Thousands of years ago, or perhaps eons ago- or whenever it was that the Mayas dwelled amongst the lowlands of what we refer to as now Central America, they spread atrocious rumors and worshiped the Sun and Corn and paid tithe to “kuhul ajwa” in the form of grinning heads of early risers and all the people who are just so annoyingly chirpy in the mornings(just kidding! though I don’t think they’d have minded) and played with huge stacks of stones to fashion the cities of Copán, Bonampak, Dos Pilas and Tikal, and did their homework as they rose and rose, higher and higher to the Golden Ages and beyond, before ultimately vanishing, as they often do. With not a trace, of course. They left behind many legacies- the Chichen Itza and various hieroglyphs and symbols on the walls of caves, oceans beyond from where I’m lazying my ass off, and the famous Mayan Calendar, which ends on this day and brings me to their perhaps most famous legacy- the prophecy of the End of the World. A prophecy which has been digitized, filmed and novelled, storyed and what-not. So why aren’t we dead already? Some researchers are saying that it was only the end of an era, while others are saying it was all a faux pas on the behalf of the mighty Mayas. To those people I say,
“It were me Doctor, bitches!“
Every time, during every major event and other discreet moments, battling every obscure calamity and disaster, some cosmic-related and some insignificant alien abductions, a mad man with a blue box has appeared countless times through the eons. Some time in 1700s with crazy hair and high-top converse, hundreds of times in the 20th and 21st century with barely any hair and a frowny face and once even paid dear old Van Gogh a surprise visit in a bow tie, tagging along a sassy red-head. Also, he’s returned to our measly planet in black and white as well. He’s fended off Daleks, Cybermen, his own kind, Silurinas, Vampires of Venice, Axons, Terileptils, Spiridion, The Raak, the Rebel Flesh, Sontarans and the rest. He appears in his magical blue box usually with a British hottie(once Scottish) but many a time he’s all alone. Because ultimately, they all leave him or he leaves them.
Oh, why don’t you come to me? I’d latch onto you like a leech and never let go. He’s the last of the Time Lords. He’s the Doctor. His one true companion is his T.A.R.D.I.S.
He’s watched all his people burn and the skies of his world rage and the oceans explode. He flies through time and space to save one little boy from the monsters in his cupboard. He breaks the heart of one little, lonely girl after devouring down her fish and custard. And doesn’t even realize it! He fights the demons from all the galaxies and time and beyond with one sonic screwdriver and a time-machine that he mostly can’t pilot.He dances a mad jiggle at weddings and loves to wear fez. He’s loved, time and time again and lost as much as well.
And well, he strikes again today. I wonder who it was this time that scared those ignorant Mayans as such that they wrote a bloody prophecy and based their calendars on it. The creatures who probably gobbled them up as well, in the end. I hope he was with River Song because I am just a hopeless Whovian romantic that way!
He always finds that one chink in the armor of Destruction, that one spot of rust in these chains and that’s where he strikes. He is the one man that makes the worst monsters quiver in their boots in face of his mercy. Hes’ the mad man that makes all the sane men ridiculous and so damn cliched. So all ye beasts beware, the Doctor is still in business over here(on Earth).
Little child, little child, why hide in your drawer?
Don’t you know- don’t you know?
Demons run when a good man goes to war.