Suggested listening while reading Brad Paisley’s Love and War

The siege.

Blue energy.

A city about to awaken to a vote.

One that literally had a yin-yang decision to make. Could apathy overcome and overthrown the corrupt incumbent?

Could his lightning rod pull off the upset?

Gone from the fray into the unknown where the heart of the PenDragon took him and the heart of evil.

A pocket dimensions.

But a new trap for himself.

A flood of memories.

Where victories should be what he holds on to.

But within the heart of evil he comes to realize… it is not K or Mystery. It is something more sinister. The darkness that Morgan le Fey used to destroy Camelot.

Mordred.

The bastard son.

That is the heart of evil.

The pope of the Church of the Killer Face.

The heart of darkness pocket dimension that the PenDragon heir was now trapped in. Slowly humming the last time for everything

Trapped in the darkness.

Reliving each defeat.

Each life left unsaved.

Each one that died in his arms.

The family he watched executed from his hiding spot under the picnic table as a child.

As a reporter, a pastor a super hero…the lives lost. The battles that were launched, yet undone by those he thought was allies.

Those wounds were the deepest, those that were supposed to be allies, that he trusted yet when the time came to live into and destroy the shadows with the light, the other lights went out.

His hand tremors. His eyes move rapidly as his lids are closed. His body jerks. His head weaves. He cannot focus.

Memories flashback into reality. Conscience clicks out. Brain reboots.  The healing work done…does not always reboot.

The Mind Palace’s foundations are cracked in some spots, rotting in others.

As the pain moves from mental to physical to emotional.

Tears should heal, but not when they come on each time with nothing left to dam up the emotions. The old scar tissues that were fading are freshly gouged and bleeding.

The Heart of Evil cackles. The PenDragon is breaking.

The bastard son is on way to victory.

Rick rolls into a fetal position in the darkness whimpering and trying to roar.

But the crush of emotions is devastating.

The goal was to make his corner of the world a little bit better.

Unfortunately, those who march in the light tend to eat their own.

Battles for equality, death threats, assaults, deaths.  Suicides unable to stop. Friends lost.

John.

Can’t even get a province to move completely from its eugenics past in seeing children with complex learning needs as fully deserving of getting to school on time, and having a full day of school that meets all their needs including educational. His twins.

His wife.

“Die father.” The Heart speaks.

The blackness crushes more.

500.

That is the known losses that he has celebrated lives of personally.

His eyes see back into the siege.

The collapse.

Amid despair.

One word rises in his heart.

A tiny dragon crawls around his neck.

The word swells a bit more.

The word is still there.

His ears here the voice of his true soul.

Words more true never spoken.

“For hope.”

That word rings in his heart.

Hope.

Mordred, the heart of evil laughs as his darkness overruns the heir of the PenDragon.

“Live the loss Rick Saturn.”

To Be Continued…

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1 hour to voting.

Not to dispute Einstein, but the gods do play dice.

The blue energy erupted.

Rick Saturn.

K.

Vanished.

Shotgun motioned for paramedics, as a naked teenage girl fell to the ground from being crucified on a pentagram, stripped of the PenDragon power, but still breathing.

He motions for them to get Johnny on to a gurney and hospital bound as well.

Police swarm the building yelling rights.

“Church” (and the term is used loosely) members drop weapons knowing their pontiff is gone and hold their hands behind their head awaiting arrests.

Shotgun wipes blood from his face as Arch-Deacon Gordon Lived swaggers out the front door screaming about his freedom of conscience under the charter.

“Shut the fuck up ya worship!” as McKay’s fist flattens out the current mayor’s nose and two police constables catch the unconscious form before he hits the ground. McKay looks at his pocket watch. “Polls are open, guess ya just mayoral candidate.”

Media flashes are going off as McKay hops in the back of the ambulance with Johnny and speeds away to the hospital.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Susan is simply glad her kids got off to school with little hassle this morning.

She heard the news of the breaking of the siege.

Some media showed up to watch her cast her ballot.

One young reporter looks at her, “Who are your voting for Ms. Kobwash-Saturn?”

