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The Other Companion

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He arrived unannounced.

I didn’t pay much attention to him at first. We were used to see those fancy dressed men coming and going. They all looked the same to us. Rich, full of themselves, they think they are important. To us, they aren’t. We don’t care anymore. After too many disappointments we learned not to get our hopes high.

When he stopped in front of me, I sensed that there was something different about him. He was not like the others. Suddenly, I wished that I could stand up, make noise to attract his attention. Everything inside me just screamed for him to pick me.

Did he feel my silent cry? Did he hear it telepathically? I shall never know. All I know is that he chose me and I blacked out of happiness. Or maybe the emotions that overwhelmed me at that moment were too strong for my weak constitution.

He took great care of me. He brought me back to life. Not only that but I grew stronger and smarter under his skilled hands. I loved it when he spent time with me. I laughed in content when he protected me from mockery. It would only strengthen my will to be his most reliable companion. He rewarded me well, spending even more time with me, taking me on fancy (and sometimes scary) trips.

As time passed, I grew fonder of him, trembling for him when he found himself in danger, which happened a little too frequently for my taste. I still remember how helpless I felt when he collapsed in front of me after witnessing the destruction of an alternate dimension. How I wished that I could wake him up from his deep coma… How I fell relieved when he finally came out of it!

With him, I saw wonders. I knew that he was trapped on Earth, exiled by his own people, and I feared the day when he would be free to travel again. When it happened, I realised that I would soon feel lonely. U.N.I.T personal cared for me. They, too, were affected by their scientific advisor’s absences. He would eventually come back, take me on a trip and I would feel full of life again. U.N.I.T personal doesn’t have his touch, you see, they don’t know me as well as he does.

One day, I saw a raggedy tall man with curly hair under a brown hat and a colourful scarf, and I knew that I would never see the fancy dresses and the mop of silver hair. It was him but it wasn’t. Regeneration they call it. There have been more over time. Despite the fact that he never really forgot me, he never really cared for me the way he used to.

Still, I will remain his dear old Bessie, his other companion.