A/N: And here is a small (very small) drabble I wrote because I was bored. And because Physics isn't really something I pride myself on focusing on.
Disclaimer: If the Doctor was mine he'd probably be locked in a room in my house for the whole series
900 Years
900 years was a long time. Others who would have survived this long would probably gotten tired by now. Tired of all the misery, of all the pain, of all the suffering. They would have wondered what else could possibly be left to marvel at after 900 years of travelling, but he didn't think so. In every corner of the universe, every inch of time and space, there was always something beautiful, something that deserved acknowledgment, no matter how small it was.
He had traveled far and wide: he had travelled alone, and he had traveled with people. People who all had exceptional qualities in them: bravery, love, intelligence. Over the course of these 900 years, he had made so many friends, and not only that: he had lost many of them too. Sometimes they'd leave him, sometimes they'd forget him: It broke his heart every time. The pain of losing them was what kept him alive and sane. It reminded him of what he was: a lone Time Lord, destined to run, to roam around the universe looking for something to keep him from remembering those painful memories, to try and do something for the world in return for the pain he had caused in these people's lives.
He would think, every time one of them would leave, that he had had enough, every time he would have been sure that he could never stand up again, but it never really mattered what he thought. Fate had a funny way of bringing him up every time, and he never really fought it: this was who he was, and whenever something painful would come along. he would always climb into his faithful TARDIS, and run away, as far as he could, to the nearest galaxy, the nearest planet with life, and he would try his best to fix things as he could, hoping for some degree of retribution.
What had he not seen? He had seen light and dark, and all that came in between. He had seen life and death, though he had had the chance to observe the latter more: death followed him like a shadow, and wherever he went, he would take it with him. It was a burden on him: a burden that he would bear for as long as he would live, of all those innocent lives that had been destroyed because of him.
This was his life, the last of the Time Lords. He had done so much, seen so much, he would sometimes wish he could end it all. But in the end, it would be him in TARDIS, on the way to explore another planet, and that was his curse: the curse of a madman with a box.
A/N: Maybe I should stick to studying. REVIEW! I order you.