One-shot. I don't own Mark or Maureen, thanyouverymuch. Those are solely Johnathon Larson's.
Read and Review, if you want.
Click.
Roll.
He set the film in with the same sort of carefulness he always did, fingers reaching up to push the glasses sliding down his nose back to where they belonged. Mark watched as the projecter flickered and buzzed, images flashing across the back of the loft.
He was the only one there.
Roger and Mimi were away..maybe at dinner or something, Collins had left a few months ago, and Joanne and Maureen were sharing nuptial bliss.
Good for fucking them.
His face contorted into that of a sort of annoyance, eyes narrowed. Maureen's laughing face flickered across the cracked wall before disappearing all together as the projector clattered and clanked.
"Goddamnit!" he screamed, rearing his hand back, about to hit it.
He was mulling over thoughts again, and that sometimes got him to be a bit aggravated.
The last time that I fell in love..
Maureen, he told himself, slumping into the chair next to the projector.
The love was milk and honey..
It was, Mark mused, looking at the uneven ceiling. It had been simply wonderful. Kisses, words, whispers, hearts.
It was like love should be.
But the milk turned sour.
The girl at the bar. Maureen's hands on her ass. Then, she had the gall to gush about her when they got back to the loft. But, Mark remembered, she was drunk.
The woman became a monster..
To be put frankly, she had become, of course, a lesbian.
That had been about a year and a half ago, but the memory of when she called and left the message still rang like a bell through his head.
And everyone I knew had become a stranger..He was all alone, and he knew it.
Mark was always alone.
Mark would always be alone.
That thought killed him inside-- he'd always be alone.
Collins had been gone. Then Angel came. But then, of course, he was gone again.
Roger had been too depressed about himself to even give a shit about Mark. Then Mimi came.
Maureen had Joanne had eachother.
And, of course, Benny had no one. But Allison. Dear god, even Benny had someone.
"Jesus Christ," he heaved, hunching over as a dry sob overtook him.
Mark came to the realization that he wasn't worth love.
That was it, wasn't it? He'd never have someone to hold. He never would.
He wasn't going to wait forever.
Mark, with tears dripping down the contours of his cheekbone, slowly stood up and made his way to Roger's room.
He knew where it was.
His hands automatically pawed through Roger's drawers unti he found the revolver. Mark clicked the safety off, sobs becoming more urgent as he made his way from Roger's room. He wasn't going to die in there. That was common courtesy.
He got into his room, sitting on his bed as his heartbeat became frantic.
Onetwothreefourfivesix..
Mark's hand was shaking, but he somehow managed to get the gun pointing to his head.
..seveneightnineten.
Click.
There was a resounding bang, then a dull thud as the suicide tool hit the floor, sliding from his lifeless hands. Mark fell over with a sort of grace, shining arc of blood following him.
Then the room went black,
My luck was spent,
The floor opened up,
down I went.
...R&R.
