Just trying to hold on when the world was turning black at the edges hurt so much. He couldn't feel his right arm or most of his right side for that matter. From how he sat he could see his legs were still there, but he felt too weak to move his head enough to see what else may lay on his right side. He could see rubble everywhere, the dust collecting with the blood and creating a sick concoction of muddy sludge. Somewhere inside him felt like some of that blood was his.
He could hear footsteps on the cobblestones, but too weak to turn he waited until a woman stopped in front of him. A clipboard was propped on her forearm to make writing with the pencil she had easier. She surveyed him with wide almost insane eyes, her grey hair tied away to keep from falling in her face, and cloth tied around her face to keep the dust from her nose.
He tried to speak. He couldn't move. In this moment he felt helpless. He had to get her attention, to let her know something. There was something he needed someone to know. No, don't walk away. Please. He could still see from his left eye and he did his best to see where she was moving to. Another trainee apparently, going by her words. The trainee spoke and his weakening heart surged, giving him the strength. He knew that voice.
Jean. Jean please. Listen. In his mind he was shouting but in reality Jean was only staring at his hands, not paying him any heed. Trying to get his attention, he moved his leg. Please, Jean. I want you to know.. His thoughts faded for a short moment, but he gripped back on to the thought of Jean. It's not your fault, Jean. I got myself caught. It's my own fault not yours. I want you to understand, so please notice me. He tried to move again, he honestly tried but slowly the edges began turning black again.
I can't hold on much longer, Jean and I know this. But while I still have the time.. Jean, I love you. He wanted to scream now, the numbed pain started up in his heart and made him want to cry. I love you so much and I wish I had told you before all this happened. I'm sorry, it's my fault. Please don't blame yourself, Jean. He couldn't smile. He wanted to so Jean could know it was okay, but he couldn't- his muscles wouldn't work anymore- and he was fighting some battle inside him, fighting to stay alive. But Jean wouldn't look at him anymore. He heard Jean identify him, though it sounded like he was listening through water it was so garbled. The last image he had was of Jean, just Jean. The black closed around that one image, the last bit of light surrounding Jean before it darkened completely, no longer letting Marco see and putting him out of his misery.