The Story of the Last Centurion and the Girl Who Waited
There's this couple, down in Central Park, every Saturday morning, who sit on an old park bench. I've never seen anyone speak to them, not even draw near, and sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one who can see them.
Some days, they'll climb atop a nearby boulder with a timeworn picnic set, re-enacting an ancient meeting.
The man, always wearing a black puffer vest, goes off to get coffee, while the woman, with her long red hair, reads to an invisible stranger. It's always the same book, the same story. The story of Melody Malone. The story of how she found the angels in New York. The story of how her parents, Amy and Rory, were taken from her. How she had to stay strong for the Doctor, her parent's best friend, as he broke down when the Weeping Angels took them back in time.
I can see it now, Amelia's last farewell. They were standing in the middle of a graveyard, full of crumbling and bleak grey tombstones, talking excitedly about their latest adventure. No one saw the angel approach and take Rory.
When he vanished, a tombstone appeared with the inscription:
'In loving memory, Rory Arthur Williams, age 82.'
Melody saw a dark look of realization dawn on her mother's face. Rory had been taken back in time, and he had died before their present. There was nothing they could do to change it.
The pain of loss ripped through Amy's face, but Melody knew, with a sinking feeling, that she couldn't do anything for her mother. Seconds later, Amy and the Doctor realised that if Amy let the angel take her, she may find Rory and they could grow old together, like they had always wanted.
Melody stood and watched the Doctor beg with Amy to come back to safety, to not follow Rory, but she knew it was all in vain. She encouraged her mother to find Rory, even if that meant never seeing her again. Melody held her mother's long hand tight and safe, staying strong and positive.
"Look after him, Melody. You be a good girl and look after him."
Even when she was about to disappear forever, Amy still thought of him. Her love for the Doctor was strong; she would do anything for him, and he would rip apart the universe for her. But Amy's love for Rory, the man who had waited two thousand years for her, her husband, was stronger, so she followed him. She let the angel take her to an unknown time and place, in the hope that she might find him. Her Rory.
I can see Melody's devastation in her face now, as she watches her mother close her eyes and let the angel take her.
Amy's biggest fear was the Weeping Angels, and now she had to embrace them. But Melody, she had to stay strong, as the Doctor fell to the ground beside her.
It seemed as if all his lives were being wrenched from his body; like his soul was tearing from his being. She could feel the anguish and grief radiating off him, and it tore her heart in two. But no, she couldn't collapse. She couldn't scream at the sky, or punch a tree like she wanted to. There would be time for that later.
She had to stay strong and get the Doctor and herself out of danger, away from the angel. And she did.
I know that because my name is Melody. It is my story, my loss, my pain. That couple in Central Park every Saturday are my parents.
They are there because they still, after all these years, hold out some tiny spark of hope that he will come back for them. But it's too late. No matter how many times he says, 'Time can be rewritten', this time it cannot.
He's too late, and he knows it. Every day, his lonely form wanders from place to place, seeing all kinds of new wonders, without really seeing them, because they aren't there. But I am always here, watching, waiting for them to catch a glimpse of my wild hair, and to know that everything has turned out okay.
He is the Last Centurion and she is the Girl Who Waited.
Finally, they can grow old together.