"I don't want to die without any scars."
― Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club
First off, I would like to settle the rumor that no, I am not the Grim Reaper.
I am not even remotely related to him in any way. People commonly mistake me for a mysterious man in a black coat holding a sickle.
In reality, I have black curly hair and I wear a white suit.
People are constantly surprised when I take them. They imagine darkness, a cold being holding them with skeleton hands and a firm grip. The shock that grips their bodies is incredibly humorous to look at, when they realize I touch them softly and cradle their souls like a mother would hold her child.
I am much more beautiful and kind than many know. And there is one man who knows it. He chose to escape me eight times, and did not succeed. He debated whether to run into my arms, but I did not allow him to. The last time, I gave him the last shred of my mercy.
I keep his clock on my wrist at all times.
I have a room, with billions and billions of clocks, each unique with its portrayal, art, and complicity. Millions strike midnight every moment, and are replaced with a newborn one, showing their time that is left.
I first noticed his a couple hundred years after it appeared. It was a wristwatch, whereas all the others were normal wall clocks. I was in the room putting down some men that had been killed in war, setting their souls off into the air to find their way up here.
It was on the lowest possible shelf, so I just walked over to it. I noticed the clock was a little bit from hitting midnight. It was almost time. I ignored the signal in my head that blocked my vision, I would gather those people later. A few minutes later, (or was it hours? Or days? I have much trouble visualizing time) it struck and a bell rang. I saw an odd, golden light emerge from the watch, but it did not disappear. Instead, it kept going like a normal clock. I stared curiously, wondering how this was possible. I slapped it on my wrist and kept it there, curious.
I moved my head upwards and noticed another glow coming from above. I flew upwards to the other side of the room and studied it. It was a traditional victorian-looking clock, and it looked fragile but gorgeous. Was this a species that was perhaps, immortal? I had never seen anything like it before. It was strange, yet somewhat beautiful.
The glowing stopped after a few minutes, and I shook my head and buzzed into the notice. I was transported to a planet called Terulia in the galaxy of Urinsa, where a green-tinted child came out a stillborn. It always hurt me the most to see children die.
The first time I met him, his planet was on the brink of war. I was buzzed in for what they called a Time Lord. I learned a long time ago that they regenerate, completely change their appearance and personality. They can do this thirteen times, but there is a legend that they can extend their lives. They were all ready for battle, polishing armor and preparing weapons on their ships. They were against the hatred-filled race, the ones without emotions, programmed to love only their planet. What are they again? Cybermen? No, they originate in a whole other galaxy... Daleks! Ah yes, the Daleks.
I admire their ambition.
He was sick in his bed, begging a mysterious woman, probably his daughter, to let him fight. She looked concerned as she fed him some odd liquid, put a hand to his forehead, and said a silent prayer for him. She was desperate and looked broken as I saw her walk away.
He fell asleep and I waltzed over to him, glancing at the watch on my pale skin. Five seconds on my watch, which could count for minutes, or years. He had an odd-looking face, frankly. It had dark curly hair, shark features, and wore victorian-looking clothing. The skin was tinted a bit of a blue color, and he looked thin and ill. On the verge of death, even. I entered his dream silently.
He looked over at me. "I thought I would have longer. I'm not dead yet, why are you here?"
I shuffled. "But you are dying, so you can see me. I'm sorry, don't you regenerate?"
He looked away, sadly. He closed his eyes. "No. The sickness, it's too much for my hearts to handle. I don't have enough power."
I sat in a chair next to his bed, clasping my hands together and intertwining my fingers. "I'm so sorry. Forgive me, my job is not easy."
He seemed not to listen as his eyes glistened with tears. "But I could have done... so much. I helped so many, I made so many people happy with adventures and kindness. I have a family. I could fight for my people." His arms started shaking above the covers.
I flicked my eyes downwards. "I know."
He looked over at me, a desperate plea in his cheeks. "Please," he said, "More time. I could do so much."
I started tearing up. After billions of years, you would expect me to stop being sensitive about the subject itself, to in fact welcome and cherish the gift of Death.
I can accept death. But I can't accept shortening others' lives.
