Doctor Who Abstract
Please condsider this a preface to what is planned to become quite a detailed depiction of several adventures of the eleventh Doctor. This entry does not imply any of the action that is to follow; it is simply an introduction.
The story is set after S6E11 and before S6E12 within the 200 years the Doctor just went wandering about.
This is the first time I have ever uploaded anything I've written. Ever. So please have mercy! Hope you enjoy this very short intro.
(Also, English is not my native language – I apologise for any mistakes in advance!)
He had lost her. He had lost both of them, just like he had lost every single person he had ever set his heart on. Worse – though they were still alive somewhere, he could never speak to them again. He had lost them for good. Because they were not made for this life, his endless travelling into the darkest, most hidden corners of reality. True, they could bear it – enjoy it, even –, but it always hurt them. No exceptions. So fragile. He had wondered about that countless times before: How could such strong, contradictory creatures be so frail at the same time? Their ridiculously short life spans alone could have driven him mad. That was the thing, anyway: Although Rory and Amy truly were alive somewhere, sometime, they were also dead. Only 70 years later from when he had left them, their graves most probably adorned some lonely little graveyard in London or on the countryside.
The Doctor sighed and slightly shook his head, trying to banish this thought that had haunted him many times before. So, this was the time traveller's curse that came with all the astonishing things he got to experience: The fact that, with a time machine right under his feet, everything and everyone was accessible but also gone at the same time. There was no solution in this thought, nor any beauty. It was impractical, and the Doctor refused to be impractical right now.
Instead, he straightened himself up and faced the centre of the Tardis' control room. Where to next? With death and doom impending, where would his loyal ship bring him? Should he run, or should he face his inevitable destiny right now? Spit in the face of danger?
Through his gloom, a little smile tucked at the corners of the Doctor's mouth. Of course. How had an old friend of his put it? He chuckled as the faint memory from many adventures and a lifetime away touched his mind: Donna had been right. There was always an awful lot of running involved.
Making a half-turn, he moved around the Tardis' controls with almost dancing steps; pushing buttons and turning little wheels. Finally, he turned the switch that would remove the Tardis from this place.