Casualty of Survival.
He is the towering god himself, separate from his own race, ever the surveyor --the bringer of justice, the lone savior, forsaken for so long.
The long walk from the flooding Bowie Station is full of tortures he always endures. His companions, his family, his friends; to see them all again before destruction, and they reach for him. Similar tortures: the cries of an anguished mother, a horrified friend, a trapped martyr, all overwhelmed in the water, all while he listens and walks away. Why? One step, two. Each is hard, and his hearts constrict in the struggle. Why must he walk away?
He stops.
He is the towering god himself, separate from his own race…The lives and predicaments, everything he could fix….Ever the surveyor…All of time so readily shaped and bent in that ball of yarn, nothing so fixed in place, timelines be damned. For the space of this adventure, he is going to shake up the timelines for good, give them something to reel over.
He feels.
The anger burns first, and then his hearts beat frantically as his soul finally fulfills his longing. The bringer of justice…He could, couldn’t he? He’d always had the power; he used to have power by not using it… The lone savior… The suffering would make him stronger, he used to think… Forsaken for so long…it perhaps made him weaker, slowly breaking his soul, as the deadly Martian waters conquer the impenetrable station.
And he turns about on the red soil.
The walk back isn’t just for the fated crew. Errant and loving it, he would save someone or three, for his own sake, on his own terms. He sometimes reviled humans and their survival nature, the weakness, as if he were above any inclination. They all had wanted to live, and he could and would grant life to the few. No, he wouldn’t empathize with these heroes; he would commiserate.
He has survival instincts, after all.
Adelaide knew the impending doom, just as he was a casualty of this survival, until those four knocks come. He knows the rules and when Adelaide understands them she damns him. She should die that day because she mattered, but he allows her to live because she matters. And he matters.
He breaks the last rule.
When he takes control, she damns him again and mends the broken string as best she can. When he slackens his grip, she becomes the Time Lord, and makes the sacrifice. The red door closes, a flash of blue, she squanders his gift.
All-seeing in his benevolence, the powerful god stands alone in the cold streetlight. He turns to the distant figure watching and he towers no more, collapsing under terror.
Is this it? He thinks above the cloister bells.
Too late now.
It’s coming.
The long walk from the flooding Bowie Station is full of tortures he always endures. His companions, his family, his friends; to see them all again before destruction, and they reach for him. Similar tortures: the cries of an anguished mother, a horrified friend, a trapped martyr, all overwhelmed in the water, all while he listens and walks away. Why? One step, two. Each is hard, and his hearts constrict in the struggle. Why must he walk away?
He stops.
He is the towering god himself, separate from his own race…The lives and predicaments, everything he could fix….Ever the surveyor…All of time so readily shaped and bent in that ball of yarn, nothing so fixed in place, timelines be damned. For the space of this adventure, he is going to shake up the timelines for good, give them something to reel over.
He feels.
The anger burns first, and then his hearts beat frantically as his soul finally fulfills his longing. The bringer of justice…He could, couldn’t he? He’d always had the power; he used to have power by not using it… The lone savior… The suffering would make him stronger, he used to think… Forsaken for so long…it perhaps made him weaker, slowly breaking his soul, as the deadly Martian waters conquer the impenetrable station.
And he turns about on the red soil.
The walk back isn’t just for the fated crew. Errant and loving it, he would save someone or three, for his own sake, on his own terms. He sometimes reviled humans and their survival nature, the weakness, as if he were above any inclination. They all had wanted to live, and he could and would grant life to the few. No, he wouldn’t empathize with these heroes; he would commiserate.
He has survival instincts, after all.
Adelaide knew the impending doom, just as he was a casualty of this survival, until those four knocks come. He knows the rules and when Adelaide understands them she damns him. She should die that day because she mattered, but he allows her to live because she matters. And he matters.
He breaks the last rule.
When he takes control, she damns him again and mends the broken string as best she can. When he slackens his grip, she becomes the Time Lord, and makes the sacrifice. The red door closes, a flash of blue, she squanders his gift.
All-seeing in his benevolence, the powerful god stands alone in the cold streetlight. He turns to the distant figure watching and he towers no more, collapsing under terror.
Is this it? He thinks above the cloister bells.
Too late now.
It’s coming.