He sat there, cold as stone. "I can't. I'm so sorry."
"I'll do anything," His weak voice cracked, clearly about to break, "Please. I promise."
"It's going to be bad," I replied, "You are going to have to sacrifice so much."
But he was idiotic and selfish and replied, "I promise. Anything."
I bowed my head and reached out my hand, but not touching his. I felt a surge of energy being released through my veins and into my arm, and black smoke flew out and entered his slightly open mouth. His skin immediately started to color, and I walked out, not saying a word.
Years later, he would learn to regret that promise.
Planet Earth: November 22, 1963. Dallas.
Ah, the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. Terror filled the air, the smell of blood flooded the streets, the horrendous cries of his wife cradling the remains of what was once his head in her arms echoed across news stations and radios.
Needless to say, it was a fairly interesting day.
I came across him while flying above the crowded street next to the spot, minutes after the gunshot flew across the air and into his head.
Seeing a London police box in the streets of Texas was odd enough, but nobody seemed to mind or notice. Seeing the interior of it was even more bizarre. I was buzzed in to take him away, he had been shot multiple times in the chest due to the hysterics of the crowd. He was writhing on the floor in agony.
I took a moment to admire the design of the box. It was ancient gold color, with odd-looking windows and a large console with all kinds of buttons in the center on a platform. He then screamed in pain again, and I snapped back to reality.
He seemed to see me hovering above him. He had short brown hair, big ears, and a leather jacket. I didn't recognize him. "You," he gasped, clutching his chest.
I raised an eyebrow. "You know me? That's quite odd."
He tried to raise himself up, only managing to lift himself up on his elbow. "I'm the Doctor. I made a deal with you. You gave me more time, and you killed everyone. Every last one. YOU KILLED MY FAMILY!"
I was about to grab his elbow, but hesitated, not sure whether I should take him yet. "I gave you a price," I gritted through my teeth, "You took it. It was your choice."
"I wanted more time, and you destroyed my whole life. I didn't think it would be this bad!" He punched the floor of the platform, and winced in pain.
I smirked and hovered around him, flying down and whispering in his ear, "It's just a game of russian roulette, my friend. Your life or theirs."
He managed to get on his feet and point a shaky finger at me, blood soaking through his shirt and dried on his hands. "I just wanted more time, I didn't deserve to die! And neither did those people!"
"Oh no, Doctor. You wanted to fight on the front lines, you chose to. You were the one given the honor of destroying it all. They chose you. It was your decision."
"I wanted to fight. I didn't want to destroy."
"But isn't it the same thing?" I smiled mischievously and chuckled.
He stared at me, paralyzed, panting. He could not say anything.
"I have to punish you for this, you know. This curse, it is not over."
"Don't you dare." He said.
"I'll give you more time, Doctor. But we will meet again. And your curse will become evident, someday. You will see."
The wounds on his chest started to sew themselves up, and the blood on his hands disappeared. He looked up at me, pleadingly, as I drifted off into the air.
Planet Loux: Year 5000, Date Unknown: The Blue Box
He was there with a blonde, attractive woman by his side. He gasped for breath as he appeared to be having a heart attack. The woman was attempting to resuscitate him, (in a horrific manner) and he was giving her instructions as she dashed off into a separate room.
He was alone on the floor when he saw me again. His eyes widened.
I floated above him. "So, you have found yourself a lover?"
He grit his teeth. "Friend."
"Ah, how defensive you are. I wonder if that will change, Doctor."
He said nothing and sat up. "I don't want to go."
I raised an eyebrow and sat down in the chair next to him. "Didn't expected you to say that."
"No. I have found wonderful people, my life has meaning again. Thank you."
I smirked to myself. "Do not thank me. It is not my doing."
He gaped at me, obviously surprised. He tried not to collapse into his pain. "What do you mean?"
"I said I would punish you, my friend. This is God's doing."
He was paralyzed. He looked a bit angry, and I could see a swirl of emotions swimming around in his head. "I do not believe in God. And you are not my friend."
"Why not?" I tilted my head to the left. "And you will learn, Doctor, that I am your friend."
