He is but one.
The legends and the myths all can exaggerate the tale so far that it becomes a twisted orthodox chain of events. The future becomes the present and the past becomes the destiny. Time and space gone forever. Strings of the universe-torn. The laws of moments, of the little tics of a clock, disintegrated by a tale; by a legend of such extreme content that its reality is questioned. Is it real? Does it truly exist? Can it walk amongst us and breathe our air, feel our pain, feel our happiness. Can it touch the ends of the universe and be back for supper? The legend of the time lords. Forgotten. Remembered. Rehearsed-over and over. History not made yet-not here yet. No there is something-a person-a god a walker of time. An observer of destruction and creation. The ultimate controller of the universe. The man behind the success, the man behind the weary traveler.
He is but one.
His name repeated over and over. Through the vast twirls of the wind, the constant whispers of the shadows, the ordinary people walking past him, and the truthful companions; wither lost or gained, tortured by memories or the thought of losing him-the faithful.
He is but one.
His faces. Two three-eleven. So many faces. So many personalities-always faking happiness and always forcing joy, but it is there those feelings. Lost and forgotten, tucked away. But they survive through the hopeful eyes of those he saves. They applaud him and worship him and he turns his back and moves on. All he sees is the pain. All he sees is what was lost. He saved two but lost three thousand. The screams of the children, the echoes of their cries. They haunt him. Even the faces of those saved haunt him. They will die as well. All things end. Time ends. It all fades away…
He is but one.
One doctor.
And doesn't that scare you the most…