Anyway, I do not own Doctor Who. My writing is for fun, not monetary profit. Oh, and Last of The Time Lord spoilers are to be watched for.
A Cynic's Irony
If an ordinary person could look at the span of his entire life, said ordinary person would never believe in the truth of his life. As always though, especially when looking at the planet Earth, people who were extraordinary could be found in abundance.
These extraordinary people, these humans, would look at his life and believe that he was immortal. What made the difference though, was what a person thought of his, Captain Jack Harkness's, immortal life. That he was able to die over and over, and yet not be dead for long, was not something easy to accept. He hadn't even accepted his vastly elongated life for some two hundred years.
Being human, and an extraordinary one at that, Jack had thought about his elongated life long and hard. Not one to always be serious, this was something Jack had tried to avoid. However, as the years passed, these counted in millions and billions, Jack was left no choice to think about what he was, Immortal.
No matter how many times he had been shot, skewered, crushed, trampled, burnt, strangled, electrocuted, stabbed, tasered, gassed, and poisoned, as well as countless other ways to be killed, he had never been dead for long. Always, he would wake up from a fatal injury healthy as a horse and with only a few moments of excruciating pain to show for his efforts.
Now, not as Captain Jack Harkness, but instead as The Face of Bo, his life was running out. Though he was not to die just yet, first he had a friend to see again, he was still dying. As both Jack and Bo, the being that lived now had, had a great life. Even at the saddest of times, watching Rose grow up or the Doctor grow terribly and awfully old by hands of The Master, he still had lived magnificently. Something he knew, the doctor would be so proud of.
This brought a smile on Bo's face. Yes, in his youth, as Jack, he had been reprimanded by the doctor. The reason for this being that his greetings to others had seemed to border on flirtation to the doctor. Even so, he never would have changed his ways. Never, even now, would he regret loving the doctor. Even now that was so, as he waited for the doctor so he could tell his message.
Eyes closing from exhaustion only the doctor could begin to understand, Bo thought of what he had made of his immortality. Yes, he had gone to the front lines of war many and many a time, and had lived through them all despite many fatal injuries. Yes, he had lived a life extending billions, and even trillions, of years. Yes, he had made a lot of his immortality. There was, however, one thing that was most important.
Out of everything he had made out of his immortality, the most important thing he made was a discovery. A discovery that, when he thought about the knowledge, he associated what he knew with the human condition. Never mind that he was human himself, what he discovered was so human, that there was no better term.
What Jack discovered was that, in the end, even if there was no God burning the antennae off an insect with a magnifying glass, life itself had the worst kind of sense of humor.
After all, only life could pull off this kind of cynical irony. A cynical irony that was so human, that it made a person want to laugh and cry at the same time. He had done both, though sometimes not at the same time, when thinking on the truth of his situation.
The truth being, that after being killed in more ways than he had thought existed, and not being able to die despite that, he would die of old age.
Thinking about that, life really did have a terrible sense of humor. To think that it could throw countless fatal injuries at him, and yet he still would not die. To think life would make him suffer terrible and excruciating pain so many countless times, he had killed himself despite knowing doing so would do nothing. To think that, in the end, out of all the possible ways he could have died had he been mortal, he would die of something so simple, anyone would have been disgusted.
Bo figured old age was like that. A person could live through anything, he certainly had, and in the end, life would still burn you off the earth grinning like a toothless, wrinkled, demented geezer through the simple process of old age.
Certainly, if nothing else was, the was a cynic's irony at its best.
Jokess- DAMN! Now I remember why I shouldn't read Stephen King and write fan fiction in the same week. Doing so causes such morbid results. I know, happened before. Last time I had a Stephen King obsession, I managed to kill off nine characters, maybe more, for a plot. Not only that, but surviving characters were suicidal or blind or insane. Good times, good times.
Anyway, morbid or not, this story certainly has a truth to it. Which I suppose, is why I wanted to write this. The truth is so...well true, that I'm sure people, especially the cynics, live by the cruelty life hands out.
Well, whatever the case, please enjoy this story and tell what you think.