For albumconcepts Track 1: Atlantic
"I need a place that's hidden in the deep
Where lonely angels sing you to your sleep,"
He knew of them, of course. Like any good Christian, he sang about them at Christmastime, he heard about them at church, he read about them at home. They were heavenly hosts, winged messengers to the people from the Lord himself. He had never had a particular fascination with them, no more so then with other things, until the dreams started.
A woman dressed in a beautiful, elegant gown stands opposite him. They are dangerously close, far too close to be entirely proper, yet for some reason he finds himself enjoying it. He has a feeling the two have just shared some sort of highly intimate experience, though he’s certain it was not a physical one. He can feel the frantic beat of his double hearts as he realizes that the woman has done something impossible, she has seen something she should not have seen, something deep down, hidden.
In him.
“What did you see?”
“That there comes a time, Time Lord, when every lonely little boy must learn to dance,”
Within a blink, she is gone. An entire lifetime gone by in what he experiences as mere hours. She’s left something to him, a letter, an old-fashioned bit of parchment written in French. He feels so many things as he reads it, is it love, is it grief, is it pain or anger? Or is it all four? All the same, one single line remains, silently echoing across his mind.
“My lonely angel,”
He remembered the Doctor’s loneliness from previous dreams. It was an emotion that remained constant, though often hidden, in the back of every adventure. In his journal, he had always characterized the Doctor very simply, as a traveler, as an explorer, an adventurer, a wanderer. Never before had he even begun to fathom the possibility of the Doctor as an angel.
To him angels were never lonely. Angels were almost always accompanied by other angels, traveling in bands or in pairs, but never appearing by themselves. There was always a multitude of them, filling the night sky in some sort of holy spectacle. Was it possible that a man as lonely as the Doctor, one who seemed flesh and blood but was so much more than human could be one of these heavenly hosts?
The idea was preposterous…but then, so was the Doctor, to a certain extent.
There were some things he did not share with Joan. Though he had given her his journal and let her read any and all of it’s contents, some musings, such as these, were never written down. The idea of a madman truly being an angel was one, he determined, that would probably be best kept to himself.
And so with that, he fell asleep. Another night, another dream, another bit of time spent hidden from the world around him, deep in a world of mystery and excitement and of dark, dangerous, lonely angels.
Muse: John Smith
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 502
Where lonely angels sing you to your sleep,"
He knew of them, of course. Like any good Christian, he sang about them at Christmastime, he heard about them at church, he read about them at home. They were heavenly hosts, winged messengers to the people from the Lord himself. He had never had a particular fascination with them, no more so then with other things, until the dreams started.
A woman dressed in a beautiful, elegant gown stands opposite him. They are dangerously close, far too close to be entirely proper, yet for some reason he finds himself enjoying it. He has a feeling the two have just shared some sort of highly intimate experience, though he’s certain it was not a physical one. He can feel the frantic beat of his double hearts as he realizes that the woman has done something impossible, she has seen something she should not have seen, something deep down, hidden.
In him.
“What did you see?”
“That there comes a time, Time Lord, when every lonely little boy must learn to dance,”
Within a blink, she is gone. An entire lifetime gone by in what he experiences as mere hours. She’s left something to him, a letter, an old-fashioned bit of parchment written in French. He feels so many things as he reads it, is it love, is it grief, is it pain or anger? Or is it all four? All the same, one single line remains, silently echoing across his mind.
“My lonely angel,”
He remembered the Doctor’s loneliness from previous dreams. It was an emotion that remained constant, though often hidden, in the back of every adventure. In his journal, he had always characterized the Doctor very simply, as a traveler, as an explorer, an adventurer, a wanderer. Never before had he even begun to fathom the possibility of the Doctor as an angel.
To him angels were never lonely. Angels were almost always accompanied by other angels, traveling in bands or in pairs, but never appearing by themselves. There was always a multitude of them, filling the night sky in some sort of holy spectacle. Was it possible that a man as lonely as the Doctor, one who seemed flesh and blood but was so much more than human could be one of these heavenly hosts?
The idea was preposterous…but then, so was the Doctor, to a certain extent.
There were some things he did not share with Joan. Though he had given her his journal and let her read any and all of it’s contents, some musings, such as these, were never written down. The idea of a madman truly being an angel was one, he determined, that would probably be best kept to himself.
And so with that, he fell asleep. Another night, another dream, another bit of time spent hidden from the world around him, deep in a world of mystery and excitement and of dark, dangerous, lonely angels.
Muse: John Smith
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 502