“It’s Susan, and I’m voting for the citizens of this city.” As she took her and headed to the cardboard privacy screen to mark her “x”. Silently she says a prayer to whichever deity is watching over her husband, that he finds his way back from wherever he went with the heart of evil. And actually, pondered if the vote would actually change the usual win by incumbents’ due to high voter apathy, low voter turn out in civic politics.

She lightly hummed Toby Keith’s How do you like me now as she walked her ballot back to be dropped in the box and past the media camera snaps and rolling footage.

Where did her soul mate take the heart of evil?

To be Continued…


To my friends in the Great Crime Fighters—give the bastards hell!

-Susan Kobwash-Saturn, Mayoral Candidate 2017

 

Hours until voting polls open.

Media coverage going crazy.

K rips underground piping to create a weird looking pentagram and crucify the young new Bionic Knight to it.

Johnny Power’s stamina is running low. His coat shredded, his t-shirt. Face and fists bloodied.

A rallying call went out to extremists of all stripes to join with the Church of the Killer Face with Susan’s challenge to the provincial government to strip them of official religious and non-profit standing.

Overnight an extended emergency session of the Provincial legislature was held to debate an all-party motion and bill.

Shotgun with bowie knife in one hand, double barrel sawed off in the other (that is no longer firing rubber bullets).

S.W.A.T. and riot moving in. Tear gas everywhere.

The province refuses to postpone the city vote.

Blood and sweat sting his eyes as he gets the paramedics to the crumpled form of Speedster with piping through her abdomen. Shotgun looks at them as he provides cover fire. “Get her out of here. Start sealing that wound, her speed will save her.”

“She’s almost dead.” One young paramedic bellows over the explosions and gunfire.

Shotgun raises his knife. “The lass dies, I will forget I am one of the good guys, capeesh?”

Both paramedics nod as they begin to cut the pipe.

Arch-Deacon Lived looks out on the carnage, glances at his watch. None of this will matter in a few hours when the citizens re-elect him. It is after all civic politics and no one cares enough to vote out incumbents, he just had to live through this. But he knew that K would not allow him to die.

Shotgun drops some crazed church member or other extremist as the paramedics’ load Speedster and speed away.

Choppers and cameras are everywhere.

When the word’s reach his ears.

“The government has voted to repeal the religious and non-profit status of the Church of Killer Face. Citing they actively work against human rights, the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms. The members are at the very least culpable for organized crime, and at the worst terrorists. Full authority has been given to the Great Crime Fighters to bring all members into custody by any means necessary.” The reporter was young and hiding behind the police line, but the words were music to his old ears that were getting deafer by the minute.

He noted the advancement of Power. Getting closer to K. If they could take down the monster the rest would surrender.

_ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I hear the radio softly playing Toby Keith good as I once was as I walk the house. Ancient naval tradition before a battle, to walk the ship and know that the captain may not come back. My twins slumber, in past life I was a pastor. It was saner to be an investigative journalist and continue with my super heroics.  Did not matter where on the theological-political spectrum the church fell we ran into battles over inclusion. Battles that I gloriously fought when I was not a father, and had allies stand with me to ensure inclusion would happen, at least for a time until the religious found a way to fire me or drive me out.

But when it came to my own children. No allies stood with us. Public firings followed. Shunning where we thought we had friends that would no longer talk to us, hell they would actively run from us when seen in super malls. The more progressive the religious the more harm they actively did against us.

Yet we persisted seeking community. Needed a place to rest and renew after walking through the valley of death daily. A life built beating the odds, rescuing the oppressed, bringing down the oppressor. Within and without costume walking in the darkness. Having my life and limb threatened. Being exposed to God knows what in the midst. Watching my friends die, being unable to save family when addictions and the darkness seized them. And asking myself why bother? What good am I when I cannot even save them?

My hands tremor now.

There is shooting pains in my brain.

My brain in different areas have shooting pains.

The flashbacks are the worst.

Those moments…

When power did not matter.

When magic could not solve.

When I was not fast enough.

Good enough.

When death rode victorious anyways.

I feel her hand on my shoulder. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“The Premier just called.” My soul, my lightning rod, Susan said.

