For creative_muses: Lonliness
"Loneliness and the feeling of being unwanted is the most terrible poverty.” - Mother Teresa
London, 2003.
He sat alone at a table outside a small teashop, taking a sip from a cup with too much milk and not enough sugar. It was early March. Any snow was starting to melt as people began to realize that could do without the extra heavy coat. He was the only one still bundled up.
A gust of wind blew by and after a moment another man appeared across from him.
“I can’t,” he replied, “I haven’t met her yet.”
“Wouldn’t that be perfect, though? If you haven’t met her, she’s still completely human, there’s nothing to worry about unlocking.”
“I didn’t meet Donna till 2007, I can’t just show up four years earlier,” he sighed, “the universe doesn’t work like that.”
“But you’re the Doctor,” said John, “you can do anything.”
“Within reason,” he replied, “no one’s unlimited.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the Doctor sipping his tea as John gazed around at their busy surroundings. The window of the show reflected back the image of only one man, the chair across from him incorrectly presented as being empty. John sniffed a bit, and straightened his tie. “Things have changed,” he said, “quite a bit, they even smell different.”
“It always smells different,” the Doctor replied, “but it’s still always London.”
“It looks like a completely different world,” said Smith, “like something out of a dream. It hardly seems real, to my eyes, it’s just another wonder.”
“Another story?” asked the Doctor.
“Yes,” said Smith, “a fairy tale.”
“It’s hardly a fairy tale,” said the Doctor, “it’s a beautiful city, but it’s still just a city. Still the same spot on the map, it’s still just London.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“What doesn’t?”
“It’s still just London?” he repeated, “Nothing is ever just something to you, it’s more intense. There’s more to it, there’s always something to see, or do, or hear, or something to make it fantastic. Nothing is ever just what it is, it’s more,” he glanced down at the table, dismayed, “I assumed you were aware of that.”
The Doctor sighed, and looked down at his teacup. He remembered his first time arriving in London, his first escape, his first step of true independence. He remembered the thrill of every tiny thing, of the green leaves on the trees, the sound of the people’s then exotic language, the taste of his first real cup of tea. Everything was new, everything was unknown, it was all there for him to explore, and now…well, he’d done it. He’d seen it. It was London. It was always London, as it would always be London as long as the Earth existed, it remained London. It was the same city he took his first steps, where he’d learned and gained so much, and where he would eventually lose so much. It was the same city that appeared in his memory over and over again, so much that by the time they reached the present it truly was, it had to be, just London.
What more did he expect?
Smith was watching him, curiously. “You have grown a bit distant, lately.”
“What do you mean?”
“You will not talk to me anymore.”
The Doctor sighed, and rolled his eyes. “I never talked to you to begin with.”
“Yes you did.”
“No I -“ he paused. He thought back to all those times he’d caught himself standing alone in the console room, talking to some unseen, unknown companion. It was a side effect of be alone, he assumed, talking to one’s self, but…could he have been talking to Smith? He knew that somewhere, Smith was still inside him, he could occasionally feel his rather dim presence in his mind, but had he ever intentionally tried to communicate with him? They rarely held true conversation, and yet…had they?
“I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you, then,” he said, “that was somewhat rude of me.”
“You are a rude person,” said Smith, seemingly understanding, “I have a feeling that tends to happen.”
“Oi, I’m not that rude!”
“You’re not rude?” asked Smith, “That planet you were just on. You saved their entire empire from the destruction and then shut the door of your box in the face of the king just as he tried to thank you.”
“I suppose that was a bit rude.”
“I tried to tell you,” said Smith, “I tried to tell you to go back, but you wouldn’t listen. You couldn’t hear me.”
“I could,” said the Doctor, “I just didn’t want to.”
“So you ignored me?”
“I did.”
“Again.”
“Yes.”
Smith paused. “It’s not easy to get your attention when you are alone.”
“I know.”
“You are more stubborn.”
“I know.”
“And so much more stuck in your ways. Your mind is closed.”
“I know.”
“You keep repeating that.”
“What?”
“That you know.”
“Because I do.”
“But you do not.”
“What?” He turned. Smith was looking at him pointedly, with far braver and more confident eyes than he ever remembered him using before.
“If you truly knew what was going on in your own mind, then you would do far more than ignore it.”
“How would you know?” the Doctor said, suddenly, “You’re just a figment, a story I made up out of desperation -“
“And gave life to,” Smith continued, “out of desperation.”
“Exactly, you’re nothing more than a desperate act. How should you be aware of the inner workings of my mind, you’re not even real!”
“You know,” said Smith, turning away, “you just won’t listen.”
The Doctor sat frozen in thought. The wind blew his hair in seven different directions as it left Smith’s serenely untouched. People walked past and observed simply the Doctor, alone at his table, alone with his drink. Alone with his thoughts. He was alone, his default state. This is how the universe worked, he thought, and at this point, there was nothing he could do about it.
Right?
