For creative_muses: The Future
Sleep does not come easy to him. Rest and relaxation are not his strong point, they never have been, and he’s come to the rather distressing conclusion they probably never will be. In some ways, he prefers it. Less time asleep means more time to get things done, more time to accomplish something, more time to wander. It seems almost unnatural to him, in a way, to shut oneself down for such a long time, a precious few hours, completely oblivious and vulnerable to the world around you.
Still, all opinions aside, he acknowledges the fact that occasionally, even he will need to stop running. Every now and then, he needs to take a moment to breath, to sit, to not have to speak or listen, or really do much of anything. It’s annoying, and disruptive, but he does it, rather grudgingly.
And thus, he finds himself in the library.
He’s read every book in the library at least twice. He knows how they begin, how they end, how they’re written, how the story goes. He knows every detail of every word in every book. There are no surprises in the literature he keeps, he hasn’t bought a book in ages. No new plots, no unpredicted fates.
He yawns. It’s been a very, very long time since he’s rested. Macbeth is sitting on the small table nearest the fireplace, a remnant of when Martha decided to re-read it. It sits quietly atop a battered copy of A Christmas Carol left by Rose, itself next to an Agatha Christy left by Donna. It’s the first one he sees, so he takes it, attempting to get comfortable the armchair nearby, and starts to read.
The clock on the mantle of the fireplaces ticks and keeps the non-existent passing of time as the TARDIS continues to hum.
It’s extremely quiet.
I will drain him dry as day
Sleep shall neither night nor day
Hang upon his pent-house lid
He doesn’t expect to be here long. He knows how the story ends. He knows where the witches end up and how Macbeth meets his end. He knows the fate of Lady Macbeth, of Banquo and Macduff. He knows the spoilers, and where is the fun in that?
It remains quiet.
He shall live a man forbid
Weary se’nnights nine times nine
It’s here that the words begin to blur. It doesn’t take long for the room to darken, for his eyes to become unnaturally heavy, and for the page in Macbeth to get lost.
It doesn’t take long for him to start dreaming, which is unpredictable, it doesn’t happen often.
He thinks he’s in the console room. He’s not sure. His dreams are concise, accurate, and clear, but they don’t always tell him everything. Emotions are easy to read, events, time and space, but specifics are often lost. Location and identity are the hardest.
For the moment, he’s him. He stands alone. There is no specific location in time, no specific coordinate. He is simply standing alone.
Or at least, for a moment. There are footsteps behind him as a woman who is either Rose, Martha or Donna enters the room. He cannot see her, he chooses not to look, but he can sense her changing randomly behind him from one to the other, not quite being able to distinguish the difference. The dream state is strange and unfamiliar, and it unnerves him as he stands waiting.
But what is he waiting for?
All that lies ahead is shadowed and blurred. There is no one there to walk forward with him, and no one to hold his hand. Should he turn around? Perhaps one of them would. Perhaps the woman behind him would walk with him, down the road towards the world that lay ahead. Perhaps one would be his companion.
He turns. The woman has vanished. All the remains is him, him and his dark, blurred path. The road ahead.
He turns again, and this time, does not look back.
He shall live a man forbid.
He is abruptly jolted awake. An alarm is going off somewhere, some sort of distress signal coming in from outside the vortex. He drops the book and immediately rushes to the console, bored with sleep, and bored of dreams. He wants to call to Donna to tell her to get out here, but he stops himself. He is alone now, he reminds himself, he is tired and alone. He’s been alone before, and will most likely continue to be. Dark paths and blurry corridors, no hand to hold.
He shakes his head. It was a dream.
Dwelling on the past would do him no good. Live in the present, focus on the here and now. Be alert.
The future will come later.
Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 796
Still, all opinions aside, he acknowledges the fact that occasionally, even he will need to stop running. Every now and then, he needs to take a moment to breath, to sit, to not have to speak or listen, or really do much of anything. It’s annoying, and disruptive, but he does it, rather grudgingly.
And thus, he finds himself in the library.
He’s read every book in the library at least twice. He knows how they begin, how they end, how they’re written, how the story goes. He knows every detail of every word in every book. There are no surprises in the literature he keeps, he hasn’t bought a book in ages. No new plots, no unpredicted fates.
He yawns. It’s been a very, very long time since he’s rested. Macbeth is sitting on the small table nearest the fireplace, a remnant of when Martha decided to re-read it. It sits quietly atop a battered copy of A Christmas Carol left by Rose, itself next to an Agatha Christy left by Donna. It’s the first one he sees, so he takes it, attempting to get comfortable the armchair nearby, and starts to read.
The clock on the mantle of the fireplaces ticks and keeps the non-existent passing of time as the TARDIS continues to hum.
It’s extremely quiet.
I will drain him dry as day
Sleep shall neither night nor day
Hang upon his pent-house lid
He doesn’t expect to be here long. He knows how the story ends. He knows where the witches end up and how Macbeth meets his end. He knows the fate of Lady Macbeth, of Banquo and Macduff. He knows the spoilers, and where is the fun in that?
It remains quiet.
He shall live a man forbid
Weary se’nnights nine times nine
It’s here that the words begin to blur. It doesn’t take long for the room to darken, for his eyes to become unnaturally heavy, and for the page in Macbeth to get lost.
It doesn’t take long for him to start dreaming, which is unpredictable, it doesn’t happen often.
He thinks he’s in the console room. He’s not sure. His dreams are concise, accurate, and clear, but they don’t always tell him everything. Emotions are easy to read, events, time and space, but specifics are often lost. Location and identity are the hardest.
For the moment, he’s him. He stands alone. There is no specific location in time, no specific coordinate. He is simply standing alone.
Or at least, for a moment. There are footsteps behind him as a woman who is either Rose, Martha or Donna enters the room. He cannot see her, he chooses not to look, but he can sense her changing randomly behind him from one to the other, not quite being able to distinguish the difference. The dream state is strange and unfamiliar, and it unnerves him as he stands waiting.
But what is he waiting for?
All that lies ahead is shadowed and blurred. There is no one there to walk forward with him, and no one to hold his hand. Should he turn around? Perhaps one of them would. Perhaps the woman behind him would walk with him, down the road towards the world that lay ahead. Perhaps one would be his companion.
He turns. The woman has vanished. All the remains is him, him and his dark, blurred path. The road ahead.
He turns again, and this time, does not look back.
He shall live a man forbid.
He is abruptly jolted awake. An alarm is going off somewhere, some sort of distress signal coming in from outside the vortex. He drops the book and immediately rushes to the console, bored with sleep, and bored of dreams. He wants to call to Donna to tell her to get out here, but he stops himself. He is alone now, he reminds himself, he is tired and alone. He’s been alone before, and will most likely continue to be. Dark paths and blurry corridors, no hand to hold.
He shakes his head. It was a dream.
Dwelling on the past would do him no good. Live in the present, focus on the here and now. Be alert.
The future will come later.
Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 796