Disclaimer: All of these characters are the property of their respective shows. The stars belong to all of us in this – and every other – universe.

A/N: My first bit of fiction with Eleven. I'm not sure whether it paints him in a positive light or a negative one. Your thoughts (on this, him, the New Year's special) are welcome.

Chapter Seven: Eleven (186 words)

He glanced to the sky. It exploded in a beautiful array of colour, at first an indistinguishable ball of bright light that then separated into a million individual explosions. Each one had its own colour, so many that even with all the words of all of his previous regenerations, they could not all be named. Each of the million explosions caused a chain reaction of a hundred more explosions, and each of those, a hundred more. A hundred million billion beautiful explosions of light, colour, and sound flashed across the universe before his eyes, and he couldn't stand it. It was too brilliant, too beautiful, too perfect, and it hurt him. It reflected everything he'd left behind in this latest regeneration, a massive explosion of all the beautiful and peaceful things in the universe.

He took half a glance at this wonderful sky and practically growled at the peripheral image of the beautiful death of peace. He tore his eyes from the sight that broke his hearts and bounded back towards the TARDIS, an overly-enthusiastic, artificial spring in his step, in hope of proper adventures.