Mark

A/N: Here is the installment of Mark. I know it is delayed, there is a reason for it besides my vacation. Mark is my favorite character-therefore I take great care in writing about this particular man. He is my dream. I hope I did him justice. I went through several drafts to create as close as I could get to of perfection. Please REVIEW. I didn't get many last time-it made me sad.

December 24th, eight pm Eastern Standard time. From here on in there's no one left to shoot…

The old sing-song chorus tumbled from Mark's lips silently, defiantly, as he watched the tv screens in the make-shift office. The faces of Roger, Mimi, Collins, and Angel danced flamboyantly before him. Images of his closest confidants smiled back almost mockingly. The point that all of them were dead now barked at him. Angel had been the first, Collins had followed his lover months later. Mimi eventually came to grips with the crashing reality and Roger had too said goodbye. A group that was once so alive and determined now remained only of Mark and Maureen. Instead of turning to her however, Mark buried his tears within his own walls-and watched the only living remains. Video-taped memories.

Mark leaned his elbows on the desk as he leaned forward to the screen. His nose barely brushed the surface. Nothing would put him into the picture…that chance had wasted away before his eyes. He placed his head into his hands trying to push away the burning sensation that tightened his jaw and moistened his cheeks.

Why am I the witness, and when I capture it on film will it mean that it's the end and I'm alone…?

It had been a question he had battled internally over for the answer, and now he had it. He had captured every bit of it on film, from beginning of friendship to end. He was alone, isolated. He had secluded himself then…now he had no choice.

For someone who longs for a community of his own, who's with his camera…ALONE!

Roger had screamed at him once angrily and truthfully. Mark had longed for a world of his making, but he hadn't gotten it then and the reality didn't matter now. He was foolish enough to wait until the end. Roger's death had sealed it. Fall had finally killed Roger-both knew that it would. Roger hated the fall, now Mark hated it too.

Mark looked back to the screen, his hands falling to cover his nose and mouth. "How did we get here…how the hell?" He whispered. The images continued to dance and Mark watched the movements. The short-film finally ended and Mark realized he wasn't in it, just like he wasn't in the last…or the one before that. Twenty tapes in all, and he had only made a small cameo in one. "God I'm pathetic!" Mark angrily spat as he pushed away from the desk. He had been making these films as small tributes and by doing so had thrown him into a volatile emotion. Self-loathing. Standing up, he walked to the kitchen despite the cramp in his left leg. He opened a cupboard and hung his head. Full. He moved to the second. Full too. Eyes wide he moved to the refrigerator and freezer, both full. It was ironic and stupid. He should have welcomed all of it, instead he wished it to all disappear. It would match his current state. It was winter and Mark had learned that no matter how long he waited till he went back to the convenience store-his cabinets were never as empty as they were with Collins, Roger, Mimi, and Angel. Mark slammed a cabinet door shut and walked out of the kitchen and to the fire escape.

Opening the window, Mark crawled out and sat on the iron bars. He looked down at the streets. Hundreds of cars passed by. He tried counting…one…two…three…fuck it. Moving his eyes from the streets to the skyline he looked at New York's neon. This was the only part of New York he loved completely. It almost washed away New York's dirt, the lights. Almost washed away the greed, the indifference, the hatred. That was New York's dirt. It wasn't the disease, or the obscene culture, or the people, nor was it the lifestyles. The threat to New York wasn't AIDS, homosexuality, heterosexuality, or poverty, like many claimed. Many…Mark thought about the "many." The "many" had never set foot out of suburbia. The "many" couldn't care for shit to meet the underclass. It was about perfection to them. This was perfection to Mark.

Voices called out from the streets and Mark glanced down. A small smile reached his lips as he looked down at a recently acquainted Drag Queen walked with his…her boyfriend. She looked up and for a moment the face was Angel.

...and then there was that time that he walked up

to this group of tourists... and, they were petrified, because,

a) they were obviously lost, and b) they had probably

never spoken to a drag queen before in their lives...and he..

.she just offered to escort them out of Alphabet City, and then

she let them take a picture with her, and then

she said she'd help 'em find the Circle Line...

Angel winked and the face returned as the two walked away. Mark shook his head to clear the images. Suddenly Mark felt cold. A billboard caught his eye. It read: KNOW HIV/AIDS. The mournful song of that one life support meeting he had attended replaced the car horns of below. It was the only time, well other than Angel's funeral, that Mark had seen Collins vulnerable. Angel's death had shaken him but Collins' death had made screamed what Mark had desperately tried to avoid. He would survive. Collins' rich face grinned at him. Mark shook his head. He was going mad.

He pulled his jacket around him even more tightly as he stood up and walked back into the loft. His eyes fell to a picture of Mimi and Roger, Mark picked it up and ran his thumb over the immobile print. Mimi's death had been the only sweet one. She deserved it. Roger's had been…was still hard. He sank down onto the floor and dropped the frame beside him.

Roger had been with Mark since day one in the city. Mark had cleaned up April's mess, Roger had cleaned up Mark's mess. Mark clutched his roots and swallowed a sob. The wound was still too new and raw for him to think about. The world he had once known was gone…dead and now Mark sat in his loft, alone. He had survived, but he wished he had gone too. The memories were drowning him, and he had no desire to claw his way back to the surface anymore. Mark had folded, and now he had fallen into himself. What was the point of surviving if you felt as though you were dying? The dam finally broke and Mark cried, he never noticed the knocking on the door nor did he notice the opening of it. He only felt a hand clutch his shoulder and he only felt his head lean into a shoulder.

…Maureen did her best to soothe the broken man before her.

A/N: Not impressed with it, I'll probably re-write it and post but I'd thought I'd let all of you take a gander. REVIEW. please.

Thank you-Mari, DancingstarofOZ and starsinthesky for your reviews.