He looked over at Smith, the man who wasn’t really there. He couldn’t honestly say he was eating alone. By all definitions, he was. Physically there was no one across from him, and yet, visually there he was. A man with his face, his alias. A human trying to get his attention as he sat across and resolutely ignored him. He was there in every way except in reality, could he really say he had companionship?
Not really. It wasn’t as if he could take this man and show him the universe, awing him and impressing him and sharing wonders with him. He’d already seen it, hadn’t he? He’d dreamt it and written it and seen it through the Doctor’s eyes. He existed purely in his mind, and therefore must be aware of everything in his mind, including his experiences. He had to have seen it all, he had to be as jaded as he was.
And yet, there he was. His eyes dodged all around, taking in the city, the people, the cars, the buses, the individual shops and the many things inside them, all as if he were seeing them for the first time. To him it was all new, it seemed, it was exciting and thrilling. Even if he had seen it before, he still found it fantastic.
He was a different man. Naïve, young, and untraveled. The exact opposite of the Doctor.
Smith ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up for the first time since he had appeared. He gave a toothy grin, “You must find this just a bit brilliant,” he said, expectantly, “you cannot honestly say it’s nothing.” His familiar eyes were wide, and for a moment, the Doctor had to remind himself that he was not looking into a mirror. He was a different person, wasn’t he? The Doctor was not naïve and easily impressed, he was not the young, emotional person sitting across from him. He couldn’t be.
“We could start again; I’d like that. You and me, we could try at least, because everything that John Smith is and was, I’m capable of that too.”
Had he been lying?
“It’s not easy to get your attention when you are alone.”
Or had he simply just not been listening?
He looked around him, down the street, and pictured the way. Take a few turns, walk down another road and there she was. Sitting in her mum’s house being nagged. Right there. In the same old London, the same old city he’d seen so many times, she was there, and he couldn’t go near her.
What was the point?
He looked back at Smith, quietly watching the commotion of London with rapt attention. He glanced over at the spot the other man was looking at, and watched with him as the same sort of thing that must happen there every day happened just a little bit differently. A man and a woman. One cup of coffee. The man stole a sip as the woman laughed and pulled it away, having to move it around multiple times to keep the man from stealing another sip. It was something he had seen countless couples do, this sort of game, and yet to them, and to Smith, it was beyond exciting.
Humanity had a knack for this, he decided, they could make anything thrilling, but what did he have? He was a lonely stranger, a man who’d seen too much through the same eyes and was left with nowhere to go. He had nothing, right?
He looked back at Smith. “You’ve been trying to get my attention, haven’t you?”
“For a while now.”
“Well,” said the Doctor, “you’ve finally got it.”
Fandom: Doctor Who
Character: The Doctor (Ten)
Word Count: 1, 616
London, 2003.
He sat alone at a table outside a small teashop, taking a sip from a cup with too much milk and not enough sugar. It was early March. Any snow was starting to melt as people began to realize that could do without the extra heavy coat. He was the only one still bundled up.
A gust of wind blew by and after a moment another man appeared across from him.
“I can’t,” he replied, “I haven’t met her yet.”
“Wouldn’t that be perfect, though? If you haven’t met her, she’s still completely human, there’s nothing to worry about unlocking.”
“I didn’t meet Donna till 2007, I can’t just show up four years earlier,” he sighed, “the universe doesn’t work like that.”
“But you’re the Doctor,” said John, “you can do anything.”
“Within reason,” he replied, “no one’s unlimited.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the Doctor sipping his tea as John gazed around at their busy surroundings. The window of the show reflected back the image of only one man, the chair across from him incorrectly presented as being empty. John sniffed a bit, and straightened his tie. “Things have changed,” he said, “quite a bit, they even smell different.”
“It always smells different,” the Doctor replied, “but it’s still always London.”
“It looks like a completely different world,” said Smith, “like something out of a dream. It hardly seems real, to my eyes, it’s just another wonder.”
“Another story?” asked the Doctor.
“Yes,” said Smith, “a fairy tale.”
“It’s hardly a fairy tale,” said the Doctor, “it’s a beautiful city, but it’s still just a city. Still the same spot on the map, it’s still just London.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“What doesn’t?”
“It’s still just London?” he repeated, “Nothing is ever just something to you, it’s more intense. There’s more to it, there’s always something to see, or do, or hear, or something to make it fantastic. Nothing is ever just what it is, it’s more,” he glanced down at the table, dismayed, “I assumed you were aware of that.”
The Doctor sighed, and looked down at his teacup. He remembered his first time arriving in London, his first escape, his first step of true independence. He remembered the thrill of every tiny thing, of the green leaves on the trees, the sound of the people’s then exotic language, the taste of his first real cup of tea. Everything was new, everything was unknown, it was all there for him to explore, and now…well, he’d done it. He’d seen it. It was London. It was always London, as it would always be London as long as the Earth existed, it remained London. It was the same city he took his first steps, where he’d learned and gained so much, and where he would eventually lose so much. It was the same city that appeared in his memory over and over again, so much that by the time they reached the present it truly was, it had to be, just London.
What more did he expect?
Smith was watching him, curiously. “You have grown a bit distant, lately.”
“What do you mean?”
