Disclaimer: I do not own any part of RENT.
A/N: This is my first fanfic, just trying things out on here.
Enter Mark Cohen.
"October 31st, 1995, 8:13 p.m., Eastern Standard Time.
I can't believe it. After five years, just five years. They're all gone. All except Benny. I feel it right to tell their individual stories, about how they left. April and Angel, well, we don't need to document them. They each have their respective film. Back on Halloween, just a few years ago, I wondered at Angel's funeral if this meant we would all crash down. Leave. Die, even. Would it mean that it's the end, and I'm alone? About a month after that Christmas Eve when we first found Mimi, where she was barely holding on already… well, she was the first to pass. A mere month after we… or should I say Angel… saved her. Next to go was Collins. The following year, when he didn't show up on Christmas Eve (and he was expected), Roger and I went to look for him. We found him, cold, alone, and ill in a back alley. We lost him soon after that. Then the worst part set in… Roger's depression. It hurt so bad to see my best friend suffering as he was, worse than he ever had been. So much pain for him, and in such a close amount of time… it consumed him. He didn't speak at all for weeks, and eventually just stopped taking his AZT's (much to my dismay.) Even I couldn't save him. I tried to so hard… but he just gave up. Joanne, Maureen, and I found him curled up on his bed in January, still clutching his guitar, even in death. Just six months ago. Six months. And just weeks after that, Joanne applied for what she called a 'better' law firm, which Maureen and I both knew really meant one away from the city, where we'd all been through so much. Once her letter of acceptance came, we had one last dinner out, and Joanne and Maureen moved to a suburban home in northern Virginia. I haven't heard from them since. So here I am. Alone in the cemetery on Halloween night… hah. Morbid, no? They're all buried right here, close. April, Angel, Mimi, Collins, and Roger… I wish I knew what to do."
With that, Mark switches his camera off with a sigh, and settles on a stone bench. In front of him is a row of graves, a sort of "family plot", if you will. Separate names, separate stories… but all a major part of his life. Mark then rises, and places a heavy hand on Roger's grave. He heaves a slow, sad sigh, and walks off into the New York City night.
