It was oddly appropriate that the projector was the only light in the room, .the silent images it produced dancing across the wall as he watched, gaze never wavering.

They were all he had now, all he would ever have.

Smiling faces and silent laugher were his only companions at this point. The ones who could have put sounds to the silence had long since faded, leaving him alone to be miserable in the memories.

He was the one to survive, the one to live on when the rest of them couldn't, but all living had come to was sitting in a dark room with his projector clinging to memories that had been cut and edited to perfection.

All the real pain, all the films from hospitals annd finerals and days leading to both of them had been edited out, but, as hard as he tried, he still couldn't edit out all the pain. It still kept him awake at night, kept him coming back to these half-truth films that he clings so desperately to..

He tells himself he's the one to survive but sometimes he wonders if he had just died along with the rest of them.