“And?”
I already can feel the answer in her. She knows sadly the voters won’t vote out the Arch-Deacon, but…” They did the right thing.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it is about time you stepped out.” Susan said.

I told her on this journey when I came back from my last quest I would be what I vowed to be. There were others. Now the city is staring into the void of evil and the soul of evil is holding the heart of what is good and squeezing. “I…”

She kisses me tenderly on the neck. “Hun, I will see you afterwards. We will sip coffee and discuss what is right with the world. We will put our kids on the bus for school, and we will make love.”

I gently kiss her hand. She was always the strongest of us. I feel the blue energy flicker in my eye. Pen is stirring and moving to my coat.

“And then we will go vote, and this city will have a new mayor.”

She kisses my lips gently, I kiss back hard and long.

Grab my bomber jacket on the way out.

_ _ _

 

K lands on the charred ground.

Johnny Power looks at him. He is tired. He is sore. His invulnerability is not Superman levels, it is tied to his stamina, which is depleting.

“Ah. You are not the one I know. Like the runner, a legacy. There was a time the Street Avenger’s were the only ones. I ended them.” K said.

Johnny’s fist swung and connected with the villain’s jaw. A lip splits. K licks the blood.

“No, you didn’t, they beat you, and we will too.”

Flames erupt around Johnny, he feels his skin beginning to blister. The screams escape his lips.

The shotgun pellets slam into K.

The flames vanish.

Johnny collapses trying to get the smoke and searing out of his lungs.

K laughs openly as he looks at the broken down former villain, who he once called ally. “Some old cowboy thinks you can kill me?”

“Like the song says ya Nazi ass, should’ve been a cowboy!” McKay leaps with his bowie knife out.

K forms a psychic knife in his right fist and swings out towards the older man’s left temple.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Susan and I had always used music to calm out nerves. We also used it to connect to pieces of our story. Walking into traditions that have harmed us and finding belonging is hard to process. But there’s a song by Brad Paisley, we held to. As I step onto the road behind the police line, Pen resting on my left shoulder watching the scene.

Shotgun being heroic. Saving the kid, Johnny Power.

Bodies.

I hate death.

I hate evil.

I lowly whistle Me and Jesus have it figured out. Two separate constables try to stop me from crossing the line. I drop them with a stun bolt from my pet dragon the size of a—well his name sake—Pen.

I watch McKay’s Bowie Knife hit K’s forearm deflecting the psychic dagger.

My friend hits the hard ground and groans as he rolls out of a blast of fire.

K is a sociopath.

K was a supra. A tri-kinetic (pyrokinesis, telekinesis, and telepathy) who was genetically engineered by the Nazi’s during World War II to be a key piece of the last solution.  What is happening today he was built for. Glorious chaos and death of hate.

Shooting pains in my brain.

Flashes of images of friends dying. Those I couldn’t save. Smells. Voices. Sounds.

I freeze slightly.

My eye catches the child who the ring found. Strapped into a pentagram.

Not much older than me when the ring found me.

Her words that started this ring in my ears. “Where’s my brother?”

Seems like a fair place to start.

“Where’s her brother K?” My voice has a tremble in it. The boom of the Bionic Knight is gone. I regret those I could not save, I strive to forget those dark times.

I stand staring at evil.

I feel the pain of those around me.

The hatred that keeps driving the battle.

The dualism that one must be right, one must be wrong.

I remember history reading of the vote for World War II in Parliament where the Co-operative Commonwealth Federation could not vote as a whole, not because of not seeing Hitler as evil that needed to be stopped, but rather the complexity of war to do it.

J.S. Woodsworth could not fathom the loss to the poor who would be used as the front-line troops, the millions made by munitions manufacture. While Douglas and the rest of the party held those fears, but they feared more of the evil mounting in Europe crossing the Atlantic.

Complexity. Critical thinking. Holistic. Seeing all sides of an issues. Discourse.

But then, there is times when one must simply look at evil and go.

No more.

K laughs. “The broken Knight believes he can stop me.”

Susan called it my cheeky grin that would cross my lips when folks would tell me that I couldn’t and I would just to prove them wrong. I believe that is the grin on my lips now.

