The Doctor and the Archivist

In the centre stands a weeping bearded man in a lab coat. In his thin, vinyl-gloved hands he holds an apple. The doctor cannot bring himself to look at the tables so instead looks to the archivist. There is hatred in her eyes and blame and aching certainty that she is here because of him. He watches as she slowly brings the keyboard up to her lips, fighting against it every moment. She bites down, shards of plastic cutting her fingers as the words scroll unfettered across the screen.

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