By Ducky
Author's Notes: This is the third story I've started in a matter of weeks, but I'm making progress on all three of them, so I'm just going to pitch it out to you anyhow. Reviews make my world go 'round. I'd really like to know what you guys think. I really appreciate the reviews I've gotten on "Detachment", and the one I've gotten on "Remnants of the Vague". I'm glad you guys are so responsive... warm fuzzies, man. Honestly! Anyhoo, enjoy!
Disclaimer:
Lyrics and title of "Cellophane Sun" are © Adam Pascal, 2000. The
recognizable characters aren't mine- although I might wish that I could
get my hands on Mark or Roger- they're the late, great Jonathan Larson's.
I'm just borrowing for my own entertainment. Taking me to court would so
not be in your best interest. I'm a teenager, I have nothing. The plot,
etc. are all mine, so I don't want to see it under anyone else's nom deplume.
Ciao!
The makeshift family stood around the fresh grave in silence. Roger stared at the ground, feeling Mimi's hand creep into his own. She leaned her head against his, and he felt her kiss the sleeve of his jacket. He was trembling and he knew it, but he couldn't let the tears go just yet. No one, least of all Roger, had expected him to be the first to go.
Mark had always been the supportive one. He would discard his own problems and his own life to better those of his friends. He let Maureen use and abuse him, and helped Roger get back onto his feet after six months of withdrawal. He had immortalized countless moments in time for them all. He'd worked so hard to keep himself out of the spotlight, that no one ever wondered if he was really happy behind his camera. Mark would be Mark, and everyone accepted that, letting him fade into the backdrop.
But they all knew it should have been obvious. The way that he fought to keep attention away, the times when he became quiet and reclusive. His constant filming was an outlet; he could be there without having to experience anything. His appearance always reflected that of a malnourished and fragile child, but they had chalked it up to their erratic, bohemian lifestyle. Changes in his mood were almost scheduled. He would become energetic and intense at the same time each day, his emotion tapering off to nothing within minutes. No one had thought anything of it. No one ever suspected what Mark was doing to himself.