Disclaimer: No one is mine, they all belong to the late great Jon Larson.
Not much so far, just thought I'd see if people thought it was worth
continuing. R/R!!
Collins stood in the doorway, studying the scene laid before
him. Mark sat on the floor, slowly
picking up the pieces of a smashed guitar that lay all around him.
Suddenly, he noticed the presence in the doorway. Their eyes met, and those of the filmmaker,
ever expressive, told Collins everything he needed to know.
He opened his arms, and Mark sprang up, dropping the shards
of metal he held in his hands.
The moment he felt his friend's consoling touch, Mark
started sobbing. Tears began to gather
in Collins's eyes.
"She's…"
"Yeah. I figured."
They stood like that for a long time, the philosopher
struggling to keep his grief in check for Mark's sake...Mark, who clung onto
him for dear life as he wept for the loss of one more friend.
Finally, tears exhausted, the artist raised his head and
wiped off his glasses. Extracting
himself from his friend's embrace and slumping against the wall, he began to
speak in a low voice. "He couldn't
accept the fact that she was really gone this time. He just kept playing to her…I tried to tear him away…" He drew in
a ragged breath. "But he just sat there
with his guitar, next to her body, and sang that song over and over
again." His voice shook with pain and
emotion. "Finally, he…he realized she
wasn't going to wake up. He kissed her,
one last time." Mark closed his eyes
and paused, fighting back the tears threatening to spill over again. "And then he ran out here and let out this
scream…oh, God, you can't imagine that scream…" He shuddered, hearing it again
in his mind. "And he started to smash
his guitar, just wreaking havoc until the only thing left was.." He glanced
over at the pile of jagged metallic parts and strings on the floor. "That."
