He's not sure how long it's been. How long since every enemy of his in the Universe joined forces to trap him. How long he's sat in his cold, cramped, silent prison. He's a Time Lord. He can feel the motion of Time in his very bones, but it's no use here. According to his inner clock, it hasn't even been a second since his entrapment.
Not. A single. Second.
And that can't be true. It can't be. Because if this is one second, he's not going to survive until the fifth one. He might not even make it to the third. The world is moving so slowly, but his mind is racing, looking for something. Anything. He's counted every wire in view. He knows how many lights there are and how many pieces of metal made each individual side of his cell. Little particles of dust are hanging suspended in front of him and he's already calculated how each of them would move if he breathed out.
Is he breathing? How long hasn't he been breathing? Can he breathe? He tries and nothing happens. He tries to speak and nothing comes out. His mouth doesn't move. The dust just hangs there.
One second.
He tries to move his hands, his feet, his head. He tries to inhale, swallow, blink. He tries to shift his stare from straight ahead to any other direction.
He tries.
He was worried before. He had been afraid, concerned, troubled, maybe. Now, he's panicking. Far beyond worry, into sheer solid terror. He is screaming for SOMETHING TO HAPPEN.
Silence.
One second.
He thought his mind had been racing before. His world rings with the worst sort of laughter as all his thoughts careen out of even his control. His life doesn't flash before his eyes so much as his brain shoots through them all in one go. Susanbarbaraianvickistevenkatarinasaradodopollyben jamievictoriazoethebrigadierlizjosarahbentonmikeha rryleelaromanaadricnyssateganvislorperimelanieaceg racerosejackmmickeyjackiemarthadonnaastridadelaide wilfredriverroryamypleasestopthatseverythingnowait please-
One second.
He can't take it. He can't. He's hold his breath until he passed out if he could breathe at all. He'd bite his tongue if he could move his jaw. He would die if he could, and he's trying.
The dust is still. He feels like it's taunting him. Maybe it is. In a cage this cruel, he wouldn't be surprised if the dust itself was meant to torment him. Look! Look at everything that could happen! Except it won't. It won't ever happen. Because nothing will ever happen. Nothing has ever happened nor ever will again.
One second.
Was that a sound? No. No of course not. There is no sound. There was never any sound. There has never been any sound. It's just been him in this box since forever. There is nothing outside. There is no outside. There is him, and the box, and the Silence. Forever. Forever has only ever been a second. Everything that ever didn't happen has been inside this single second.
And it has been one second for a very long time.
Time? What is time? What was time? What is a second? A breath? What's a breath? How does one breathe? It's been so long, he's forgotten. How long? One second. Forever. There is no difference. There has never been another second. A second is eternity. Eternity? What's eternity? What is forever? How long has he been in here?
One Second.
,.,.,…,.,,.,.,.,.,,.,.,,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,..,.,.,.,. ,.,.,,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,,.,.,.,.,.,.,,.,.,.,.,., .,.,.,.,,.,.,.,.
I am fascinated by the Pandorica and what it means for the Doctor. His perfect prison. A whole season of build-up and he was in it for so short of a time. I think it's probably for the best. River had mentioned Time-Stops in the Pandorica and it got me to thinking: what was it actually like in the perfect prison? What was it like to someone who wasn't mostly dead the whole time? What was it like for someone who so clearly HATES waiting?