Clara
It's been going on for months now. The nightmares or the screaming, you ask. I say both come as a married couple, two Jekyll/Hydes buried just beneath my flesh. Three screams, each a different sort of nightmare - each nightmare, a different sort of scream.
The first scream is a scream for death. When the cancer of fear, love and helplessness combine to birth a final declaration of surrender. You will probably hear a lot of those, and I'd apologise on anyone's behalf, if it were anyone's fault at all. But I suppose if we are responsible for ourselves, and all scream for death – we render ourselves responsible. We birthed that enterprise to make or break ourselves, in search of Heaven or Hell.
It's a clock counting down to self-destruct.
It's an alarm waiting to wake you up.
It's a whisper waiting to be voiced.
It's a decision ready to be made, and is made today.
(And I'm sorry, Doctor).