“Not broken. Bionics on.”

The blue energy rips through my very being….

To Be Continued


2 days.

1 sleep.

Until vote day.

A new mayor.

A new path chosen for a city.

A split choice. Either Gordon Lived, Arch-Deacon of the Church of Killer Face, second-in-Command to the supreme church pontiff, K, and current fill-in mayor or, unbeknownst to the voter, the wife of the former Bionic Knight, Rick Saturn, mother of twins, Susan Kobwash-Saturn, fighter for the one without voice. Reason Rick released the PenDragon ring to choose another.

The other chosen who landed yesterday outside the church of organized crime. While 2/3 of the current Great Crime Fighters watched—Johnny Power and Speedster. The call went out to the 3rd member, old friend (and older opponent, first to sign her nomination papers), William “Shotgun” McKay drove his truck through the sanctuary wall with his name sake firing.

The siege had begun.

Until that truck drove through a case could have been mounted to dismantle the church.

The vote was tomorrow.

Gordon was pleading religious persecution, and that the heroes had gone rogue again.

The city was awaiting a statement from her.

Rick was making sure the kids go off to school with the nightmare the school board had made of special needs busing, his choice to step back (yes there was health reasons as well), but truly for this run to work and more so for her to win, he needed to make a choice to not be the investigative journalist, to not be the universe saving hero…he simply needed to be husband and dad, his two favourite jobs he said.

A love like crazy for a woman he has known since his first day in pre-school when the Harumphs adopted him after his family was massacred. To calm her nerves before going before the radio microphones, print reports and t.v. cameras on the steps of city hall. The steps where John had called for the heroes to unite.

On these steps, she would have a moment that could, no would decide her campaign.

The Lee Brice song, Love Like Crazy runs through her mind to keep calm. The love story, not of Guinevere and Arthur like the PenDragon legend parallels. In her mind it was more like Robin and Marian, or Lois and Clark.

“Hello, for those who may not be aware yet cause you were living under a rock I am Susan Kobwash-Saturn and I am running for Mayor. Yesterday a new hero decided to take actions into their own hands, actions that City Council has continually hamstrung our own police force from doing. The Great Crime Fighters entered the fray as back up. The goal is to bring down the Church of the Killer Face.” Susan pauses for effect. Stay focus, just in the back battling a hand tremor she sees Rick. Kids are safe to school. He had said that if McKay was right and K was back, he was the nastiest evil yet. A sadist, a Supra genetically designed to be a more prolific killer by the Nazi’s with extra additions over time. A Street Avenger had his family dismantled by the monster until he could finally stop him.

Rick shook with a bit of fear about this monster focusing on his family due to Susan’s stance. But like they always said, evil wins when the voice of love remains silent.

Today it was Susan’s turn to use her voice.

“I encourage all citizens to vote tomorrow and make their choice, between Arch-Deacon of church of the Killer Face’s vision of living in the darkness Gordon Lived and my own of living out of hope. More importantly today, I call upon our Provincial Government to end this farce that this group is a non-profit or a religion. The provincial government did the right thing and stripped these protections from the Klu Klux Klan. Premier and all parties we are calling upon you to remove this entity’s legal status and to name it for what it is. Nothing more than a sociopathic centre of organized crime, and full power given to the GCF to hold all members accountable and culpable for crimes committed under Common Law.”

Rick smiles over the shoulder of a reporter. She notices the tiny dragon peeking out from under his leather ¾ trench coat collar. Pen was with him trying to get him to hold together what was still happening. No medical staff could say yet.

“And please, whichever Deity or belief you hold dear, send thoughts, prayers and positivity to the heroes who have taken a stand to end evil that your governments failed to deliver on the Constitutional promise to all Canadians of Peace, Order and Good Governance. To my friends in the Great Crime Fighters—give the bastards hell!”

  • – – – – – – – –

Shotgun’s fist cracked another nose. He reloaded and pumped as he mule kicked someone else. Johnny Power flew through a pack. There was too many, no matter how fast the Speedster moved.

