She returned from the doctor’s surgery.
There was a silence. Then another. Then.
“He says it’s terminal,” she said.
“Life is terminal,” he replied quietly.
The conductor cries
“End of the line! All change please!”
Passengers wake up
Look round for their possessions
But no pockets in a shroud
TWILIGHT’S LAST GLEAMING
Let us stroll now this empty orchard
Gone out of season and out of time
Grasp poetry, physics, the perfect rhyme*
To toast the Doctor’s magic pilchard†
A heavenly couple’s life is hard
S’not all apples, there’s sweat and grime
And groping in the dark and slime
With nothing sure left behind to guard
Cast out of the bright garden and left alone
Adam’s apple crumbles leaving merely bone
Always was a throaty tickle mainly subliminal
The doctor’s bobs in uttering the word “terminal”
In God they trust, in palliative they clutch
And this and that and so and such
* … our favourite Time Lord who had been teaching everything from poetry to physics – “they’re the same thing, same rhymes” …
† “Once, long ago, a fisherman caught a magic haddock. The haddock offered him three wishes in return for its life. The fisherman said, “I’d like for my son to come home from the war. And a hundred pieces of gold.” The problem is, the magic haddock, like robots, don’t think like people. The fisherman’s son came home from the war, in a coffin. And the king sent a hundred gold pieces in recognition of his heroic death. The fisherman had one wish left. What do you think he wished for? Some people say he should have wished for an infinite series of wishes, but if your city proves anything, it is that granting all your wishes is not a good idea. […] In fact, the fisherman wished he hadn’t wished the first two wishes.”
– The Doctor.
BEYOND THE VEIL
Death without dying
Consciousness not done with us
Or vice versa