Disclaimer-Larson owns all. I own...nothing.
AN-This is a really short, really sucky Mark angst fic. I wrote it when I was mad and felt incredibly ANGSTY! Kind of like Roger! Ha Ha. Just Kidding. So, here it is.
There he sat, sobbing. What else could he do? Everyone around him had faded away, they all just left without warning. The virus took hold. Not even Maureen or Joanne had stuck around to feel sorry for his ass. He was pathetic.
He looked around him, scissors, knives, razors. They all glinted in the dim light of the bathroom, mocking him. He thought, what was he about to do? He was about to pull an April. He wasn't going to do that. It would only make it worse.
He stood, "I'm going to keep living, living the life my friends couldn't." he burst through the door, only to be greeted by a horrible silence. He winced. He had hoped to hear the familiar sounds of Roger playing Musetta's Waltz, hoped to see Collins sitting on the scruffy couch smoking a joint and reading a book, hoped to hear Angel and Mimi giggling off in a corner. Then, he remembered.
He downstairs and outside. He knelt down on the sidewalk. He looked at the shattered remains of his camera. It had been through so many muggings, scrapes, and drops. It finally gave. Now, he didn't have his friends, or their memories. He didn't have enough to keep them, or even him, alive.
AN- I guess if I get enough reviews I could continue, but we'll have to see about that. Please Review!!