The new Bionic Knight was awkward. Untrained. But too powerful. The voice was booming. A sibling lost within the cult. Sirens still going off. Police were surrounding with guns drawn, not sure yet whom was the one they were to be looking to arrest, as what presented as a peaceful religious assemblage had been disrupted, yet it was the most badly hidden secret of the evil they had brought to the city.

Citizens had come to their aid realizing their heroes were outgunned.

S.W.A.T. was on-site with tear gas at the ready to disperse.

Sun was starting to set. Smoke from forests on fire was bathing the sky red like flame.

Sweat and blood was beginning to blind McKay, when a boom sounded.

The oak doors fell of their hinges.

Arch-Deacon Lived stood in the illumination of the stain glass holding an illegal fire arm in one hand, and a sword in the other.

The new Knight turned and looked.

The voice boomed, but there was a lilt. “Where is my baby brother?”

The Arch-Deacon smiles. “Who the fuck cares?”

“I do!” The Bionic Knight shouted and swooped towards the form.

And stopped.

The roof erupted in flames.

Lived cackled.

As K floated into the eerie night air.

The Knight’s hand goes slack and the sword clatters onto the cement walk path. McKay whirls and aims.

Power drops the two thugs.

Speedster stops short.

K’s face is wrinkled. His crow’s feet have crow’s feet.

His eyes are dark black pools.

“You are a new young pup.” A shift of the molecules. “And not yet fully powered.” The helmet through telekinesis rips apart revealing the long curly red hair of the new Bionic Knight. Her face shows the scars of a life lived fighting for survival, with the slight quiver of fear.

K cackles.

Speedster moves to run.

A pipe explodes upwards eviscerating her through the abdomen. Johnny screams for his friend.

McKay hears a cop. “Screw them being supposedly legal. Light the bastards up!” And he just hopes they are on the side of the angels for a change.

To Be Continued….


3 days.

2 sleeps.

Until vote day.

It has been almost 18 months since Mayor John MacCurtis also known as the super powered adventurer PinBall and Bionic Archer perished under the control of the ancient alien demon known as Thor.

A vote waits for a city to choose a new identity. A new path. Years ago the heroes of old took a stand against the blood thirsty of the new and ended a siege.

Out of that siege a new religion took a foot hold, where a cult of killers were able to get sanctioned by the government and a tax exempt status. A former villain turned hero trainer with a man of Mystery entered the heart of the Church of the Killer Face…only to have the Mystery Man remember his heart of evil.

The church was renewed on its primary mission of control, death and mayhem (plus casino money as a non-profit) with their new “Pope” of the Killer Face—K, ancient Nazi killing Supra reborn into the 21st century at the helm.

As the scrutiny comes closer. As the opioid trade and sex trafficking is further traced back to the church, the youngest members of the Great Crime Fighters (okay 2/3 of the team remaining) were dispatched to keep an eye on the cathedral of doom as the police and RCMP have come to short hand it. Johnny Power pulls his duster around him a bit tighter as the rain continues. Speedster pulls the yellow hood up to cover her flaming red hair.

“Anything?” She asks.

“Worshippers in robes walking in and out. Also, Mrs. Kobwash-Saturn’s chief rival just went in wearing red suit.” Johnny Power said as he floats a bit above the wet ground.

“Red suit. High up on the council then.” Speedster said.

“Yip, Arch-deacon I believe.” Power said.

Speedster was raised a devout Anglo-Cath in the Traditional Anglican Church of Canada. She was excommunicated when she was open about her Polyamorous relationship that did not fit the oppressive structures of control. Despite that there was something about the Liturgical style of worship and study that still filled her soul and on the quietest of times of recharge she could be found tucked away in a high back pew of a Roman Catholic Church at Mass communing with how she understood the Holy Mystery.

She knew Johnny was an atheist due to Post Traumatic Church Stress Disorder (a very fundamentalist sect his parents were, and when the family was rocked by divorce their reaction drove his sister to a suicide). His anger drove him to believe that intrinsic piece of soul that needed to be filled was nothing more than a fairy tale. He could not understand her pondering about how the liturgical churches felt with such a holy terror using their terms of reference/office to structure essentially organized crime, mass murder and serial killings. Though part of her realized religions has always been co-opted throughout history by men and women, monsters in the flesh have used it for horrific agendas that could be classed as genocide (active or passive).

