than others, seems like the most sadistic rule ever invented, and in some ways she envies Luke, knowing that he’ll never grow old, never grow weary, never grow tired.
She can’t make up her mind who the looser is her. Is it Luke, nipped in the bud before the bloom, herself, doomed to shrivel and die eventually, or those that go on forever while the universe decays around them. Time has no battle scars. Nothing could ever stop Time or change it in its ways, nothing at all. Time bends to no-one’s will, and that is the most fearsome quality of all.
For The Hostess, death came by choice, in the vast emptiness of space. There was something lost in the moment between their descent into savagery and the moment she pressed the air lock button that no-one would ever truly understand. One moment of absolute selflessness was all it took to save them, and to condemn herself. Jethro sees and fails to understand. He’ll be lying awake in his bed at night, and the memory will creep back to him and he will turn it over and over in his mind and will never comprehend it any better. He didn’t even know her name.
And he wonders if death will come for him so suddenly; if he’ll slip off stage so quickly that no-one sees until it is far too late. He wonders if he’ll have his moment of heroics, or if he’ll be the coward that he always has been and save himself ahead of others. He knows that some people choose death, but more often than not, death chooses you.
Sometimes, he cries in the darkness of his bedroom, sickened by the void of black. Could he ever know...? Did he ever want to know what was lurking in the midnight emptiness of death? Did he want to know what evil demon was hiding behind the curtain? He fears it. He fears not just the unknown, but judgement. He fears realising the absolute truth about himself. Time is realisation, and that is a cruel fate.
For Tosh, death came by force, blasting its way through her in the form of a metal pellet. She went quietly, hardly making a sound, willing to let herself fade into the shadows behind Owen, as always. For some, death is beautiful, and Time took her at her peak, never wanting to see her grow old and wrinkled. Owen is the opposite, just an animated corpse, and the removal of his existence is nothing short of ugly.
“Because you’re breaking my heart.” And in that moment, Owen knew what he had somehow known all along. The knowledge was crushing, the fact that his heart was breaking too an irony that Time had to have planned out. The scene played out like a film slowly draining of it’s colour, nothing but the hot, red blood on the floor really living anymore. Why did it have to be now? They’d only just started to understand, only just figured out their parts, only just slipped into character.
And then she was gone, leaving Owen with nothing but his thoughts and the slow, deliberate ugliness of his death. He wanted someone to blame, anyone to blame, but the anger he found directed itself inwards. In the end, it seemed, death was the only thing that both he and Time could agree on, a suitable compromise at least. He couldn’t bend Time to his own rules and bring her back, which only left departing shortly behind her. A fitting end, he supposed, for someone who should have been dead already.
Time lets no-one off the hook. It does not wait for us. It does not listen to out objections or heed our warnings, it carries on regardless. Time spills the lifeblood on virgin white dresses, and cradles the newborns in their only breaths. Time takes the masses, in their bombed out houses and in their gas chambers, and in their trenches. Time takes the few, in their hospital gowns, in their party clothes and in their uniforms. Time takes us all in the end, treating us each individually.
Sometimes, it is our duty to die, or to kill. Jack knew this and had to accept the consequences of killing. Adelaide knew this and couldn’t accept the consequences of surviving. The Doctor knows this too, but he will never accept it, and that’s what magnetizes him, gives him that gravity that pulls others in around him, but today, he has gone too far.
“Of all of them, he’s not the one you would have chosen to live.” A wise man once said. “But if you could choose, that would make you a monster, wouldn’t it?” The one rule of his, of Time and space, and today, The Doctor had forgotten it.