“You will not talk to me anymore.”
The Doctor sighed, and rolled his eyes. “I never talked to you to begin with.”
“Yes you did.”
“No I -“ he paused. He thought back to all those times he’d caught himself standing alone in the console room, talking to some unseen, unknown companion. It was a side effect of be alone, he assumed, talking to one’s self, but…could he have been talking to Smith? He knew that somewhere, Smith was still inside him, he could occasionally feel his rather dim presence in his mind, but had he ever intentionally tried to communicate with him? They rarely held true conversation, and yet…had they?
“I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you, then,” he said, “that was somewhat rude of me.”
“You are a rude person,” said Smith, seemingly understanding, “I have a feeling that tends to happen.”
“Oi, I’m not that rude!”
“You’re not rude?” asked Smith, “That planet you were just on. You saved their entire empire from the destruction and then shut the door of your box in the face of the king just as he tried to thank you.”
“I suppose that was a bit rude.”
“I tried to tell you,” said Smith, “I tried to tell you to go back, but you wouldn’t listen. You couldn’t hear me.”
“I could,” said the Doctor, “I just didn’t want to.”
“So you ignored me?”
“I did.”
“Again.”
“Yes.”
Smith paused. “It’s not easy to get your attention when you are alone.”
“I know.”
“You are more stubborn.”
“I know.”
“And so much more stuck in your ways. Your mind is closed.”
“I know.”
“You keep repeating that.”
“What?”
“That you know.”
“Because I do.”
“But you do not.”
“What?” He turned. Smith was looking at him pointedly, with far braver and more confident eyes than he ever remembered him using before.
“If you truly knew what was going on in your own mind, then you would do far more than ignore it.”
“How would you know?” the Doctor said, suddenly, “You’re just a figment, a story I made up out of desperation -“
“And gave life to,” Smith continued, “out of desperation.”
“Exactly, you’re nothing more than a desperate act. How should you be aware of the inner workings of my mind, you’re not even real!”
“You know,” said Smith, turning away, “you just won’t listen.”
The Doctor sat frozen in thought. The wind blew his hair in seven different directions as it left Smith’s serenely untouched. People walked past and observed simply the Doctor, alone at his table, alone with his drink. Alone with his thoughts. He was alone, his default state. This is how the universe worked, he thought, and at this point, there was nothing he could do about it.
Right?
He looked over at Smith, the man who wasn’t really there. He couldn’t honestly say he was eating alone. By all definitions, he was. Physically there was no one across from him, and yet, visually there he was. A man with his face, his alias. A human trying to get his attention as he sat across and resolutely ignored him. He was there in every way except in reality, could he really say he had companionship?
Not really. It wasn’t as if he could take this man and show him the universe, awing him and impressing him and sharing wonders with him. He’d already seen it, hadn’t he? He’d dreamt it and written it and seen it through the Doctor’s eyes. He existed purely in his mind, and therefore must be aware of everything in his mind, including his experiences. He had to have seen it all, he had to be as jaded as he was.
And yet, there he was. His eyes dodged all around, taking in the city, the people, the cars, the buses, the individual shops and the many things inside them, all as if he were seeing them for the first time. To him it was all new, it seemed, it was exciting and thrilling. Even if he had seen it before, he still found it fantastic.
He was a different man. Naïve, young, and untraveled. The exact opposite of the Doctor.
Smith ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up for the first time since he had appeared. He gave a toothy grin, “You must find this just a bit brilliant,” he said, expectantly, “you cannot honestly say it’s nothing.” His familiar eyes were wide, and for a moment, the Doctor had to remind himself that he was not looking into a mirror. He was a different person, wasn’t he? The Doctor was not naïve and easily impressed, he was not the young, emotional person sitting across from him. He couldn’t be.
“We could start again; I’d like that. You and me, we could try at least, because everything that John Smith is and was, I’m capable of that too.”
Had he been lying?
“It’s not easy to get your attention when you are alone.”
Or had he simply just not been listening?
He looked around him, down the street, and pictured the way. Take a few turns, walk down another road and there she was. Sitting in her mum’s house being nagged. Right there. In the same old London, the same old city he’d seen so many times, she was there, and he couldn’t go near her.
What was the point?
He looked back at Smith, quietly watching the commotion of London with rapt attention. He glanced over at the spot the other man was looking at, and watched with him as the same sort of thing that must happen there every day happened just a little bit differently. A man and a woman. One cup of coffee. The man stole a sip as the woman laughed and pulled it away, having to move it around multiple times to keep the man from stealing another sip. It was something he had seen countless couples do, this sort of game, and yet to them, and to Smith, it was beyond exciting.
Humanity had a knack for this, he decided, they could make anything thrilling, but what did he have? He was a lonely stranger, a man who’d seen too much through the same eyes and was left with nowhere to go. He had nothing, right?
He looked back at Smith. “You’ve been trying to get my attention, haven’t you?”
“For a while now.”
“Well,” said the Doctor, “you’ve finally got it.”
Fandom: Doctor Who
Character: The Doctor (Ten)
Word Count: 1, 616