Kindly Stop For Me
The afterlife is not a burning wasteland, a dreary town, or a floating city in the clouds. It is all of those things, and none of them. At the moment, though, it looks like nothing so much as a pizza-delivery shop. Bells go off, someone looks at the name, and Death is dispatched.
A Death, to be precise. Sentient beings have expectations about the afterlife, and the initial shock is best delivered by a being that fits their preconceived notions. For a while, the preference was for a riverboat journey across the Styx, or a greeting from Valkyries on the field of battle. Modern humans tend to be satisfied with a black hole, but other races still maintain traditions.
One of those races has just ended. There's a class of messengers who specialize in genocides and extinctions, mourning those extinguished. The others leave them to their tasks, focusing on others. The survivors.
One of these messengers has a special interest in survivors. His name is Death, as is all of his kind, but they have their own ways of distinguishing themselves. In human terms, he would be Color-Seer, for that is his distraction from the task. Color-Seer takes one of the 'orders' from the air: a Time Lord. The last of the Time Lords, he notes. It will be a long-term assignment, then. Some people are shadowed by Death their whole life, while others only met him once.
This Time Lord is one of the former. Most of his kind are—were—(Color-Seer reminds himself of the Genocide recently dispatched to Gallifrey) attended by their cultural Death, a lady in a formal gown, sister to Pain and Time, but she could not be troubled to entertain so frequent a quest. So he was given a human Death, to accompany him and collect those lives lost in his wake.
Color-Seer can already see the Time Lord, dark curls sweeping his velvet coat, as he struggles to the safety of his TARDIS. A survivor. But for how long?
—
Color-Seer is going, has gone, is yet to go. Time means very little for Death.
Another of his kind, a female, plucks orders from the air. She associates with other personifications, naming six as her kin. They call themselves The Endless: Destiny, Dream, Despair, Desire, Delirium, Destruction, and Death.
Endless reads the orders: the Time Lord. Her kin have already visited him, and her youngest sisters both have sought to claim him as their own. But this regeneration was born of love for a human, and he shall have a human Death for this life, so claims her eldest brother.
He will love,and lose,and sometimes need someone to slap him upside the head. She has experience with all three. Dream can be a handful, and she expects this latest assignment to be no less a challenge.
—-
Endless is going, has gone, is yet to go. Time means very little for Death.
He stares at the hourglass, frowns. I HAVE NEVER SEEN SUCH A PECULIAR SHAPE IN ALL MY DAYS. Even that wizzard's glass only existed in three dimensions—he counts eleven in this sculpture.
This Death prefers a more traditional appearance; the hood and scythe, bony figure. PERHAPS ENDLESS SHOULD HAVE STAYED. He says. THIS MAN SEEKS FORGIVENESS. I CANNOT GIVE IT.
But the Time Lord believes in nothing now. I SHALL BE NOTHING. He reaches into the seventh dimension, studying the sculpture. IT SHALL BE INTERESTING, TO BE NOTHING.