"I just don't." He grit his teeth and looked to his right, trying to avoid my gaze.
"You of all people, Doctor, need something to believe in."
"God cannot exist if he allows these things to happen. Especially to innocent people."
"My friend, the cycle of nature runs itself. The formation of the universe is much of a different manner."
He looked down, then up again, pleadingly. "Please, I have nothing left to believe in but her. And that is enough for me."
I nodded my head. "I will spare you more times, Doctor, but you will regret it soon enough. Goodbye, friend." I left, my feet shivering against the cold metal before I disappeared to another planet, to collect more foolish souls that wish to extent their lives.
They will soon learn it was better for them to leave.
I have two favorite rooms.
First, there is my library.
My library is hundreds of stories tall, and with millions and millions of shelves. In all my time here, I have only read a few million.
They contain stories. Stories of the souls I have collected, life stories, accomplishments, but mostly completely boring. I have read the stories of Abraham Lincoln, Charles Darwin, Sophocles, famous entertainers, authors, and stories of random people that I pick off of a shelf when I'm bored. I almost always get buzzed in for my job, but often I just put it off or decide to travel there later. It's one of the great things about my job: I can travel to different times.
But there is one story I have not read yet which I am keen to read. His story. The story of the Lord of Time, as he would say. I do not have it yet, but I have seen it. I have not collected his soul yet, of course, but the story of every being to ever exist (except microbes or bacteria or anything like that) is somewhere in the endless stack of books that surrounds the room with victorian carpeting and one lone, comfy chair that sits in the middle.
The book is blue, and the pages are yellow and as old as time itself. The covers look like his box, his police box that he uses to travel. It is placed in a glass case right near my chair, placed softly on a silk pillow to caress it. For some odd reason, I wish to take care of it, as if it is some ancient treasure that I should preserve with all my effort. It it quite beautiful, and I find myself staring at it often, wondering what amazing tales lay inside. Unlike the other's stories, which write themselves, this one was written by both him and a woman, his second wife. I have never collected her soul, as she is immortal and transfixed in a parallel universe or whatever you call it. I know this because it came to be in a daydream.
I often have daydreams, where messages come to me. I assume they are true, and I keep them lodged in my head. I never sleep, I just sit and do nothing, or do my job, or read. I have often heard voices in my head telling me that this man is important, this man who cannot tell me his name, this man who carries the weight of an entire civilization on his shoulders, all because of me.
Sometimes, when I retrieve souls of interesting people or beings, I collect items or knickknacks that I see near them. I find these things quite interesting, and I choose to preserve them. These lie in another room, also with millions of shelves, all full of items.
I have grenades that have been set off, lockets with pictures of loved ones inside, rocks, seashells, children's toys, hair clips, earrings, you get the idea.
That is also one of my many curses. I have all the possessions in the world, yet I am never happy with what I have.
When he came to me, he gave me thirteen odd items, all similar in appearance, but yet each was slightly different than the other.
"What are these?" I asked him.
"They're my sonic screwdrivers. I use them for many different purposes, but I must warn you, they do not work on wood."
"I think I will just not use them, I will keep them on display. These are oddly beautiful."
"A lot of things are beautiful that have stories behind them."
"I know."
So now they sit in a glass case, in order of use, on the nearest shelf to me. I like looking at them, although I do not know why. They seem to have some odd appeal, as if I am drawn to them more than anything else. They tell tales of ancient times and futuristic societies, they look worn and retired, but there is something beautiful about seeing so many stories encrypted into a small item that was held in the hands of a man so vulnerable yet so powerful and wonderful at the same time.
It's amazing that such gorgeous and enchanting tales can come from the stories of time.
Planet Earth: May 23, 2006: London
This time, he is not literally dying, but very much dead inside.
I allowed him to be able to see me, which I do not normally do. I only have done it one other time, other times I refuse to participate or hear the agonizing cries of pain and frightened looks on their faces as they realize who is standing over them.
I did not recognize him at first, but then I noticed his blue box behind him. He had spiky brown hair and glasses. His was younger, fitter, thinner than before. Quite a good-looking man, but he looked broken and defeated. Not a side to him I had seen before. He was bent over at the waist, fiddling with his fingers and looking up, watching children play as he sat on a cold park bench. I went up to him, and he noticed me, but did not say anything. I sat down.
