Author's Note: I am going to do a third installment to this series, so in honor of that I'm going back and re-doing the previous two parts. His Zombie Boy and Bat Out of Hell. There are things I wanted to do differently since I've developed a lot writing wise since I wrote these fics. I hope you all enjoy these versions just as well.

Life is fragile; any single little thing can change the course of a person's life, of their destiny. Every breath you take, every beat of your heart takes a second off of your life and brings you closer to your ending. People spend their lives thinking that they have forever until they reach the end of their story though, nobody realizes until a death occurs or until their later years that life is fleeting and every single second matters more than you could ever know. Maybe it doesn't matter at all. So many changes, so many events occur in a human's life; it seems miniscule when it's happening. Things are taken for granted, the words one speaks or the words one hears; nothing ever seems to mean that much.

Murdoc never thought any of it meant much at all; he took life for granted. He barely considered himself much of a human; he looked at humanity as something weak, something pitiful and wasteful. He had lived his life like he had been trying to end it just as quickly as it had started.

His mismatched eyes scanned over the stone before him, a second time just to be sure nothing had changed. His calloused fingers with their long painted nails caressed the smooth marble, it was still there.

He had taken friends for granted, he barely had ever liked calling those people in Kong Studios his friends. He hadn't wanted to admit that he cared about them and he'd be damned if he was going to tell them that he gave a single shit about them.

"I'll tell you though, I do care about you you know." He spoke to the marble stone, his hand still rested atop of it.

The grass was growing from the dirt, he made a grunting sound when he realized this was the only spot in the whole landfill where grass was willing to grow.

He had taken too much for granted; he knew he was a filthy rotten bastard. He shouldn't had been so mean to the kid.

Something in his chest still ached, it hadn't stopped aching for nearly two months now; he had consumed alcohol, snorted cocaine, and smoked more crystal meth than the human body should be able to handle but nothing had made that aching in his chest go away. Russel had scolded him a time or two; telling him he'd end up dead if he kept doing so many drugs. He had laughed in response then went back to his lines of cocaine. He didn't really care about living; his band was over, fame was disappearing rather quickly, and six feet under his feet lay the only person in the whole stinking world who ever saw some sort of light at the end of the seemingly endless void called Murdoc. He had never figured it out, even now standing out in the freezing English weather he couldn't figure it out.

"What the fuck did you even see in me, fucking moron. I got nothing to offer. I miss you though, I really do. You're such a fucking idiot."

His eyes burned with something wet, they hurt from nights of crying and nights of little to no sleep. Sleep became a forced habit that he hardly enjoyed; he never really fell asleep, more so passed out. One time he had over dosed, nobody had been shocked.

He rubbed roughly at his wet eyes with the back of his right hand.

"I fucking hate you, making me fucking cry. I feel fucking sick because of you, why did you have to go and be so bloody stupid for. Eh?"

He gave a quick glance around at his surroundings to ensure he was completely alone. Once he as assured he was alone he sat down on the ground, his legs folded; he sat facing the marble stone. He reached out touching it again, he didn't feel right unless he was touching it. He traced the engravings, touched every letter and every number, saying them out loud inside his mind then forcing the words past his chapped thin lips.

"Stuart '2D' Pot, beloved son, singer, and friend..."

"Stupid bastard"

He let his hand drop, he hung his head as the moisture in his eyes made his vision far too blurry. He buried his face in his hands as he started to cry openly; nobody would see him crying, if they did they wouldn't dare say a thing.