You have never heard the story. You have known it all of your life.
Once upon a time, they say, and you can't help but remark that this is how all of these stories begin.
Once upon a time there was a kingdom of brave warriors. They believed in good and justice, and wished to share their justice with the rest of the world. They traveled, they explored. Many kingdoms joined with them, and they grew in strength, in size. In power.
Then one day, Ka Faraq Gatri came.
All of the little children immediately Oooooooh in response. You just shake your head. No one should be so excited over the villain in the story.
He was a mighty warrior. Stood eighteen feet tall, with a tube of destruction and a brain of infinite knowledge. The mighty warrior had long since declared his own personal war with the kingdom and, therefore, its allies.
He did not need weapons, or even honor to fight. He would wave his hand, and the soldiers of the kingdom would crush beneath the power of his mind. They were helpless and terrified, but Ka Faraq Gatri would never back down.
He was cruel. So cruel. Vicious and full of hate. He killed without mercy, without thinking about anyone but his own hate.
The children begin to gossip amongst themselves. Each has heard a different version of this story, some are more graphic than others, of course. The monster is the same, but sometimes he's taller, sometimes he's got bulging muscles.
If you please, you ask politely, I'm trying to listen.
One day, Ka Faraq Gatri brought war to the brave warriors. He raised an arm and called forth armies of millions. The warriors tried to fight them off, and might well have won---all the strength of spirit was on their side---but Ka Faraq Gatri would not have it.
He blew out a torrent of fire, engulfing the warriors and all of his own soldiers. They cried out in pain and burned and writhed in torment, but they were merely pawns to Ka Faraq Gatri. He loved to see so much pain.
The children pipe up, Did he die? Where is he?
They smile. You wince.
He's out there, somewhere, children. If you're not good to your parents, he may take smite upon you, and come into your bedroom and breathe fire onto you, or point his tube of destruction right at your little heart.
That's quite enough of that.
You stand. Brush off some dirt from your blue trousers. Your lovely, dark-skinned companion does as well. Her almond eyes turn to you.
Who were they talking about? Ka Faraq Gatri, what is that?
You sigh. It's not one of exasperation, nor one of annoyance. It's sort of...sad.
It means 'the Oncoming Storm.'
Her eyes widen.
Isn't that what you're called?
A slight nod. Yes.
Your red plimsoles pad against the alien sand as you leave the children, leave the fable, leave the nightmare. Part of you wants to turn around to see if she's following, but she may turn into a pillar of salt, and one wouldn't want that.
Are you really that cruel, Doctor?
It takes you by surprise, but it shouldn't. Before you know it, you're turning to face her, and the look you have is pained, but honest. Real. There is that, at least.
Muse: the Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 596