Well, this is my first Torchwood fiction. It's just a little thing I conjured up last night, because I really felt for Owen after all he's been through. I started watching Torchwood a few weeks ago and I shamelessly admit that I am absolutely intrigued by it! The episodes never fail to be drama-packed and are… Well, just amazing.

I know that this is a pretty bad excuse, but please ignore any repeated phrases or words, or incorrect grammar. After all, I am only 11 (:

This is going to sound rather frivolous, but I'm dedicating this to my English teacher. She is fantastic, and always makes an effort to make me feel proud of my work, and I appreciate it greatly. Thank you!

Oh, and I would just like to add, I do NOT own this amazing show, nor do I write the scripts etc. I'm just a simple star struck fan, writing for the fun of it.

So, here I go! (:

Owen closed his eyes and leant his head into his hands.

He wished that he could feel his touch, but his hands and forehead stayed numb.

It seemed so dense that before he had died, the one thing he was scared of was death.

In fact, almost every human's worst fear was death.

To leave the world that they knew so well behind. To leave everything and everyone. To leave everything that resembled humanity to perish in the dust as their souls left their bodies.

He remembered being dragged unmercifully into the ever lasting darkness, feeling his body drift and wither to nothingness.

Feeling his thoughts alter and die.

Watching his surroundings melt into the ground as the sudden pain in his chest jerked him, and threw him to the cold hard concrete.

In those few dire seconds, he knew what it was like too die.

The absurd uneven colored circles of distant light had dimmed, and the fake glow of the street lights had wavered and crashed to the floor, taking the world with it.

The anxious faces of his team had merged together and shattered like glass to stone. And he was left alone. The darkness was embracing him. Falling.

He hit the arm of the chair with a resounding thud, wishing he still had tears to cry. Wishing he still had nerves to feel. Wishing that his body could repair itself. Wishing he still had a life to live. But Owen Harper was dead. As dead as dead.

Everything has an alternative;

Pain: Numbness.

Leniency: Severity.

Antagonism: Tranquility.

Apprehension: Faith.

Misery: Bliss.

He had always thought of the alternative to life as death. But now, he wasn't so sure.

After all, there was more to death then just to leave this earth behind.

And if he wasn't dead, what was he?

Living dead?

A thriving soul among innocence?

A lost wanderer?

Death gone wrong?

Or just dead life restored?

Owen didn't know what to think.

The world seemed to have lost all purity in his eyes. All he could witness was pain and suffering.

He held out his hand and observed it closely.

To the naked eye it looked normal, but to Owen, it looked like the touch of death. Like a wound in a world of incorruptibility.

He slowly raised his head to the window, carefully watching the unknowing town before him with glazed eyes and a frazzled mind.

If only the human race knew what was in store later in life.

If only they knew what it was like - to die.


Well, how was it? I hope it wasn't as terrible as it seemed whilst I was writing it! I know that there are some absolutely astonishingly brilliant writers on this wonderful site, so this probably looks like rubbish compared (:

But I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless!

So I shall leave you with one last request.

Please review! After all, a review is love. (:

And try not to bash me too hard! I'm 11! I'm guaranteed to make a mistake or 9 (:

Sara101022