Disclaimer: I do not own Rent or any of the characters associated with it. Please r&r. NO FLAMES. Certain lines from this story are taken from Matt Caplan lyrics from songs "Sideways" and "Favorite Puppet". Also not mine yet oO. This is dedicated to MY wonderful friends who make stories like this come alive.

-This story is a look at life through the eyes of Mark. Each chapter will concern a different friend of Mark's, comparing past experiences with thoughts of his present. Enjoy.

-THICKER THAN BLOOD-

…the world through Mark Cohen's eyes

-Chapter 1: Favorite Puppet-

Capturing the perfect image of New York City is nearly impossible. In a city where each and every person has a story, has a dream, has hopes and regrets, it is absurd to think one frame could say it all. This has become apparent to me more recently then ever. I, the insignificant filmmaker, have never been one for connecting. Call it what you will, but I always much preferred watching those I love live than actually step into the world myself. It was always so much easier to see everything through my friends' eyes. Am I scared? Of course I am. I used to believe people were nothing more than machines, faceless robots that were programmed to go through the same day to day system. I used to believe so many things. Although I now see how immature my ideals were as a young bohemian in the city of all cities, I cannot help but notice the ironic truth to those very theories when I observe my friends.

Maureen Johnson is truly a creature of habit. When first getting to know her, one might think she is as spontaneous as they come. However, tolerating her as long as I have, I can safely say that every dramatic twist and turn she makes in her life is based on her own internal agenda. Let's begin with her relationships. Let's rewind time to take a look at any particular night I spent with Maureen way back when I was her favorite puppet.

"I'm so sorry, Pookie." she'd say with her adorably grotesque pout. This is how it always started. It was a painful guessing game each time I had to figure out exactly what, no, who she had done to break my heart. But it only shows how much of a coward and a fool I was to forgive her each time.

"I'm through with this, Maureen." I'd tell her. No matter how many times I said those words, they always took little to no effect. She knew all too well she had me wrapped around her little finger. I can't even begin to count the many times I held back burning tears that threatened to spill everything I was out for her.

"But I love you." she'd whisper in my ear. That's all she ever needed to do to get me crawling back to her. Knowing that defeat was accepted, she'd kiss my cheek and leave. Without a shred of comfort, I'd imagine myself without her. I knew it still went on without her, but I wasn't brave enough to face loneliness. This was the reality I turned from almost every week with her.

True, I more than just revealed my own need for my pathetic little life to follow a habitual calendar as well as Maureen's. But that's life, isn't it? We all need to feel that security in ourselves that helps us press on day by day by day. Even now, after all is said and done, Maureen still continues her heart-wrenching games. The only thing that has changed our the faces. Now it's Joanne's turn to dance to please the puppeteer. I feel hollow as I watch Maureen slowly convert her victim to worshipping her. If only Joanne knew what hell she was in store for, maybe she'd turn away from the irresistible drama queen. Who am I kidding?

Perhaps I'm being too critical. Maureen always has and always will have her amazing qualities that she also uses to keep a structural balance in her life. Why else do people fall for her so hard in such a minuscule time? Above all things, her passion is what drives her inner beauty. She takes deeply to heart every injustice done upon humanity. I've always admired the way she sticks up for the underdog. No matter how bitter I feel towards her conniving nature, I know deep down somewhere under her porcelain skin is a wonderfully bright and caring girl wanting to be free. That very girl came out last Christmas. I remember every little detail of that frozen night: Each strum of the guitar as Roger sang his bittersweet song to a dying Mimi, the trembling hands of Collins as he dialed 911 on the telephone, and, most distinctly, the calming and soothing words Maureen spoke to the young girl. My heart was rent as I stood idly beside her.

I guess we all must linger from our ruts now and then.