When a man survives Armageddon where does he go? Perhaps some instinct drives him towards destruction- to try and complete the job where fate failed.
When your war ends and leaves nothing - just you, hell on earth would seem like a picnic and Sumatra on 27th August 1883 was hell made manifest and it drew the Doctor to it like a magnet.
Some say that when you've lived through hell, re-living it through someone else's eyes can be cathartic. For the homeless and bereft Time Lord, who found himself wandering among the lost of Sumatra, glancing idly at those who huddled in the rubble, of what had once been happiness and safety, it meant nothing at all.
He wandered aimlessly beside them - all lost souls together, searching for a reason, or a loved one, or just to find something to break the spell and send the nightmare back to where it belonged … to the dark shadows that had created it.
The only problem was, their nightmare was the same as his. Impossible to send it back to night, wake up in the morning and look up at the sun and get on with your life, because this was your life now. You either got to your feet, brushed off your clothes and buried your dead, or you sat down under a tree, closed your eyes and ceased to be.
There was no in between, hope didn't enter into it, because in a world full of the dead there is no hope - just survival, the instinct to go forward.
Watching them as they built their funeral fires, as the smoke rose and mixed with the heavy putrid air, their faces still blackened and dazed, how much of what they were doing would they look back to, and remember, he wondered.
Very little, he suspected, he knew that he didn't! Watching them he tried to remember, but all his memories were just shadows, nothing more. Perhaps it was just as well. If he suddenly found that he did remember, could he live with it? Would he want to!
He looked around him, at the faces looking vaguely back, but somehow they weren't taking in anything about him, they would never remember that they saw an oddly dressed stranger wondering amongst them, watching them. He would leave no footprint here, no trail, nothing to say that he had ever been here.
Soon they would be like he was now, trying to find a reason, some point to it all. Why he chose to look here for answers eluded him.
Perhaps if he had come a few months later....
He must have known that it was too soon for them to help him, so why had he come now? He shook his head, what was he looking for? Confirmation that it really had happened? A sole survivor with no-one to affirm what had happened, was that why? to prove that things this bad did happen? That it wasn't a nightmare that he could wake himself out of? Was he trying to prove to himself that the end result of the Time War was real and he had to move on ?
The Tardis stood partially covered by a slowly collapsing hut, as the Doctor approached, part of the roof collapsed a little more, slipping slowly down and hiding more of the blue box.- not that it mattered, there were no prying eyes … no curious children here.
When he reached in his pocket and touched the key he suddenly felt relieved, he turned it over , jabbed the end of it into the tip of his finger, as he took it out of his pocket, he glanced down, his thumb tracing its shape, a last little piece of home, all there was - or ever likely to be.
He paused in front of the door, then as if finally making up his mind, slipped the key into the lock.
The door slammed shut behind him.
The first day of the rest of whatever was left for him.