He breathed a sigh, and sat back up, rubbing his chin with his pale hand. "It's my own fault, isn't it?"
I folded my hands in my lap. "The women, the blonde one-"
He looked at me, angry. "Her name was Rose."
I nodded my head. "She left you?"
He took a deep breath. "No. I failed her."
He looked down, tearing up, and I felt bad for him. He was young and foolish when I first met him, he still is. He probably will be for a while. I knew men like him, but none lasted long.
When you have nothing left to live for, you find that the world has no need for you either.
He sat back and sighed. "Do you think it's all worth it?"
"Depends." I clasped my hands together.
He sighed. "When I was younger, all I wanted was to travel everywhere. I didn't want to settle down, I wanted to stand out. To discover all I could. For me, normal was boring, but now, all I want is to be able to go home, settle down, have a normal life. But I can't. I have nowhere to go anymore."
I cocked my head to the left a bit. "For normal people, life is a set of choices. So many options, so much to do, so little time. But no matter what color your room walls are, or what trip you decide to take, it won't matter. You will drone through your life every day, going to your job, providing for your family, doing work every night and day. And for what? What's the point, Doctor?"
He looked at me, confused. "I would think you of all people would understand."
"I understand the least of anyone. Being mortal is overrated and tedious."
"Yes, but being happy isn't." He looked back down and coughed. "Why are you here?"
"To convince you."
"Of what?" He sounded a bit angry.
"That I am your friend."
He grit his teeth. "You are not my friend. I do not want to talk to you, or ever see you."
"You'll have to one day."
"It won't be anytime soon."
I bit my lip. "I know more about you than you know, Doctor."
"You cannot possibly understand this pain I'm feeling."
I became infuriated. "I see everything, Doctor. Every single day, I see people die, children, soldiers, and innocent people who I cannot comfort, who I have to watch beg for their lives to me. I have to take them, end their suffering. You have lost your home, Doctor, but I have seen billions lose everything."
"You made a deal with me. Why me and not them?"
"You were the only one who ever offered. You're the only one who was brave enough to make a deal with Death."
He looked to his left, avoiding my gaze. I watched as his chest heaved up and down. "Rose, she was..."
He nodded slightly and rubbed his face with his hand.
"I'm not one for cliche's, but maybe this was just fate. Destiny, perhaps?"
He looked angry. "I don't believe in destiny. I believe in love."
I stayed plastered in a concerned expression. "You do need something to believe in, don't you? It was her. She was the one you had faith in."
"And now she's gone. I don't have anything left to have faith in." He choked back a sob, and I wanted to hold him, to make the pain all go away, but it just wasn't time yet. He needed more time, his punishment was more time.
"I don't think that's quite true." I smirked a bit and sat back.
He held his head in his hands. "I'm going to find someone else, I have to."
I nodded. "It's the only thing you can do."
"You have to. You are Atlas, Doctor."
He cocked his head a bit. "How so?"
"You hold whole worlds on your shoulders."
And with that, I walked away, fading away as I watched children giggle and play, who would soon learn that those moments are the ones they should have treasured forever.
Human beings are by far the most interesting, if not the most idiotic, species I have ever had the pleasure to stumble upon.
It is universally true that the best way to live is ignorant.
The best example of this is childhood. As a child, you know almost next to nothing. You do not know the terrors of war and genocide, the stress of relationships, the hunger of foreign children, or the fact that your life is a constant cycle that cannot be changed.
You go through years of schooling, to be able to get into a good university. You study in university to get a good job. You work for years to support yourself and your family, you save up for retirement, and then finally you have some years to yourself to relax and sit around.
And then you die.
It all seems utterly pointless, doesn't it? He sure thinks it is, and as you are reading this, you realize it too.
You're not prominent, you're a tiny molecule in millions of universes. You are so inconceivably small that your mind cannot understand it. Most people in the world have not heard your name, nor ever will. You spend your life dragging yourself through a set of tasks that lead to absolutely nothing.
