While the Doctor doesn’t share my memories, she certainly has her own. She has even told me her own story of the beginning. It was quite different from what we know, Reader. But I don’t remember her story as clearly as I remember our own. This must be because her story didn’t make any sense. And things that don’t make sense can never stick in your head. That’s why people write them down in history books: there is simply no way they could remember such absurd events otherwise. But let me try and remember what the Doctor said, and you can tell me what you think.

ii. beautiful things The Doctor tells me so many uncertain things that I can’t piece them together anymore. Perhaps someone has already written them down clearly in a book – a history book, no doubt.

The world was created in seven days. First the heavens, then the earth, then finally man, and even after perhaps, woman. I’m not exactly sure why it was done this way. Yet it’s an enchanting story, surely. What a lovely thing to happen. And what a beautiful thing the world is.

Or, I forget, maybe the Doctor said something else. Wasn’t it that before this – you know, before we could see with our eyes – there was just one thing? Yes, and all at once a big bang! and then there was everything. Random bits of energy collided with substance. And these tiny things joined together for an illuminating moment. All these collisions of precious materials made larger and grander things. Like you. I like the idea that the world came about with things joining together. Surely this means that the world is as innocent as the kisses of young children uniting in love. And that, too, is a beautiful thing.

Maybe I’m still mistaken. I seem to remember hearing her say it was not like that at all. Instead of one big bang, there was always everything revolving in circles. There was no beginning for the heaven and the moon. Yes, nothing came before anything because they have always been here. I understand why the Doctor might like this explanation. People want to believe that nothing ever changes. That way they don’t have to look around anymore, they can just forget about their eyes. And if nothing ever changes, then nothing can ever die. We can always be together. And that is a beautiful thing, certainly. Together: a beautiful thing.

The Doctor tells me so many uncertain things that I can’t piece them together anymore. Perhaps someone has already written them down clearly in a book – a history book, no doubt. They can use it to teach children about the world. They could put these ideas together with all the other fantastic stories of the world: fairy tales and legends, picture books, and pop-up stories. After all, stories are such beautiful things.

The Doctor’s stories are lovely, but they leave me confused. Is it that everything began in one moment, or that everything has always been here? And what was it that happened on the eighth day? Was the world left to its own? Or are we being watched? Aren’t these both, though, terrible things?

Her explanations don’t seem to suit the way the world is now. That’s the difference between a story and a forgetting. Even if it doesn’t sound likely, you can look at the world today and see which one fits. Isn’t the world colored? Haven’t all the strings disappeared? All this I can see with my eyes. You can be certain a forgetting is true simply by looking at the world around you. But the Doctor does not seem to look around at all. Her explanations are just stories – beautiful stories – but stories nonetheless.

Maybe the earth was created in seven ways – or seven million even. I would be happy to hear that every person busying himself in idle thought, every child with a heart in his head, knows his own way of the world. Someone in a corner, maybe, creating his own story. And oh! hopefully, creating a beautiful thing.