I found this little ditty on my computer from over a year ago and thought I'd put it up. Enjoy.

Lonely Angel

When they touch me, something in them dies.

The real Donna, the one that wasn't concerned about who dated who and what brand of biscuit went best with tea, but rather who lived, who died, and who went free—she died.

A young waitress on a doomed ship, whose life I had only touched for a few brief hours—she went out like a star, burning brilliantly, outshining all her companions. But as a star must, she died.

After being thrown by the Weeping Angles in 1969, caring for my weak human body while aliens hunted us, and traveling the world while the Master reigned for a forgotten year—the innocence in Martha died.

And to an entire universe, Rose died.

Why?

Everyone dies, and I can never join them. I have lived nearly a thousand years, and I have run the whole time. I have changing my face almost as often as I change the ones who accompany me, my living distractions from haunting memories. Their young minds renew my universe, seeing things in a way I never can see them again. Every world is alien to them: alien, because it is not home. I have no home. Sometimes that makes every world my home. Sometimes it makes everything alien.

"Why earth?" my people would have asked. Why not? They think I look human . . . but it is they that look Time Lord. They are the closest I can come to what is lost forever. Sometimes I think that someday, they may achieve the greatness my people once held. Sometimes I despair in their cruelty and ignorance, but then I remember that my people were once as these were. Of course, I know their future. I know that they stretch far and wide across the galaxy, but they never reach the heights the Time Lords did—a beacon of civilization, shining throughout the galaxy. But the Time Lords are gone . . . and I, I have the ability to change the future in thousands of little ways. Someday, if I live long enough, I may find the key. Some small, unimportant thing that becomes so very, very big—so infinitely important. A tiny change that alters the course of humanity—that not only takes them to the stars, but lets them grow into glimmer of hope for the galaxy, a faint reflection of the glory that was the empire of the Time Lords.

If my people could see me, they would stop me.

But they cannot.

Thanks for reading! Be sure to drop a review on your way out if you liked what you read. :)

~WP