The Fall of the Eleventh

He is a contradiction, an oxymoron at the centre of all of time and space.

Old and young.

Kind and cruel.

Alien and human.

Dead and alive.

Living and dying.

He has died so many times. He should get used to it, but each time gets harder and harder. With each him he leaves behind, he leaves many more memories. Many more deaths- murders. Many more broken humans.

And he can't run forever, he knows this. Though he can run from the beginning to the end of time, not forever. He knows his time is coming, the fall of the eleventh. The fields of Trenzalore. The question. The oldest question in the universe. The answer. His fall.

Everybody knows that everybody dies.

Nobody knows it like the Doctor.