For all the good religion had done in Canada around things such as the Charter of Rights and Freedoms, suffrage movement, shelter systems, settlement of new Canadians, refugee aid, social justice, there was also times it was used as the Devil’s play ground with Eugenics, Sex abuse, misogyny, residential schools to name but a few.

This church Speedster looked at as the true embodiment of the Shadow of the Christianities and Religious/spiritualists of Canada if she was a Jungian. The sad part was how much the government had created mechanism for religions and non-profits to build wealth so rapidly. Wealth that was now being used in overtly predatory ways to claim lives.

“I hear the arch-deacon speaking.” Johnny said. The mayoral replacement since John MacCurtis perished to save the universe, Gordon Lived, had actively worked with council and bureaucracy to roll back police budget to units that actively dealt with sex trafficking and illegal drugs as he chose more to take the ostrich approach than the solution focus approach.

Seeing him in red, it all made sense.

“And?” Speedster said.

“Ever heard the Brother’s Osbourne song.” Johnny said.

Power was a country music fan. It had grown on Speedster in the time they had been together. “It’s not my fault ?”

“You got it.” A lightning strike just in front of the double oak doors. Johnny’s eyes go wide with the golden shimmering armoured form, sword in hand standing before the church. “He’s back?”

Speedster looks at the form. “Shotgun was meeting him toda—”

The voice was like thunder that boomed out of the armoured form. “I have come for my brother!”

To Be continued…

 


The 1996 made for t.v. Doctor Who movie proves what can go oh so wrong with a less than 90-minute re-boot/re-imagine. That is they got bagged down in kitchen sinking the explanation. I hope that isn’t this type of story as we move towards election day. I made a promise to my wife that this would be come her time, especially after my last time saving the universe. The only quest, Rick Saturn (that’s me gentle reader) of the left-hand tremor and foggy brain is going on is battling the school board to see my twins with special needs as full kiddos who should be able to get to school on time and get educated.

Yup. The once great crusading journalist, and super hero…is destined to stay at home parentdom if S.K.S.’s polls are to be believed and she coasts into the Mayor’s office, I will be the spouse of Her Worship Susan Kobwash-Saturn. Only a few days left.

And I just watched the ring of power of Camelot launch out of a Husky House diner parking lot to find a new host.

Why?

William Shotgun MacKay—former villain turned best buddy (or only buddy still alive) basically stating that it is time for a new Bionic Knight, bearer of the PenDragon to stand on the front line, with the ancient evil revived.

I wipe sweat okay tear away as I leave the diner from paying. McKay is waiting by his truck.

“How long?”

“I dunno. It found me when a hero was needed, and I just kind of hung around.” I respond.

He laughs. “I guess that sums up our generation of hero, just hung around.”

I nod and begin walking home. He hollers at me. “One last thing, my friend.”

I turn to the old grizzled killer who is learning a new way. “What?”

“Get in and see.”  McKay said.

It is the least I could owe him. I still feel the magic within me, it is a dull thrumming, for the years I communed with other realms. Since my return what used to exist as a small pet dragon, simply is within me now. It feels good, not a loss, to put the power out there to claim another pure of heart.

What did Shotgun want to show me?

It had been left a smoldering wreck, but he had bought it and replaced the double wide with a log cabin. It was the new ashram, or as McKay phrased it, “Sanctuary. Figured the crew needed a place to come and get away. Also…”

“You always hated the noise of the downtown apartment.” I said.

The old guy just nodded and snorted. Leaning against his truck. Part of me wondered where the ring went to settle.  A slight hand tremor. “Do you think we will get back to normal anytime?” Mckay has new scars due to his run in with K. I know he wants me back as the Knight, but a promise is a promise. And well, damn it, there is simply a time to step back and let others stand up. Besides, with him running the Killer Face Cult, it has been low key in the city.

“Johnny and Speedster have been out on patrols.”

“And?”

“Quiet. Too damn quiet. When it got quiet like this back in the day Rick…”

“Was usually just before you and a couple of the other yokels would try something.” I said.

