Title:
Memorial
Author:
veiledshadow
Rating:
PG/K
Disclaimer:
No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made
from this story. It all belongs to the BBC, hail the BBC gets down
on knees
Status:
Finished
Warnings:
After Doomsday.
Summary:
The wind cried softly through the
cemetery sending leaves tumbling and turning. The willow trees long
arms swayed in the breeze, dipping into the moonlit river. And then
everything turned silent.
Memorial
Love is not a victory march,
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
Jeff Buckley
It was one of those days again. Save a planet from a near 'entire death of the population' disaster and even though they'd done it - he, Martha and Jack - there were still the dead bodies to remember.
They always died nowadays. The last time he'd had no deaths – well he could scarcely remember. Probably with Rose.
He sighed softly, glancing over at Jack and Martha who were helping to tend to the hurt, before walking through the cemetery. He stopped by the willow tree, staring at the memorial before him.
To All Those Who Died In The Canary Wharf Disaster
His eyes scanned down the list of names, which glistened in the tranquil moonlight and halted on that, oh so familiar name.
Breath caught in his throat and he swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut. Then he could see her. That awfully dyed blonde hair, sparkling eyes and a cheeky smile. Her laugh, her lips on his cheek, her smell, the way she talked, skin on skin and –
'Rose Tyler I-'
She was gone. She
was always gone.
Mouth parted he slowly opened his eyes. Taking a step forward his fingers softly brushed the gold lettering. It glistened for a second, then the moon went behind a cloud and it fell lifeless and plain. His hand tightened around the flower he held in his hand, the thorn pressing sharply against his thumb.
'I miss you,' he murmured.
Gently, he placed the single, red rose on the memorial step. He stared at the petals for a moment, until it all became a red blur. Turning, he saw Martha and Jack standing quietly a couple of feet away.
'Let's go,' he said, walking towards the Tardis.
'See you for now, Rosie.' Jack said, his voice low. 'Come on Martha, time to go.'
There was a click as the Tardis doors shut and then a grating noise. The wind cried softly through the cemetery sending leaves tumbling and turning. The willow trees long arms swayed in the breeze, dipping into the moonlit river. And then everything turned silent.
It was gone.