• If sand waves were sound waves
What song would be in the air now
What stinging tune
Could split this endless noon
And make the sky swell with rain
If war were a game that a man or a child
Could think of winning
What kind of rule
Can overthrow a fool
And leave the land with no stain. •
; anything can happen here.
It doesn’t start at the beginning, and sometimes he (she, they, he) forgets that. Things twist and turn and he's standing on a blasted plane of sand, digging for bones and carving them into chess pieces.
Or perhaps not. Perhaps he's running, searching for the stretch of Norweigian waters and a woman he can't possibly catch. Or perhaps it's too late for that. Perhaps he's too early.
It's strange, time being what it is. The universes being what they are (were, might be, are).
He is at once a man who has lost all sense of morals and a woman coming after a valiant suicide, and a man who never left home, and many, many others. They are what they could've been.
The man who stands at the edge of the desert is tall and wears a red bowtie. He is young, but only on the outside. Inside the desert, there is a woman who looks like him but not, with long dark hair and a sad expression etched on her face. They are the same but different, a quirk of genetics keeping them apart
The man without morals stands next to her and looks as he once did, but also looks as he might in the future. Things are fluid here.
"That's him, then?" the man without morals says. He is now the younger version of the woman, all blue-suited with spiked-up hair and dark eyes.
The woman with the long dark hair nods, her eyes at the edge of the desert. "I have better fashion sense. And much better legs."
"He has me in his mind, though." In the quirk that made her herself, she avoided that slice of life.
"That's not an improvement," the woman with the long, dark hair says. "You were very nearly a terrible mistake."
"I still might be." He is now shorter, balding, and wears a black robe.
"Isn't that what this place is about?" the woman asks. "The things that might be?"
"You think too small," the man without morals says. "So does he."
The man with the bowtie is a lot like her, she thinks. He is more bumbling, a bit sillier, but he will do well in this life, even if she doesn't have the chance she knows she could.
"It's better that way."
Muse: The Doctor (The Valeyard)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 357