But you are so much more important than you realize.
As Death, I know so much more than all people. I see everyone's story, I know their struggles, and I see how many people they have affected in their lifetimes.
Their stories are so intriguing, how they feel so small, so unknown, so alone, yet they speak of their loved ones, their children. Those who have been so influenced by them. People are always questioning their place in the universe, they are convinced that they are nothing.
But even the smallest atom completes the element.
And even the tiniest tear can change an entire being.
Planet Calico: Date & Year Unknown
He has lost someone again.
Still the same face. He looks older, tired. I reveal myself to him again. I find this man more intriguing than anyone else I have ever met.
He stands against a fence, rubbing his hand on his face, his right leg crossed over the other. I flutter over to him and stand next to him, resting my elbows against the fence. "Well, did you find someone?"
He sighed and looked down, putting his hands in his pockets. "Two. One left me, because she knew better. She was tired of me."
"And the other?"
"She forgot me."
I crossed my arms and looked ahead, admiring the cove on the other side. "She was important to you?"
He nodded slightly. "She should have been important to everyone."
He said nothing and stared straight ahead, not noticing anything around him. It was as if he was talking to himself, to nothing. As if I was not important to him at all.
Of course, he knew me terribly well. More than he would like to.
He sighed. "You know what's the worst thing? My mercy, the fact that I refuse to shoot anyone, it brings tragedies in a constant cycle."
"You're trading the evil ones for your loved ones."
He looked to the side. "I think that the mercy I have, it's not worth it. I shouldn't spare the bad in return for the shamed good."
"I think you're wrong. Your mercy, it's what makes you human."
"But I'm not human."
"You are as naive and beautiful as one."
He smiled a tiny bit. "Yeah, I am."
I looked at my watch. About ten minutes until he regenerated. I held back a sigh, and didn't want to give myself away. "Until next time." I saluted.
"Hopefully not for a while."
I smirked. "We'll see."
He was gaping, almost shocked, when I left him.
I often wonder how it feels, the regeneration.
Does it feel like dying?
Do lose all your emotions, all your attachments to your loved ones? Do you forget them? Do you ever think about them?
And most of all, is it good or bad?
Is the fresh start good, do they think the extra years are worth it?
Or is it just more time to remember your mistakes?
For him, it must be torture. He has to remember the countless people he let down, all those who died for him. All those who he killed. Does he wish that he was human?
Humans are constantly wanting more time, complaining that life it too short.
But little do they know it is a gift.
Planet Earth: Berlin, Germany: 1938
I am called into his Tardis.
I see him gasping and choking. As I come closer, I notice he has changed. Brown mop-like hair hanging over the right side of his forehead, thin, eyes sunk back into his head a bit. Mysterious-looking, darker than before. His eyes widened as he saw me. "No," he said, gruffly.
I smiled. "Oh yes, Doctor. How are you?"
He narrowed his eyes. "Not too good," he sputtered as he grabbed a rail to sustain his weight. He moved one hand to his chest and tried to breathe heavily.
I sat down cross-legged on the floor of the box. "Ah, I see both of you have changed." I smiled.
"You always creep up on me at my weakest moments," He managed to say while hilariously crawling about.
I floated over to him and whispered in his ear. "Want to know a secret? That's how it is for everyone."
He looked up at he as I teasingly hovered above his head, flying throughout the platform and touching random buttons. "How has life been, Doctor?"
He sat up, weak, and held his weight up with his hands. "Good. Very, very good."
"I saw three young people when I came in. They yours?"
"Yes," He said weakly as he tried to crawl forward, but ended up falling on his face instead. I laughed. "Lost your motor skills with your regeneration?"
He pointed to his throat. "Poison," he managed to choke out. My expression faded and I went over to him, careful not to accidentally touch him. "Good Lord, what did you do?"
He grumbled. "You mean what she did."
I smiled. "Oh, there's another she?" He looked at me sternly.
"Are you glad you had more time, Doctor? After all, you did find more friends."
He nodded.
I stood next to him against the railing, taking the screwdriver from his hand and playing with it. "You're going to regret it, you know."
