He struggled with his coat, the fiddly buttons that made it hard to take off, bindings for one such as him. But it was time.
To exist meant one had to accept endings.
There were ends to all tales, an end to all songs, no matter what was said. Or who said it, no matter how nice it is to believe the speaker.
Endings existed, even if one never desired them.
Ran away from them.
Life was nothing but a series of changes before it comes to an eventual end.
One could run.
Slip into a box and sail across the scope of reality, from its inception to the darkness that awaited at the other side of time. But the end implicit in one's ending would always be there.
Waiting, silently. Counting the sand in an anachronistic sand hourglass.
Every man, woman, and child had their time.
But he had never accepted that.
He had been a coward from the very first day. Oh, he had stood up to things, monsters, villains, gods and kings. Always with the risk of dying. But he had known couldn't lose. Not truly, not the final defeat.
The very notion of such was laughable. Hadn't he known the when and where of his end? Was he not a Time Lord? One of the exalted children of Gallifrey? Woven whole from the loom of genes, given birth in fullness?
Always moving, never stopping.
Even then, he had known to stop was to end, to end was to die. And that was unacceptable.
And so he darted through life, never stopped. Always moving.
The one time, he had stopped was a time of change, he gazed into a crack in the very filament of time. To gaze into that, one could go mad, be inspired... or like him, run and never stop running.
He had run and he had never stopped. Because what he had seen was all the possibilities that lay before him gazing back at him. A path that slowly darkened with the blood that spilled from his blood drenched hands. Hands that could heal, and did. But always at a cost. Always to the further darkening of the world, even if it never seemed so.
The ending that he had seen had terrified him.
And so he ran.
And yet.
And yet.
Now that he was here, he had to laugh. The path was dark, it was true. But was not the world itself dark by its nature? Did not entropy gift everything with a widening load?
He knew where he would end.
He knew when he would end.
But before that time, he would not end.
Could not end.
The very reality of the universe, space and time in all of their glory, would not allow him such. That would be a mercy for him.
The lonely god he had been called by some, the mad man in a box, an insane goblin trickster. The smiling angel who swept out of cage to smile and twirled those who he encountered into whirlwind around him. Offering a bloody hand to his pets, taking them out of their time and space, a different face always, but he was always the same.
Now and then, he returned them. Alive. But not always.
How long has he run? He could check the answer, but wasn't it too long? Yes, too long felt right.
It was far too long.
And yet.
It was too short, life was too short. There was never enough for him to do, to see, to know and experience. Always moving on. Never stopping. Never thinking of what he had seen that night.
A tear. A scar across the skein of time. Brilliant white in a sea of darkness. Immaculate in contrast to that which surrounded him.
From Gallifrey to [TÍŸrÍžeÍŸÒ‰nz̧̛a͢͡lÍ¡ò̀rÌ·ÍžeÍ]. That eternal mobius. He knew exactly when and where he was. Always. Relative to that path. How could he not?
Promises had been made, but promises can be broken.
And he had done so.
He had shed the coat that he called Doctor.
And in its place, he placed on another. A new coat for a new man. He was still... him. But he was no longer a Doctor.
Never more.
To exist meant one had to accept endings.
There were ends to all tales, an end to all songs, no matter what was said. Or who said it, no matter how nice it is to believe the speaker.
Endings existed, even if one never desired them.
Ran away from them.
Life was nothing but a series of changes before it comes to an eventual end.
One could run.
Slip into a box and sail across the scope of reality, from its inception to the darkness that awaited at the other side of time. But the end implicit in one's ending would always be there.
Waiting, silently. Counting the sand in an anachronistic sand hourglass.
Every man, woman, and child had their time.
But he had never accepted that.
He had been a coward from the very first day. Oh, he had stood up to things, monsters, villains, gods and kings. Always with the risk of dying. But he had known couldn't lose. Not truly, not the final defeat.
The very notion of such was laughable. Hadn't he known the when and where of his end? Was he not a Time Lord? One of the exalted children of Gallifrey? Woven whole from the loom of genes, given birth in fullness?
Always moving, never stopping.
Even then, he had known to stop was to end, to end was to die. And that was unacceptable.
And so he darted through life, never stopped. Always moving.
The one time, he had stopped was a time of change, he gazed into a crack in the very filament of time. To gaze into that, one could go mad, be inspired... or like him, run and never stop running.
He had run and he had never stopped. Because what he had seen was all the possibilities that lay before him gazing back at him. A path that slowly darkened with the blood that spilled from his blood drenched hands. Hands that could heal, and did. But always at a cost. Always to the further darkening of the world, even if it never seemed so.
The ending that he had seen had terrified him.
And so he ran.
And yet.
And yet.
Now that he was here, he had to laugh. The path was dark, it was true. But was not the world itself dark by its nature? Did not entropy gift everything with a widening load?
He knew where he would end.
He knew when he would end.
But before that time, he would not end.
Could not end.
The very reality of the universe, space and time in all of their glory, would not allow him such. That would be a mercy for him.
The lonely god he had been called by some, the mad man in a box, an insane goblin trickster. The smiling angel who swept out of cage to smile and twirled those who he encountered into whirlwind around him. Offering a bloody hand to his pets, taking them out of their time and space, a different face always, but he was always the same.
Now and then, he returned them. Alive. But not always.
How long has he run? He could check the answer, but wasn't it too long? Yes, too long felt right.
It was far too long.
And yet.
It was too short, life was too short. There was never enough for him to do, to see, to know and experience. Always moving on. Never stopping. Never thinking of what he had seen that night.
A tear. A scar across the skein of time. Brilliant white in a sea of darkness. Immaculate in contrast to that which surrounded him.
From Gallifrey to [TÍŸrÍžeÍŸÒ‰nz̧̛a͢͡lÍ¡ò̀rÌ·ÍžeÍ]. That eternal mobius. He knew exactly when and where he was. Always. Relative to that path. How could he not?
Promises had been made, but promises can be broken.
And he had done so.
He had shed the coat that he called Doctor.
And in its place, he placed on another. A new coat for a new man. He was still... him. But he was no longer a Doctor.
Never more.
- - -
Iron Fic 5.1 Entry
Coats
A Doctor Who One Shot
Start Time : 02:16 PM
End Time : 03:05 PM
Iron Fic 5.1 Entry
Coats
A Doctor Who One Shot
Start Time : 02:16 PM
End Time : 03:05 PM