For albumconcepts: Nothing In My Way
It's just another day, nothing in my way
I don't wanna go, I don't wanna stay
So there's nothing left to say
There was something in John Smith that had always wanted to travel. It was not a persistent urge, not some sort of overpowering need, but merely, a small desire. It was something he thought of every now and then during spare, uninteresting moments, nothing more than an occasional, pleasant daydream. Who could say they had not done the same? Who had not occasionally wondered what it would be like to see some sort of strange, exotic land? Who had not sat and daydreamed of leaving?
“Do you want to leave?” Joan asked him one afternoon, “If you could leave here, the school and the boys, and travel, would you?”
“Of course not,” he answered quickly, automatically, “Why would I want to? I have everything I need here. I have employment; I have a comfortable home and friends. I lead a good life, is there anything more I should want?”
“No, no, of course not,” she said, her eyes glancing away from him, “It’s just…in your journal, you spoke of travel rather often.”
“The Doctor is a traveler,” he said, “it is a rather difficult subject to avoid when speaking of him.”
“But the way you wrote it,” she continued, “the way you spoke and the words you chose, there was such longing to it, such desperation to move, to get away. Even if it was merely in reference to a fiction, can you honestly tell me you do not, occasionally, share that desire?”
He sighed, “Perhaps.”
The path they were walking ended rather suddenly at the top of a tall, grassy hill overlooking the countryside. The sheer vastness of the scenery before them, the rolling English hills, the wide fields, the enormous sky looming above it all, it was overwhelming. He felt small standing among it, like a child trying desperately to grasp the true immensity of the world around him. How could he possibly feel confined here? How could anyone even hope to feel restless?
And yet, he wondered.
In a different part of the world, in someplace new and exotic, would the view from the top of a hill still look the same?
For a moment, one strange, mad moment, his mind was filled with possibilities. Perhaps it would look the same, or perhaps it wouldn’t. Perhaps it would be beautiful. Perhaps the distant lands he’d read and heard stories about, the far off places a person only knows about in theory, were more perfect and more dazzling than he could ever hope to imagine. Or perhaps, they were simply something different. The thought was exciting and briefly intriguing, and for a moment, he silently wished he could leave.
Then he turned and looked at Joan, and suddenly, his restlessness vanished. Out of everywhere in the world there was only one place he truly wanted to be, and as he watched her look out at the scene before her, as he stood with her, two small figures against the vast English countryside, he knew he was already there.
“The Doctor may be desperate to travel,” he said, “but I am not.”
Muse: John Smith
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 518
I don't wanna go, I don't wanna stay
So there's nothing left to say
There was something in John Smith that had always wanted to travel. It was not a persistent urge, not some sort of overpowering need, but merely, a small desire. It was something he thought of every now and then during spare, uninteresting moments, nothing more than an occasional, pleasant daydream. Who could say they had not done the same? Who had not occasionally wondered what it would be like to see some sort of strange, exotic land? Who had not sat and daydreamed of leaving?
“Do you want to leave?” Joan asked him one afternoon, “If you could leave here, the school and the boys, and travel, would you?”
“Of course not,” he answered quickly, automatically, “Why would I want to? I have everything I need here. I have employment; I have a comfortable home and friends. I lead a good life, is there anything more I should want?”
“No, no, of course not,” she said, her eyes glancing away from him, “It’s just…in your journal, you spoke of travel rather often.”
“The Doctor is a traveler,” he said, “it is a rather difficult subject to avoid when speaking of him.”
“But the way you wrote it,” she continued, “the way you spoke and the words you chose, there was such longing to it, such desperation to move, to get away. Even if it was merely in reference to a fiction, can you honestly tell me you do not, occasionally, share that desire?”
He sighed, “Perhaps.”
The path they were walking ended rather suddenly at the top of a tall, grassy hill overlooking the countryside. The sheer vastness of the scenery before them, the rolling English hills, the wide fields, the enormous sky looming above it all, it was overwhelming. He felt small standing among it, like a child trying desperately to grasp the true immensity of the world around him. How could he possibly feel confined here? How could anyone even hope to feel restless?
And yet, he wondered.
In a different part of the world, in someplace new and exotic, would the view from the top of a hill still look the same?
For a moment, one strange, mad moment, his mind was filled with possibilities. Perhaps it would look the same, or perhaps it wouldn’t. Perhaps it would be beautiful. Perhaps the distant lands he’d read and heard stories about, the far off places a person only knows about in theory, were more perfect and more dazzling than he could ever hope to imagine. Or perhaps, they were simply something different. The thought was exciting and briefly intriguing, and for a moment, he silently wished he could leave.
Then he turned and looked at Joan, and suddenly, his restlessness vanished. Out of everywhere in the world there was only one place he truly wanted to be, and as he watched her look out at the scene before her, as he stood with her, two small figures against the vast English countryside, he knew he was already there.
“The Doctor may be desperate to travel,” he said, “but I am not.”
Muse: John Smith
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 518