A/N: Today marks the day when we have less than 90 days (89, to be precise) until my Doctor dies. And I couldn't just let the day go without crying about it. Obviously angsty.
Humans have it best, he thinks. Out of all the millions of species in the universe, they have it down. Their philosophers wax eloquent on it, their scientists work hardest on evading it, their authors write books about it, their artists make them forget, sometimes, but it's usually the inspiration in the first place. Beautiful, terrible, unavoidable—
Death.
It's always in the backs of their minds, isn't it? Not like the warring species, occupied with bloodshed and honorable deaths. Not like the peaceful species, gratefully accepting the release from the chaos of life. No, humans try to escape it. But in running from it they dwell on it. They think about it. Write about it. Sing about it.
They know, more than anyone else, what it is, and they barely even know that. What they do know is how certain it is.
They've said the minute a baby is born it begins to die.
They're correct.
Life, as complicated and wonderful and confusing as it is, only serves to place all things on the road to death.
His birth, oh, so long ago…where did it put him but on the road to his own death?
His own death—ten times.
Regeneration isn't an escape from death, not defeating death, not victory, none of those things.
It simply, cruelly, prolongs the inescapable.
He is going to die. Again.
He's faced death so many times, and most of those recently. He's run from it and ended up running to it. 'Escaped' it, he'd thought, but found it knocking. It always comes back, is always there waiting for him.
Ten nooses and the eleventh has pulled tight.
Humans have it best, he thinks as golden light burns through his skin. They only do this once.
He, wonderful lucky him, will die twice more, and each time it will be utterly and completely—
Inevitable.
A/N: As you probably know, the reference to eleven hangman's nooses is because that's what Matt Smith envisioned the Eleventh Doctor saw in his room, in The God Complex. I swear the man is on earth to kill us.
As always, any thoughts on what's wrong or right or off with this are appreciated and welcome.
(Goodbye, Raggedy Man.)