Don't blame me. I let my mind wander in a very boring R.E lesson, and came out with a very bad one-shot about Doctor Who.
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. *Cry, Cry, Sniffle*
The wanderer. The lone wanderer. The man without a home.
The god. The powerful god. Trying to be human.
The eyes. The eyes older than the body. The eyes that hold so much pain. They're glassy, as though they belonged to a dead man. Sorrow-filled. Broken inside. Eyes that have seen a life time of tragedy. Too much for any man...
The glum, dejected look that's spread across his young face, like jam on toast - only tasteless.
The fury. The rage. Hotter that the sun. Blinding more than a stab in the eye. Burning in the pit of his stomach. Clawing at the prison walls, it's compressed. Waiting. Just waiting...
The deceiving appearance: the fake smile; the shoulders waiting to be slumped; the jolly nature, which contains more darkness that thought possible.
No-one ever looks; never sees. Never thinks...
Never takes any notice. Never cares. Never cares enough to help another, who has risked so much and lost it all to save and insure the safety of billions of oblivious innocents. Strangers.
But maybe, just maybe...
Maybe if you did look; maybe if you did see; maybe if you did think; maybe if you did notice; maybe if you did care...
You'd see the universe for what it truly is. And it's not nice. Not pretty. Not the perfect place, with the perfect people as we all expect...
No-one willing to aid.
No-one willing to carry the burden of another.
No-one willing to help a damaged soul; a lost soul. A man with a broken spirit.
But no-one bothers. And the man remains unchanged; scarred; lost; a wanderer.
And that's why people don't heal. No comfort. No shield. No shoulder to lead on. No help; no hope; no love.
And that's why we don't heal. You can seal a wound, but with lack of medicine and care, it can tear open once again. With out help, it stays open. Salt is rubbed in. Infection takes hold. And stays until treated. Stays until it's too late for treatment. A permenant scar. A constant reminder...
And so they stay in the shadows. In fear of more salt slithering in. More hurt.
Maybe if you did look; maybe if you did see; maybe if you did think; maybe if you did notice; maybe if you did care...
You'd help him. The Doctor. The lone wanderer.
He's hurt - and needs to be healed.