Disclaimer: Don't even.

A/N: This definitely took forever to write. Writer's block was crazy enough with the original. And now I have the revised version. I had to put sections of Chapter 7 in here because they didn't fit where they were (and now that I think of it, fit much better in this chapter.) And while those sections were already written, I had to change what was already here and add to it so that it could all link and flow together. And that took a good 525,600 years. And now, a few thousand revisions and a swapped title later, I still don't even know if I've got it. But well, who knows and here goes and all that jazz. Angst and profundity await you. (Isn't that the best word? Profundity. Say it with me now: Profundity…)

*Holds up sign* Will work for reviews! *Turns it over* Will die for reviews! *Takes out a completely different sign* Will at least be ecstatically happy to get reviews!

Lifetime Guarantees

by Ex Astra

"Dearly beloved, we gather here… To say our goodbyes."

Mark had to stifle a bitter laugh. It couldn't have been more than two months ago that he had said those very words, caught up in the whirlwind of energy induced by instigating a riot.

He couldn't even remember what that felt like. He was numb to any and all happiness he had ever felt. He couldn't feel.

Mark continued to vacantly watch the man giving the sermon on Roger's life. Funny how a man who had never met Roger could think he knew anything about him, let alone everything.

The man must have given sermons like these for numerous people. Mark wondered if he had actually known any of them. Probably not. He wouldn't have stood up and spoken if he had known any of them; he would have been in his position, grieving along with the rest of the assemblage.

He wouldn't dare summarize the lives of anyone he held dear.

Mark's eyes fell to the coffin.

Why is his face so blank? Roger doesn't know how to deny emotion. He's too expressive. Everything affects him so deeply. What's making him look so empty? Shouldn't he look peaceful? Mimi's crying, Roger. At least try to look peaceful.

Mark hadn't yet realized the truth, the finality of the whole situation.

He looked from face to face. His eyes went, as they always did, to Maureen first. Her face was streaked with tears, and she would take in quick little breaths every moment or so. Her head was resting on Joanne's shoulder. Joanne was stroking her hair, looking sadly and steadily at the speaker, trying to suppress her own tears. Collins was seated in front of them. His head was bowed. He cried softly but freely, pausing to look up towards the sky a few times with his eyes closed.

Stop looking up. He's not gonna hear you that way. He's right in front of you; don't you see him? He's there. You can still talk to him.

Mark finally looked over at Mimi. She looked so… Small. She was drawn into herself, her arms hugging her frail body. Her head was tilted to one side, her eyes cast downward. They were all red and puffy.

Her body was so tired of breathing such hard, labored breaths. Her eyes were so tired of crying.

Mimi, stop crying. He doesn't want us to cry! He's still there; he can still see you. Roger loves your eyes, Mimi. He doesn't want to see them like that.

Mark couldn't understand any of it. Everything about this place was wrong. It made people do everything they shouldn't. Maureen was crying, Joanne was just sitting there, Collins was fucking praying, Mimi was trying to pretend that none of this was happening and not one of them was paying any attention to Roger!

Not one.

He turned his attention back to Roger's impassive face.

Don't worry, Roger. I know you're there. I know you wouldn't leave us. And I won't leave you.

Without thinking, he pulled himself up from his chair and slowly made his way over to Roger. His feet left impressions in the wet grass as he approached the coffin. He looked down at Roger's face, now clear in his view.

His whole body froze. And the realization finally hit him.

Roger wasn't in there.

Roger was gone.

Mark and his friends, at some point in time, had all said that they stared death in the face. Living in a world of homelessness, poverty, suffering and disease, they didn't understand that something else existed that was far worse than anything they had ever seen, something more painful than anything they had ever felt. But Mark finally understood.

It was death.

People died every day. Everyone was scared of dying, or the death of their loved ones. But not many people knew what death really meant. They didn't really know what they were so afraid of, what they spent hours crying over.

But Mark did.

Life was all just a huge rush to make a mark on the world. To connect with people and instill one's memory within them. People knew deep down that they couldn't live forever. But if someone remembered them, if they lived with enough meaning… Then at least their memory could go on. And because of that memory, they would matter. And if they mattered, then they never really died.

The fear lied in the possibility that not everyone would make it. Not everyone would make that mark on the world. Whether they died too young too soon or just never fulfilled their potential, the result was inevitable. To truly die. To die without memory or meaning.

To die like Roger did.

The funeral? It wasn't a remembrance. It was just a summary. A summary of Roger's life, from beginning to end, from birth to death. Major events and people mentioned, minor details and hardships left out. Like that was all he was.

And to the world, that was all he was. Roger Davis, a transient figure in the history of the universe. His death would pass, as would this day, as would many days to follow it. And all the people who never cared would never get a chance to do so.

But didn't Roger live with meaning? He played the guitar. He wrote music. He came home late and woke Mark up with his heavy footsteps. He screamed from the pains of withdrawal in a sweaty, shaking mess. He slept in late, he ran his hand through his hair, he ate food. He loved Mimi. He loved Mark.

Sure, Roger lived. But Roger never mattered.

Mark knew that Roger meant something. To him. And he might have even meant something to the others. But Mark and his group of friends were different. Roger's memory couldn't live through them like the memories of the normal deceased. Because none of them would have children. Maureen and Joanne were lesbians. Mimi and Collins both had AIDS. And Mark certainly never planned on marrying or having children. There would be no second generation or any generation after that. Roger's memory would die with these people. And ultimately, Roger would never matter. He would be gone.

Forever.

And that was it.

For once, Mark was really staring death in the face.

And it looked exactly like Roger.