//------------------------------// // Chapter Fifty-Seven // Story: A Journey Unthought Of // by Hustlin Tom //------------------------------// The Doctor led me away from my friends and further into the Tardis, “We’ll be back in a little while,” he had said to the others, “So don’t do anything rash, and someone go check up on Lyra.” Bon Bon made her way out of the Tardis to go and look for her roommate. The Doctor lead me down corridor after corridor, until we reached a room which looked like a small kitchenette and dining area. “Go ahead and get yourself something to eat; I’m just going to finish up my tea and scones,” the Doctor offhandedly spoke. I went over to the refrigerator, and within I found something my eyes hadn’t seen and my tastebuds hadn’t experienced in such a long time: meat. Glorious honey baked ham, mashed potatoes, green beans, buttered corn, and bread pudding. It was a meal from the gates of heaven itself. I almost forgot my manners entirely as I gorged on the most amazing thing to pass my lips in months, almost years. The Doctor studied me, and I finally took notice just as I was finishing my meal. “Tell me Adam, how did you come to be such a negative person?” I had a feeling this was where the conversation would be headed since he had led me away from the others, so my quick reply was, “I prefer to think of myself as a realist.” “Oh really?” I wiped my mouth with my napkin as I continued, “Yes. Just like I was saying before, you’ve seen most of human history I’m sure, when has humanity ever not been at war with itself? We fight for what we want, or for our prejudices, or for what others tell us to think.” “There is one thing you haven’t considered.” “Yeah?” “Yes; you can fight for what is right.” “ ’For what is right?’ ” I scoffed at this simple idea. “Yes.” I tossed my hands up in the air, and looked at the Doctor with eyes that truly spoke to him how much of an oversimplified idea I thought that was. “Right? What right? Who’s to judge which ‘right’ is correct? There are more philosophies, theories, and beliefs in the world than there seem to be people.” “Some ideals rise above all the rest.” “Like what? ‘Protect and serve’? ‘Do unto others as you would have done unto you?’ You may have been alive for a long time, Doctor, but you haven’t experienced life like I have. I’ve been on the streets since my teens; fending for my life and limbs nearly daily. I have no family; first they abandoned me, and now, for all I know, they are either dead, or uncontactable. My life has been a prison; being exposed to all the crimes humanity can inflict on itself, and just being passed from one new warden to another, whether it’s the government, scientists, or spooks.” “You make yourself sound like you’re the victim in all this,” the Doctor blandly commented. I grew infuriated at his condescending attitude, “I am, Doctor! I’ve tried to help others, only to get beat down and kicked in the teeth every time!” “Did you try to stop any of those crimes you saw?” “Yeah, but then I stopped, because I came to realize it’s pointless. I might be able to stop it once, maybe twice. But I can’t stop it forever. It’s all meaningless! From cradle to grave; painful, stupid meaninglessness!” I finished up my rant, and as I did, I realized just how pathetic and narcissistic I sounded. I was embarrassed; not for what I had said, but for the fact that I sounded like a little spoiled child. “Life isn’t meaningless Adam. Everything, whether built or born, has a purpose. The difference between the born and the built is that the born can choose what they become.” “Not all of them,” I shot back. I wasn’t arguing to make a point anymore, but to just argue for arguing’s sake, “Some are born with prejudices against them, or physical disabilities.” “That doesn’t matter. They can still choose to overcome, or they could wallow in self-pity like you have all your life,” the Doctor said matter-of-factly. I felt like I had just been stabbed in the gut with a knife. The Doctor leaned back in his chair and sigh deeply, “I told you my basic past, but I didn’t tell you about what has defined my life for the past couple of years.” “What’s that?” I asked with spite still half-dripping in my voice. “The Time War.”