Shotgun laughed. “And here I thought only the Flash talked about his Rogues so fondly.”

“It was a different time man. Too many saved universes. So many deaths.” It’s a pregnant pause over what is left unsaid. We had outlived so many of our friends. One of the things I believe could be wrong with me is PTSD. Maybe therefore it was so easy to step back and place house parent and let Susan shine even thought I know new evil has arisen. “John couldn’t change the city.”

“those demon aliens took him down, but in the end, he tried.” Shotgun said.

A crackle from inside the truck. A scanner. Police scanner. So old school. But clear as day.

No code.

Just an exclamation.

“Bloody hell the Cult has exploded. Bionic Knight on site! GCF inbound. Need all hands!”

McKay smirks.

“I can get the bus man. Get going those brats need ya, you old bastard.”

To Be Continued…

 


Why can’t there be a big red button?

-War Doctor

           Like any good science fiction questions around the essence of us (humanity) should be brought forward. This is at the bedrock of the Doctor Who 50th anniversary movie (watch trailer here), Day of the Doctor.  It is the deepest plunging into the hardest thing to  comprehend for any person… ourselves.

As the regeneration who chose themselves undeserving of the name, but asks the question as in the clips above, the Warrior Doctor, “I am looking for the Doctor.” The one who is called to heal, to help to aid…or as Clara will note the thrum of the Tardis is a sound of hope. But this is about that corner of the mind of the Doctor, no, the heart where hope has gone out.

For it was in the 9th regeneration that the fabled time war happened. When Daleks and Time Lords went to war to end all wars. Where the rest of the universes saw the Time Lords just as evil as the Daleks who view anything outside their race as need to be exterminated, which this mini-episode Night of the Doctor expertly portrays as the Doctor must make a choice to not be apart of the war or to be apart of the solution?

The haunting begins.

Much like we make choices within our own lives at any given moment with the information available. Whether it is good, bad, horrible or indifferent. It is what is possible and probably for us at that moment. Much like moments in human history (very hard to bring 21st century morals onto situation 400 years old or 150 years old as we try to erase instead of critically teach history so the cycle can be fully broken. Just ask any abuse survivor, the story and triumph need to be spoken so that it will not be repeated, in all its darkness).

This literally becomes the story. As the device designed to end the Time War by the Doctor is AI with a conscience and brings the Doctor to begin interacting with his decision. The decision? At that moment and time in war as the Daleks are all gathered at Gallifrey—to end it all, Daleks and his people. The haunting ripples this will bring through time.

The decision driven by the motto burned into a wall by him “No More.” The war must end.

The journey forward form that choice showing the grief cycle. The short regeneration shortly after not even there. The true shock.

But the struggle between who are known as the Tenth (David Tenant) and Eleventh (Matt Smith) Doctor’s to forget this period in time. How it shapers personality. One who lives in pained regret and the other who lives to forget, to move forward.

The haunting question answered by 2.41 billion.

But with the Eleventh Doctor being 400 years out…is there another decision that can be seen?

What if that decision can be tried?

What if in your moment of darkness your future selves could stand with you and you would not have to be alone?

What if, you live in acceptance of the choice and find hope in spite of it to move forward in a better life for yourself and others?

This may seem like nothing more than a toss away sci-fi movie from the BBC. Apart of geek culture and nothing more.

Yet we live in a time of reconciliation.

A time when groups who have been oppressed and the former oppressors know that something needs to change.

But how do we get there?

Sometimes a science fiction story can show us the interior and exterior journey in a way that creates conversations that can create the space for critical discussion and active listening, that other venues cannot.

Just think of using this in a religious or political or classroom setting with the Time War as the metaphor for residential schools, Canadian Eugenic practices for those with disabilities, the destructive LGBTTQ2+ laws; the dying with dignity or abortion laws; slavery, the list can go on…

For what questions would haunt our journey where the answer 2.41 billion could just be as haunting.

But even more so.

What is the new life?

What is the regeneration that awaits each one of us?

Where does hope exist?

Do you hear the thrum of the TARDIS? Or are you blocking it out?