Memories of what is lost...
Title: Memories of what is lost...
Author: fate_incomplete
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angst
Spoilers: None
Characters: Eleven
Word Count: 670
Summary: The oncoming storm, destroyer of worlds, his constant companion, death. The Doctor witnesses the destruction of a world...yet another memory of the lost to carry while he can.
Rage and fury howled on the wind, ebbing and flowing around him. It screamed with death and life, a confused maelstrom, caught in that infinitesimal moment where it is both and neither. Destruction or creation, depending on your view point.
Tiny flecks of dust barraged the exposed skin of his face, eyes watering, but he didn't look away. Each speck of dust part of both ruined, and yet to be civilisations. Life that was, that will be, the possible, and the lost. It all swirled on the foreshock of the explosion, expanding at an ever increasing rate.
The wind buffeted him, shifting him back onto his heels, until he leant further into it, staying on his feet by sheer, stubborn force of will. The wind twisted and tore at his clothing, plastering his hair it to his scalp. It smelt like dust and loss, tinged with smoke, a hint at the heat that would soon follow.
Age wearied eyes squinted against the onslaught, witnessing the destruction with a sadness that few would understand. Searing white light erupted from the epicentre, leaving swirling black spots in his vision, but he didn't look away. It deserved his attention. It was the least he could do, the most he could give, bear witness to yet another ending, and carry the weight of another loss, the universe both more and less for it.
A wall of dust and debris towered into the atmosphere, light from the expanding explosion temporarily hidden behind it, like a curtain drawn against the rising sun. The earth beneath his feet trembled and groaned. He could feel the shift as tectonic plates collided, a wave of movement spreading out from the explosion, like ripples on a pond.
He lingered a moment longer, almost a moment too long, as the tiny hairs on his neck tingled in response to the sudden heat. He took a step backwards, one hand pushing on the blue door, fingers gently caressing against its comfort. He took another step, the protective familiarity of the TARDIS settling around him, claiming him. He spared one last glance to the oncoming rush of destruction as the blast wave approached, taking all in its path, before he closed the door.
After a moment of stillness in defiance of the explosion that threatened to claim both him and his TARDIS, he burst in to movement, all exaggerated frivolity and merriment. He skidded to a stop, grabbing levers on the console to stop his momentum. He flicked switches and pushed buttons in a flurry of movement, fingers dancing in elegant fluency, slamming down a lever in triumphant finale. The whirr of the TARDIS as she phased cocooned the Doctor, and she took them to safety mere seconds before all was obliterated.
The Doctor leant against the console, head bowed. He could go anywhere, see anything, yet these moments drew him to them, the gravity of their significance too strong for him to escape. He had witnessed destruction and creation countless times, in a life that sometimes seemed too long. He closed his eyes, as the loss of another world settled its heavy hands on his shoulders, the thought of the eventual new life that would be spawned from its destruction, providing little comfort in this moment.
It always felt as though he left part of himself in the floating remains of every destroyed and forgotten world. He carried a piece of them all in his memories, but they each claimed a part of him too. He idly wondered if there would come a time when he would have nothing left to give, and one last lost world would take him with it.
He smiled sadly. There were a billion, a trillion, tiny deaths in every particle of the universe. He would remember as many of them as possible, until he couldn't. What else could he do?
Author: fate_incomplete
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angst
Spoilers: None
Characters: Eleven
Word Count: 670
Summary: The oncoming storm, destroyer of worlds, his constant companion, death. The Doctor witnesses the destruction of a world...yet another memory of the lost to carry while he can.
Rage and fury howled on the wind, ebbing and flowing around him. It screamed with death and life, a confused maelstrom, caught in that infinitesimal moment where it is both and neither. Destruction or creation, depending on your view point.
Tiny flecks of dust barraged the exposed skin of his face, eyes watering, but he didn't look away. Each speck of dust part of both ruined, and yet to be civilisations. Life that was, that will be, the possible, and the lost. It all swirled on the foreshock of the explosion, expanding at an ever increasing rate.
The wind buffeted him, shifting him back onto his heels, until he leant further into it, staying on his feet by sheer, stubborn force of will. The wind twisted and tore at his clothing, plastering his hair it to his scalp. It smelt like dust and loss, tinged with smoke, a hint at the heat that would soon follow.
Age wearied eyes squinted against the onslaught, witnessing the destruction with a sadness that few would understand. Searing white light erupted from the epicentre, leaving swirling black spots in his vision, but he didn't look away. It deserved his attention. It was the least he could do, the most he could give, bear witness to yet another ending, and carry the weight of another loss, the universe both more and less for it.
A wall of dust and debris towered into the atmosphere, light from the expanding explosion temporarily hidden behind it, like a curtain drawn against the rising sun. The earth beneath his feet trembled and groaned. He could feel the shift as tectonic plates collided, a wave of movement spreading out from the explosion, like ripples on a pond.
He lingered a moment longer, almost a moment too long, as the tiny hairs on his neck tingled in response to the sudden heat. He took a step backwards, one hand pushing on the blue door, fingers gently caressing against its comfort. He took another step, the protective familiarity of the TARDIS settling around him, claiming him. He spared one last glance to the oncoming rush of destruction as the blast wave approached, taking all in its path, before he closed the door.
After a moment of stillness in defiance of the explosion that threatened to claim both him and his TARDIS, he burst in to movement, all exaggerated frivolity and merriment. He skidded to a stop, grabbing levers on the console to stop his momentum. He flicked switches and pushed buttons in a flurry of movement, fingers dancing in elegant fluency, slamming down a lever in triumphant finale. The whirr of the TARDIS as she phased cocooned the Doctor, and she took them to safety mere seconds before all was obliterated.
The Doctor leant against the console, head bowed. He could go anywhere, see anything, yet these moments drew him to them, the gravity of their significance too strong for him to escape. He had witnessed destruction and creation countless times, in a life that sometimes seemed too long. He closed his eyes, as the loss of another world settled its heavy hands on his shoulders, the thought of the eventual new life that would be spawned from its destruction, providing little comfort in this moment.
It always felt as though he left part of himself in the floating remains of every destroyed and forgotten world. He carried a piece of them all in his memories, but they each claimed a part of him too. He idly wondered if there would come a time when he would have nothing left to give, and one last lost world would take him with it.
He smiled sadly. There were a billion, a trillion, tiny deaths in every particle of the universe. He would remember as many of them as possible, until he couldn't. What else could he do?