Disclaimer: If I owned 'em, I'd share! But I don't. Just borrowing 'em.
A/N: Just a short-ish intro to what I hope to be a longer fic. If anyone likes this bit at all, that is.
'Perhaps it's because I'm the one of us to survive.'
Mark could remember saying the words. Horrified at the time by the belief that it was true. Now he laughed softly, without humor, at how bitterly ironic the entire situation was. Those that he'd been so afraid were fading away and leaving him behind, alone, were thriving. It was him that was sliding into darkness.
Turning his ever present camera towards himself, he murmered into the lens, "Zoom in on Mark. Alone in the dark. With miles of footage, that noone ever sees. Even me." With a shiver at his own choice of wording, he quickly turned the machine off.
Ejecting the cassette from the camera, he turned it over in his hands, studying it with a calm face and blank eyes. With great care, he set the film beside him on the couch. His fingers still gripped the camera tightly, knuckles a bluish white.
The loft was empty and silent around him. Roger was off practicing with his new band mates. Things were actually going well this time, and he'd taken Mimi and Collins along with him. Mark had declined, saying vaguely only that he had, 'Stuff.' To do, to see, to think about... It didn't matter, they'd left without a second glance. With barely a nod.
Thoughts splintered and drifted, leaving Mark staring at the camera once more. It was how he'd lived, what he knew. The only way he'd been able to face his laughable life. He knew that he'd been hiding from reality behind it. What use did he have for emotions of his own, when he could hide behind the lens and stare at those of others?
Without thinking, barely realizing what he meant to do even as he did it, Mark raised his arm and hurled the machine away. With all the feeble strength he possesed.
The noise it made as it shattered against the wall seemed to envelope him. Reaching blindly, he grabbed the tape he'd set so carefully beside him, sending it flying after the camera. Barely seeing it as it struck a glancing blow off the doorjam and racheted off into the kitchen.
There was a radius around the couch that was purely Mark. Scripts, foriegn films, batteries for the camera, bits and pieces of his life. In a frenzy of destructive rage, piece by piece Mark sent it all flying to the other side of the apartment.
As suddenly as it had come on, the horrible anger and it's vitalizing energy drained away. Pale and sobbing for breath, Mark slid to the floor before the couch. Head cradled on his knees, he closed his eyes and tried not to think of what was going to happen to him.
A/N: Just a short-ish intro to what I hope to be a longer fic. If anyone likes this bit at all, that is.
'Perhaps it's because I'm the one of us to survive.'
Mark could remember saying the words. Horrified at the time by the belief that it was true. Now he laughed softly, without humor, at how bitterly ironic the entire situation was. Those that he'd been so afraid were fading away and leaving him behind, alone, were thriving. It was him that was sliding into darkness.
Turning his ever present camera towards himself, he murmered into the lens, "Zoom in on Mark. Alone in the dark. With miles of footage, that noone ever sees. Even me." With a shiver at his own choice of wording, he quickly turned the machine off.
Ejecting the cassette from the camera, he turned it over in his hands, studying it with a calm face and blank eyes. With great care, he set the film beside him on the couch. His fingers still gripped the camera tightly, knuckles a bluish white.
The loft was empty and silent around him. Roger was off practicing with his new band mates. Things were actually going well this time, and he'd taken Mimi and Collins along with him. Mark had declined, saying vaguely only that he had, 'Stuff.' To do, to see, to think about... It didn't matter, they'd left without a second glance. With barely a nod.
Thoughts splintered and drifted, leaving Mark staring at the camera once more. It was how he'd lived, what he knew. The only way he'd been able to face his laughable life. He knew that he'd been hiding from reality behind it. What use did he have for emotions of his own, when he could hide behind the lens and stare at those of others?
Without thinking, barely realizing what he meant to do even as he did it, Mark raised his arm and hurled the machine away. With all the feeble strength he possesed.
The noise it made as it shattered against the wall seemed to envelope him. Reaching blindly, he grabbed the tape he'd set so carefully beside him, sending it flying after the camera. Barely seeing it as it struck a glancing blow off the doorjam and racheted off into the kitchen.
There was a radius around the couch that was purely Mark. Scripts, foriegn films, batteries for the camera, bits and pieces of his life. In a frenzy of destructive rage, piece by piece Mark sent it all flying to the other side of the apartment.
As suddenly as it had come on, the horrible anger and it's vitalizing energy drained away. Pale and sobbing for breath, Mark slid to the floor before the couch. Head cradled on his knees, he closed his eyes and tried not to think of what was going to happen to him.