best_served_hot

Some lines should never be crossed.
Some bridges never burned.
And as the ashes of our lives fall between us,
smoldering in the ice-water below.
I am what I was always meant to be,
but what have you become?

Is it about the burning rage before the embers and the ashes? It certainly isn't winning, not really, it's the moments of uncertainty beforehand. It isn't losing because in the end you still have managed to win.

Bittersweet is the word, but it's still victory.

Is it about the silence? The reverberating echoes of the last sound, the numbing and equally agonizing noise that had been there only moments ago. Is it the silence or is it the hope that it will last? That Life will cut you loose and you need not hear the excruciating tempo again or perhaps you'll finally be rid of it?

But would your life be truly living without the call to drive you forward?

Fire shows us what a mirror never could by way of glaring imperfections setting aglow cracks across a faulty mold. Once it had been perfect, seamless, ageless but now you feel each second, each breath as acutely as the movement of Time. With a return through the Dark, you see the End and with it comes Clarity.

The Pedestal you've set your old enemy upon is faulty, like his mold and Clarity bids you see it. He will fall and the Universe will tremble. He will End and there will be a great collapse. Many have tried to take his hand and failed.

Will you or dare you try it?

You try to save him but you've been at odds with him for so long you don't remember any other life. Talk him down. Just listen. You want to laugh at the absurdity of those words having been uttered to you so many times.

You'll let him refuse you once, for he is not you and what point is Dominion if there is nothing left to Lord over? He doesn't understand the motions of the Universe. He doesn't understand the balance anymore.

He laughs in your face and you ask, once more, offering your hand as he did to you atop a mountain so long ago. It doesn't feel so long. Seconds? Centuries? Perhaps no time has passed at all and you were always offering your hand to him and he was always turning away.

That part of the story doesn't seem right to your mind, but who are you to say? Death no longer haunts your steps except to wait to steal your soul away once more. This time it will be of your own doing. You will make this choice. Your name will not be offered up as payment and you will not give her his.

"Come away, Doctor. You've done enough."

"But it isn't enough. I can fix everything, don't you see?"

"You aren't God."

"Not yet."

Still you hold out your hand. His final lifeline. Your eyes mirror some sudden desperation and you will him to take it. But your will has never been enough to move him and you only see madness in his eyes. You ask him again for him to come away from this destruction and chaos but he backs away, head thrown back as he laughs; a wildness in his eyes.

He disappears and that leaves you.

It leaves you to the sound of a TARDIS dematerializing and your own ship waiting for you to return.

You are what you were always meant to be.

But what has he become?

prompt: none
words: 634

cocoon

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