He looked at me sharply. "Give that back."
I chuckled. "You choose to ignore the obvious. It only causes you more pain."
"But less now."
I looked into his deep brown eyes, and wished I could have eyes like his. My eyes are red with black tints, terrifying and menacing. They never did fit my personality, though. He looked at me tenderly. I turned my head away. "This is your choice, Doctor."
His eyes looked pleading, and he was using all his willpower to hold the tears in. "They will be sad later. The girl, Amelia- she saved me."
I threw the screwdriver to him. "Do you do it to help them, or to save you?"
He reached out his hand for a moment, and I held out mine close to his, not touching it. He closed his eyes and whimpered. "I'm selfish, and I hate it. I need them. But I only cause them too much pain."
I fell to my knees and felt the urge to grab his hands, but I recoiled. "You change their lives, Doctor. You showed the stars to those who love you dearly, and they would not trade it for the world."
A single tear brimmed on his eyelashes. "I know. That's why I have to. I always have to." He looked down, curled up into a ball, and I could hear his incredibly audible sobbing. I offered to heal him, but he insisted on fixing it himself and I left abruptly, without a sound.
Little does he know I feel everything he does.
Rage, power, fearlessness, invincible.
And pain.
I am more like him than anyone else I have ever seen. He carries the weight of billions on his shoulders, and he secludes his emotions from everyone, keeps them locked in a metal safe in his heart. I have seen war, terror, bombings, suicide, rape, violence, every possible trauma and cause of death to exist in the whole of time.
I see and know all.
I can kill whoever I lay my touch on and make any man or woman weak at the knees. I tear apart love and create tragedies unfathomable to most beings in this universe. I take away life and lick the blood of the innocent. I caress the souls of children, and I am gentle, yet their families yell and scream when I close the eyes of the child. I am hated by all, they pray that one day I will leave, their holy books and scriptures teach them that I am a curse.
The only one who was never frightened. The man with no name. The man who destroyed countless lives, relationships, families to save the universe. The man with no home, the man who can never live a normal life. The man who only wants to be human when every human wants to be like him.
The man who tries to run from the fires he sparks, but is always consumed by the smoke of the burned flesh and tumbled walls.
He walks through lava, storms, wars, blood covering his body, his heart harvesting by curse and his own regret.
He cannot run from his past, he knows that. But he tries to, no matter how much he knows he will fail. He spends so much time running from his destruction that he misses the tragedies that lie in his path.
He is so human, yet so alien at the same time. So merciful, yet so angry and hateful. So seemingly innocent, yet more calamitous than anyone can ever imagine.
When we think of destruction and terror, we think of evil people, those who intend to do bad, those who enjoy watching slashing bodies, and they love to listen to the music of screams and hopelessness.
We never think of the beautiful ones.
Planet Raptoria: Date and Time Unknown
He has another woman, a quite gorgeous and petite brunette. They are smiling and laughing, but I can see the pain in his eyes. She unlinks her arm from his and goes off to buy some foreign food as he sits down on a bench. I make myself visible to him, but he seems to realize my presence without actually looking at me. "Yes?"
I sit down next to him. "In our time apart, I realized something important."
He groaned and eyeballed me without moving his head. "Why are you here?"
"Are you dying?"
"Of course I am. I'm always dying."
We looked away from each other, me tapping my feet, him fiddling with his screwdriver. Eventually he coughed and looked at me. "I'm not sick, or physically dying."
"I know. I wanted to talk to you." I ran a hand through my curly black mop of hair.
"What is it you realized that's so urgent?"
"You disagree that we are friends, no?"
"Somewhat." He cleared his throat.
"You and I, we are one." I pierced my gaze at him intensely.
He turned his head towards me. "We are nothing alike. I help people, all you do is bring destruction."
I laughed. "Isn't it the same for you?"
He narrowed his eyes. "They are happy for the time being."
"And you think everyone I take opposes me? You think all of them do not want to die?"
His gaze softened, and his mouth turned up into a shocked expression.
I lowered my voice. "When you eventually go, you'll be one of them. Those who don't fight, those who want to leave."
