I haven't explained myself very well regarding my first port of call, so to speak. Why did I bring up that phrase, which seemingly has little to do with death or thievery? Well to do that I must first shatter your illusions of safety and security at once, for which I humbly beg your forgiveness. By all means if you wish to carry on in your somewhat deluded self-inflicted fantasy don't let me stop you. Simply leave your mind at rest and walk away now before my next few words.
THE FACT THAT WHICH WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE:
You are not alone.
There exists in the Universe shimmering above your head, in the very stars that shape your night sky (and that of the day as well, although you cannot see them all) not only a palate with a million shades and colours, but a whole wide world brimming with life. Life and death (for oh yes, my work is not confined to your 'small world'), and like your species the life surrounding your planet delivers both kindness and cruelty all at once, although perhaps humanity is amongst the best examples of both. (The biggest oxymoron in the universe; humanity.)
Take a good long look at what you have before you, the technology available to you. You think that because you've invented the Internet and have televisions and telephones you are Masters of technology? Oh you are still so young. I've seen worlds where buildings tower all the way into the stratosphere and beyond, and skies of an alien colour crowded by space shuttles from every corner-stone of the galaxy, and I tell you now that that is mastery of technology. (Before you become offended at this, remember they've had more time than you, humanity is still so young and full of potential. Your time will come.)
And one of the greatest pieces of technology that I came across was this; the TARDIS.
I'm not doing it justice. If I were a true master of storytelling, I would thrust it into this chapter with glistening words, and glorifying adjectives, and that sound, that beautiful sound, the sound of the TARDIS, the sound of the Universe, and a healthy mix of descriptive long and short sentences. But alas, I am not. I am merely a narrator, not a storyteller. For instance, I don't take much stock in building mystery. Why would I need to? The way I see it, a story doesn't need to be one long line from beginning to end, it can twist and turn:
IN THE TARDIS THIEF'S OWN WORDS:
"Like a big ball of wibley wobbly timey wimey stuff"
So I will stick to my guns, so to speak, and tell you this.
THE ENDING OF THIS STORY:
Will be a death. The death of our dear TARDIS thief.
There. I haven't properly introduced him yet and already you know he is going to die. The sky will be deep blue, the blue of a sky without a trace of a cloud. There will be confusion on one part, acceptance on another, I'll be leaning over him with my arms outstretched, and it will end with the death of three things.
THOSE THREE THINGS:
An imaginary friend, a rival, and a lover.
But that is still to come. In short, the TARDIS is this, a machine created by the Time Lords (an alien race) which has the ability to travel through Time and Space, hence the name, which stands for Time And Relative Dimensions In Space. A piece of craftsmanship way beyond the intellect of humanity (again, before you become offended, I must state that is beyond the intellect of billions of species, not only your own).
Like cars, they came in different makes and upgrades, and the TARDIS waiting to be stolen, a Type 40, Mark 3 TARDIS, was already a museum piece when the TARDIS thief came across her. I remember it vaguely. Long before the War that wiped the TARDIS out, when the Time Lords were at the height of their golden age, the museum curator was an old man on his last life (Time Lord's have many abilities, which I will mention later) and he passed away in his small office, just around the corner from the TARDIS in question.
THE OLD CURATOR'S SOUL:
Old and gentle. He came away from his body like removing a nut from its shell. I lifted him gently, his was one of those souls reluctant to come with me at first, but after a moment he was content to be in my arms. I imagine he still thought himself dreaming. As I walked past the TARDIS, his soul turned as if to take in his surroundings one last time. I had time, I allowed him his moment, and I allowed myself the distraction. The colour of the floor was a rich blue. She must have grown to like the colour.
There was an ache in the air. Maybe I imagine it thinking back, knowing what I know now, but dwelling on the memory seems to have a sense of imprisonment and despair in the Museum setting, more so than usual with a dash of loneliness, and an underlying tone of impatience. The TARDIS was waiting of course.
WHAT THE TARDIS WAS WAITING FOR PRECISELY:
A man mad enough to steal her.
And along came that man, not long later, when I was already far away, a man with many names.
He opened the unlocked TARDIS door, and as he touched its console, he said something which stole the heart of the TARDIS and thus began his legend. How I wish I could have been there, right at the start.
THE FIRST THING HE SAID UPON TOUCHING THE TARDIS CONSOLE:
"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever known"
And then they flew away.