![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
[Fandom Muses] March Prompt (Misc)
Mar. 26th, 2008 05:23 pmIf your life was a story how would you write the final chapter?
Epilogue: Twenty-Nine Days Later
In the end, he came too late. The sun slowly set behind the hill as he somberly stood in front of a tombstone. It was a rather unremarkable tombstone. He could not find it fit at all for this rather remarkable person. The words had already become subjected to weathering. Although faint, his old eyes could see the smoothing of the edges. In a hundred years, in a blink of an eye, they would be gone. He contemplated a world without her. The thought was haunting.
Usually so clever with words, today he found himself silent. Time was his friend. Time was his enemy. Time had once again stolen someone so dear to him. Even with all the wibbily wobbly timey wimey stuff, certain things were set in stone. He could not go back. She would never enter his life again, her smile and her voice bringing a joy to his two hearts. This was the final ending, the final goodbye.
He despised every moment of it.
“She thought of you, you know.”
The voice didn’t startle him. Any other individual would have jumped, as lost in memories as he was. But he never would. He barely even turned his sad eyes away from the tombstone to look at the gangly youth, a lad probably in his mid-twenties.
“We told her she shouldn’t go – Clyde and I did. Torchwood and UNIT working together; it was a crisis beyond anything any of us had seen before. But she didn’t listen. She said it was what you would do. She said she had to go protect those she loved.
“I don’t think this is a social miscalculation, talking to you. I think it’s what she would have wanted, for you to know that you were in her thoughts in the end.” The gangly lad tipped his red beret. “I’m glad I finally met you, though. Thank you for making her a part of my life.”
As suddenly as the stranger had appeared, he was alone again. The sky shone with stars now and the moonlight casted an eerie glow in the cemetery. Somewhere in the forest behind him, an owl hooted. She had a toy owl. It had been hundreds of years since he had seen it, but he remembered. She had offered it to him. He had told her to keep it. He should have kept it. He had never wanted to let go.
He never wanted to say goodbye, not to his granddaughter, not to his friends, not to any of the companions he collected over the centuries of police box travelling. Yet, in the end, time forced his hand. He lived. And for all but one, they died. The lonely god some had called him. In this moment it seemed truer than any other title. The lonely god was all alone and no amount of travelling could ever make up for that.
“You were right, that time. It had been goodbye.”
He had been too late. From afar, he had watched her die. Her youthful smile, impish and eager, had been silenced from the world. Tears were foreign to him. He could not find it in him to cry for her. She would not have wanted that.
The white rose he had been holding finally dropped on top of the mound, resting gently against the marble.
Epilogue: Twenty-Nine Days Later
In the end, he came too late. The sun slowly set behind the hill as he somberly stood in front of a tombstone. It was a rather unremarkable tombstone. He could not find it fit at all for this rather remarkable person. The words had already become subjected to weathering. Although faint, his old eyes could see the smoothing of the edges. In a hundred years, in a blink of an eye, they would be gone. He contemplated a world without her. The thought was haunting.
Usually so clever with words, today he found himself silent. Time was his friend. Time was his enemy. Time had once again stolen someone so dear to him. Even with all the wibbily wobbly timey wimey stuff, certain things were set in stone. He could not go back. She would never enter his life again, her smile and her voice bringing a joy to his two hearts. This was the final ending, the final goodbye.
He despised every moment of it.
“She thought of you, you know.”
The voice didn’t startle him. Any other individual would have jumped, as lost in memories as he was. But he never would. He barely even turned his sad eyes away from the tombstone to look at the gangly youth, a lad probably in his mid-twenties.
“We told her she shouldn’t go – Clyde and I did. Torchwood and UNIT working together; it was a crisis beyond anything any of us had seen before. But she didn’t listen. She said it was what you would do. She said she had to go protect those she loved.
“I don’t think this is a social miscalculation, talking to you. I think it’s what she would have wanted, for you to know that you were in her thoughts in the end.” The gangly lad tipped his red beret. “I’m glad I finally met you, though. Thank you for making her a part of my life.”
As suddenly as the stranger had appeared, he was alone again. The sky shone with stars now and the moonlight casted an eerie glow in the cemetery. Somewhere in the forest behind him, an owl hooted. She had a toy owl. It had been hundreds of years since he had seen it, but he remembered. She had offered it to him. He had told her to keep it. He should have kept it. He had never wanted to let go.
He never wanted to say goodbye, not to his granddaughter, not to his friends, not to any of the companions he collected over the centuries of police box travelling. Yet, in the end, time forced his hand. He lived. And for all but one, they died. The lonely god some had called him. In this moment it seemed truer than any other title. The lonely god was all alone and no amount of travelling could ever make up for that.
“You were right, that time. It had been goodbye.”
He had been too late. From afar, he had watched her die. Her youthful smile, impish and eager, had been silenced from the world. Tears were foreign to him. He could not find it in him to cry for her. She would not have wanted that.
The white rose he had been holding finally dropped on top of the mound, resting gently against the marble.