He narrowed his eyes. I smiled. "You're angry that I'm correct, Doctor."
He looked down. "I want to leave, but yet I don't."
"Do you honestly think you have been through more trauma than me, Doctor? That you are guiltier than I am?"
He nodded. "I have the blood of my own people on my hands and on my lips."
"I have the blood of everyone on mine. I take screaming people, innocent children, people who do not want to leave, fallen soldiers. I take most who do not want to leave. Do you know how it feels, Doctor, to see everyone die? You want to reassure them, comfort them, take them in your arms and caress them, but they wail and recoil at your touch?"
"I do that to myself."
I looked at him for a while before turning my head away. "I give them the kiss of Death, Doctor. But all I wish is to give them the waking one."
He shifted his legs and sighed. I moved my hand and pointed towards terrifying-looking red clouds in the distance. "Describe to me in one word what you see?"
"Beauty." He admired the formation of the wispy, lingering dark sky, his eyes opening wide.
I turned towards him. "What would normal humans see?"
He replied without moving a centimeter. "Terror, a threat. Danger."
"Do you see now, Doctor?"
He narrowed his eyes and turned to me. "See what?"
"You are unlike the rest. You think I'm beautiful, whereas every other being fears me."
He nodded, clasping his hands in his lap. I looked him up and down. "Why do you try so hard to run away from me now? Before, you begged for me to touch you, lay my hands upon your hearts. But now you stray away from me, and pray for me not to linger beside you."
He cocked his head to the right. "Because you're always beside me. The thought of death is not nearly as terrible as the timing."
"No matter how much you try to outrun the storm, Doctor, it will always find you."
He clenched his jaw. "I am the storm. I run away from myself."
"You run from the truth."
"I AM THE TRUTH!"
I closed my eyes and spoke sharply. "Mark Twain once said: 'The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time'. You are afraid of me."
He snarled. "I am not afraid."
"You are afraid of death because you do not want to die in shame. You want to be forgiven, you wish to right the wrongs you have made."
"I'm not afraid," He said sharply, gritting his teeth.
"You refuse to admit to yourself that it cannot be done."
"Shut up!" He whispered.
I stood tall. "You are blind. You delude yourself, convincing yourself that taking these tedious human beings on adventures makes up for all the destruction you caused."
"SHUT UP!" He stood up, his nose turned upwards towards my eyes.
I smiled menacingly. "You can't run away from your past." I could see tears welling in his eyes. "Why do you take these people with you, if you could just die?" I moved my face towards his, gritting my teeth.
He stepped back in order to avoid my touch. "Because it's the only way I can help people."
My gaze softened, and my eyebrows dropped to their normal position. "So you do not-"
He nodded. "I know I can't make up for my foolish mistakes, but I can do the best I can." He stood tall, and I nodded.
I bent my head in an old Time Lord sign of respect, and he did the same. "Until next time, Doctor."
He looked into my fiery ruby eyes. "We will meet again soon." I nodded, and he walked away, coat swishing behind him.
I watched him glide across the road and into the market until his shape was completely out of sight, and I hovered the other way, shifting my gaze away from his figure.
Planet Neptune: The Year 5000
I saw some sort of odd human colony as soon as I stepped off. They wore tight black spandex-like outfits and special shoes to protect themselves from the lack of gravity in the atmosphere. I was inside of some futuristic-looking white building, with computers lining the walls and people strutting about, avoiding looking at others. Traveling was not my expertise, and this seemed like an odd place to visit.
I walked through the corridor and outside, which led me into a small chamber made out of glass, where I could see the surface of the planet. A man stood next to me, with short blonde hair and green speckled eyes. I studied his outlined face, and he coughed. "I see fate brings us together once again."
I raised my eyebrow. "You once told me you do not believe in destiny."
He smiled. "That was a long time ago. Destiny led to me places I never expected."
I smirked. "Which one is this."
"Twelfth." He cocked his head to the side. "It has been a few hundred years, I knew I would run into you at one point or another."
I nodded. "Who is it this time?"
"A young boy and girl, fifteen year old twins."
