Post by Ribs, Suthers' Pal on Feb 1, 2015 18:23:01 GMT
Okay this one is a serious thing I'd put on GB but not here but y'know can't do that so here it is.
____
Doctor Who approached the council of cosmonauts.
“Now, my dear fellows, what am I to do?”
He grasped the scepter of Lardai’kos and contemplated pressing down on it. He thought of poor Edmund Parsnip, the scamp’s desperate attempt at a decent living cut all too short by the actions of Colonel Applehad and his merry men.
“Please, Lord, do not act unto us as we would act unto you.” It was none other than Gerald Kearns, piping up from the back of the pavilion. “We are a fundamentally terrible people.”
“That is – at a time – true and untrue. A day such as today brings forward the question of morality in a time when morality has no relevance, as, some would argue, it never does.” Doctor Who approached the bench. His thoughts moved from the little boy on the steam engine towards that of KR-6L1, and the parting sentiment that therein came to mind.
“I cannot bear to witness what you shall become,” he observed before his descent into the aeon of the collapsing mountain range. As Doctor Who yelled in anguish at his acquaintance’s fate, he contemplated a similar incident sometime beforehand.
As the steam-boat rolled on towards the glade past the ridge, Lorelei grasped his hand. “I will always love you, but never again,” she observed.
Doctor Who, distraught by the loss of his dear robotic colleague, took refuge into this memory.
“Never again,” he murmured as the black hole of Titan consumed the cape for an eternity.
The panel of scientists grew tired of his waxing lyrical on days of old. “Are you to save us, or are you not?” The Cardinal beckoned. Doctor Who, aghast, approached the woman and grasped her hand firmly. They locked eyes, as the burden of eternal remembrance transferred from one physician to another.
She would know what to do, he mused to himself, albeit solely in his thoughts. He thought of his trusty spaceship, his one and only TARDIS, which was to never abandon him. He also thought of his other spaceship, of the lilacs on Easterly Delta, of the story of the ancients on the River of Perfidious. All this thought acquiesced into a single action.
“I’ve done too much today.” He began, before turning around, tears in his eyes. The council, befuddled, turned to speak to one another. Their actions were no longer condemned by the law of the land – they continued the free distribution of the minerals as they had previously arranged.
Some time later, Westley Wodehouse saw Doctor Who in the distance. He remembered, in his youth, how brave and wise the man had seemed. They did not share a word, nary a glance; but Doctor Who simply took a swig of fine ale, paid his tab, and disappeared into the distance. He had lived, he had encountered everything there was to see and be in his known universe; his civilization had been better because of him. But Doctor Who did not accomplish the same; he harbored no attachment, no civilization to call his own. He simply hung onto the memory of his actions, to be lost to time as his flame eventually burnt out.
Somewhere, in his first spaceship, Doctor Who maintains the Scepter. It remains plugged into the mainframe, and one day he may contemplate finally unleashing its power upon the cosmonauts. Until then, he simply breathes in the winter air, and opens the door to his ship.
____
Doctor Who approached the council of cosmonauts.
“Now, my dear fellows, what am I to do?”
He grasped the scepter of Lardai’kos and contemplated pressing down on it. He thought of poor Edmund Parsnip, the scamp’s desperate attempt at a decent living cut all too short by the actions of Colonel Applehad and his merry men.
“Please, Lord, do not act unto us as we would act unto you.” It was none other than Gerald Kearns, piping up from the back of the pavilion. “We are a fundamentally terrible people.”
“That is – at a time – true and untrue. A day such as today brings forward the question of morality in a time when morality has no relevance, as, some would argue, it never does.” Doctor Who approached the bench. His thoughts moved from the little boy on the steam engine towards that of KR-6L1, and the parting sentiment that therein came to mind.
“I cannot bear to witness what you shall become,” he observed before his descent into the aeon of the collapsing mountain range. As Doctor Who yelled in anguish at his acquaintance’s fate, he contemplated a similar incident sometime beforehand.
As the steam-boat rolled on towards the glade past the ridge, Lorelei grasped his hand. “I will always love you, but never again,” she observed.
Doctor Who, distraught by the loss of his dear robotic colleague, took refuge into this memory.
“Never again,” he murmured as the black hole of Titan consumed the cape for an eternity.
The panel of scientists grew tired of his waxing lyrical on days of old. “Are you to save us, or are you not?” The Cardinal beckoned. Doctor Who, aghast, approached the woman and grasped her hand firmly. They locked eyes, as the burden of eternal remembrance transferred from one physician to another.
She would know what to do, he mused to himself, albeit solely in his thoughts. He thought of his trusty spaceship, his one and only TARDIS, which was to never abandon him. He also thought of his other spaceship, of the lilacs on Easterly Delta, of the story of the ancients on the River of Perfidious. All this thought acquiesced into a single action.
“I’ve done too much today.” He began, before turning around, tears in his eyes. The council, befuddled, turned to speak to one another. Their actions were no longer condemned by the law of the land – they continued the free distribution of the minerals as they had previously arranged.
Some time later, Westley Wodehouse saw Doctor Who in the distance. He remembered, in his youth, how brave and wise the man had seemed. They did not share a word, nary a glance; but Doctor Who simply took a swig of fine ale, paid his tab, and disappeared into the distance. He had lived, he had encountered everything there was to see and be in his known universe; his civilization had been better because of him. But Doctor Who did not accomplish the same; he harbored no attachment, no civilization to call his own. He simply hung onto the memory of his actions, to be lost to time as his flame eventually burnt out.
Somewhere, in his first spaceship, Doctor Who maintains the Scepter. It remains plugged into the mainframe, and one day he may contemplate finally unleashing its power upon the cosmonauts. Until then, he simply breathes in the winter air, and opens the door to his ship.