Mother had talked about him a lot before he came to see me.

She believed there was something he could do. I don't know what. Maybe she expected him to snap his fingers and my heart would work again. Well, it didn't happen like that. But he did help me. Just not the way she expected.

I was sitting by the window at the time (I have been a lot recently, I don't know why) watching the snow. There's millions of snowflakes falling across the hills outside the house, and every one of those snowflakes (each with a dazzling crystal network encased in that tiny speck of white) made the ground look like a scene from a postcard.

It must have reached twelve when mother came into my room. I don't know when he arrived here; it might have been a while before. I'm sure I heard mother crying, and there'd been an unusual wheezing noise. I'm sure that had something to do with him. Mother had been sitting downstairs for an hour before she came to see me. She told me this was the Doctor she used to travel with, said that he'd come to visit her, wasn't it a coincidence, wasn't it a nice surprise, and I could start smiling, because the Doctor would stop me dying.

No!

She went to answer the door. It was some carol singers that were walking the streets. I'm sure I'd heard "Silent Night" somewhere when I was sitting by the window. When she went, this "Doctor" sat on the bed and looked at me; said that mother had asked him to come and see me. I didn't see anything special about him, and asked him what he was a doctor of; he said everything. I looked into his eyes; he seemed as if he wanted to cry. It was the first time someone had done that around me, when it wasn't because of me.

Snow was still falling, starting to filter off...

I asked the Doctor if it was true he used to travel with mother. He said it was; that he missed her. I asked him how long ago it was; he stared into space, whispering it had been a long time.

Then he asked about my heart. I told him that it was going to stop beating and that the tubes wired up to me were because any second, I could die. It was a shame that all mother could do was fantasise about how I was going to get better; how there was lots of hope, when there was nothing and the universe was empty.

That's when he told me.

He'd seemed fairly quiet until now; didn't seem like a man who would interest mother. He said that, if I looked hard enough, there was plenty of hope left. That all I had to do was accept that time isn't a constant, like everyone believed, but something to hang onto, before it runs out. Like a piece of string. One that we're all travelling along, and eventually reach the end of. He took my hand; told me it wasn't fair that I was going to die, wasn't fair that my string was shorter than his. Then he leaned in closer, lowering his voice, telling me if the universe was fair, he would be the one who was dying. I swear that there was a tear swelling up in his eye as he told me that dying was better than being without anyone.

The Doctor told me that he was the "last one left", he'd seen "them all die", that his whole world had been reduced to "rocks and rubble", and what he wouldn't give to be with his family in a house surrounded by snow one last time...even if it meant he'd die tomorrow. He said it was a far worse thing to be left alone, knowing that your string still has a long way to run; that you have to travel its length alone. I didn't understand what he meant, but I do now. I told him I was sure he'd find someone.

Mother had mentioned his Ship. I asked him; he told me. Told me about space, time...a thousand different worlds where sea became sky, people were made of smoke, cities made of song...said it wasn't fair he'd saved these, but couldn't save "them". Then, I asked him if it was true he could take me to these places, like mother said. Somewhere where my heart would beat fine, my string keep running. He shook his head like a man condemned, said his Ship had been damaged, that her string was running short, that he didn't know if he could stop it. I said it was fine; it was just a fantasy.

He left, promising he'd come back, apologising for failing mother "again".

I heard that wheezing sound downstairs. I sat back on my bed and thought. He'd said that the universe was like Pandora's Box; that hope will never leave it as long as there's something else. I called mother, she said the Doctor had gone. I sat with her and we watched the snow. I'm happy to fade away into the universe, knowing I had this.

I'm pleased I met the Doctor. I know why he's special now. He gave me hope. While I'm still sitting here, watching the snow fall, I know I won't be soon. If I ever get the chance to thank him, I want him to know that I'm glad my life is like a universe of falling snow. Because every snowfall has to end. Just like the one outside.

Then there's peace. Clarity.

He was right; I'd rather have the shorter string that ties a box of hope. I'd rather be a snowflake that falls with the others.

Because if a single flake falls into an empty chasm that runs forever, no one will see it.

And that's what makes an empty universe.

For the flake.