"Where did you find them?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Earth, in the year 2065. Their parents died during nuclear war attacks on Boston. I was wandering around when I found them, huddled together in a cardboard box at the end of a filthy alley." He scowled. "I was drawn to them for some reason, as if fate led me to that street."
"That is when you started believing?"
"Yes." I could see some tear formations in his eyes. "They remind me of my own children, you know. They are like my kin."
I nodded again. "Much respect to you. I wouldn't mind."
He glanced over at me. "Wouldn't mind what?"
I looked through the window. "Having a family, showing my children the world."
"You want to be human."
"Something like that."
We stood there in silence, hands clasped behind our backs as we watched the gorgeous surface of the planet swirl and storm in silence. "Do you really want to be human?" He asked, curious.
I nodded. "More than anything."
"This is your punishment, isn't it?"
I gulped. "I made some mistakes before this job, my friend. Terrible, horrifying mistakes that I regret more than anything. When I died, instead of being punished normally, they sent me to become this. To see others pain, and not be able to comfort. I can see everything that goes on around me, but no matter how loud I shout, no normal beings can hear me. Only the dying can listen to my voice, and they cower in fear and shun me to avoid their fate."
"Were you afraid, when you died?"
I nodded. "More than anything. I wanted to change, I needed to pay for my own mistakes. The crimes I committed, those gruesome acts I used to tear families apart-" I started choking on my sobs and tried to piece my voice together. "I realized there was no point. I needed to make it right, not even to become something greater after death. Just to save myself from my own fate."
He looked over at me. "So that is why you tried to warn me?" I coughed in response. "Do you think it will happen to me, when I die?"
I glanced into his eyes. "No."
"But I made so many mistakes."
"Because I'm here. I have been here since the beginning, after we made the deal. To save you, to make sure you did not end up with the same fate I did."
He stared deep into my eyes. "But why me?"
I felt the need to grab his arm, but I pulled myself back. "When I met you, I saw the fear in your eyes. I saw the pain you felt, your need to fight for your wanted to protect others."
"And?"
"You are too great to die in shame, now, or back on that deathbed. You deserve more."
His face was paralyzed in utter shock, and then he gulped. "You are my friend."
I bowed my head. "I lied to you earlier, Doctor. We are not one. You are a much, much greater man than I."
"No," He said firmly, and I raised my head back up. "We are equals. We both feel remorse, the need to correct our mistakes. Time is merely an idea in the way."
We both bowed our heads, and stood apart.
This time, he watched as I walked away.
The Last Encounter: Planet Earth, London: Year Unknown.
This is the last entry in this book. After I set this down, I will break the glass case in my library and read of all his adventures.
He lies on a deathbed somewhere in London. I can see two middle-aged people, his adopted children. One man with his children, his sister with hers. They wipe tears from their eyes as the pale ginger man on the bed whispers to them secrets of the universe.
I do not have to see the box to know who it is.
I recieved the buzz moments earlier, and the watch was thirty seconds to midnight. I knew right away who it was, and I attempted to hold back tears as I floated downwards towards the hospital.
He held the hands of his children beside him, his grandchildren clinging on to their respective parents' clothing. He closed his eyes and recited an old lullaby I did not recognize, in a language I could not understand.
He opened his eyes to see me, and he smiled. He took a deep breath. "Death comes to greet me."
The woman and her brother closed their eyes and tried not to cry, preparing for the departure of the great man in front of them. "There is no need to mourn for me. Death is but an unexpected gift in the mystery of the universe."
The woman bowed her head. "Dad, are you afraid?"
He smiled, and chuckled. "My dear, no one fears Death. They fear the unknown."
My mouth turned into a grin as he reached out his hand, and said, "Hello, old friend."
I took his palm in mine, after all this time I was not able to. I heard his faint breathing stop, and his eyes were shut by his children, mourning over his leaving. As his ghost awoke from its nightmare for the first time, I held his hand in mine all the way until the edge, leading him to his end, where he could rest in peace, after all his tragedies. The man who only wished to be human, but became much greater than a man.
Sometimes, when I read the blue book, I swear I can feel his voice linger against my eardrums, whispering a name in a language I do not recognize.