(A/N: This one's good too. Roger's POV journal/letter to Mark.)

Chapter Three
What My Reflection Shows
Challenge Prompt: A first person narrative with no dialogue, reflecting on love, loss and friendship.

9 August 1994

The months after that Christmas we all came back together passed before our eyes like one of Mark's short films. Each shot a moment in time we couldn't get back to relive, but a moment in time that would be remembered forever. That's the way it goes when time is short. Mimi died in March, Collins in November. They were both buried on either side of Angel. On her right; her lover. On her left; her best friend. My health's been slipping away, more quickly after Mimi died. I can feel my life slipping away, no matter how hard I grope for it. It's like trying to hold onto water. I've always been the strongest in body, but my mind, heart and soul are no doubt the weakest of anyone's. Collins had the mind covered, that's for sure. The man was the most intelligent person alive. Anyone who could become a college philosophy professor had to be. Especially to be an openly gay, AIDS-infected professor in a world of stereotypes, prejudice and criticism. I never got to tell him how much I respected and looked up to him.

As for the heart--Angel could love even the most ignorant, hateful person. She taught us all to be that way. Without her influence I never would have given Mimi a chance. You know, most wannabe rock stars would never admit in a million years to being friends with a drag queen, but for some reason, I have no problem with it. Angel taught me to feel again; whether it was love or pain or whatever. She taught me that everyone's life is worth living. And for that, I thank her.

And the soul...Mimi, my sweet little Mimi. She was so passionate about everything she did. Her dancing, her life...me...No one ever loved me the way she did. She would have done anything to save me from myself.

I guess you could say Mark fits under that category as well. Poor Mark. Some days I wonder who has it worse; me or him. He's fated to spend the rest of his life watching his friends disappear one by one by one. Destined to witness this terrible disease kill off the people he loves. At least I have the assurance of death and the end of my suffering in the near future. Mark, on the other hand, has no choice. He must be the one to survive. He must go on living in this half-life he stumbles around in everyday. His body's become an empty shell, incapable of feeling. It's not that he doesn't want to feel, he's just become so used to the feelings of loss that he's become immune to it or something. I know it's kind of gruesome to think of, but I realize my days are getting down there. If I wake up tomorrow it will be a miracle. I guess you could say this is my goodbye. Mark knows where I keep this journal. So it won't be long before my feelings are known.

So, to Mark, I leave my only possession; my guitar. I know you don't know how to play it, but I know you'll take care of it. My heart and soul have been etched into the wood and strings of that instrument. You know what it means to me. It's helped me get through the most difficult times of my life, but not so much as you have. It never promised me that things would be alright after April, then Mimi died. It never had to watch me kick and scream my way through six months of withdrawal or deal with the blows I dealt you when I got desperate enough for a hit. But you never let me down. You kept me from killing myself, be it through drugs or suicide. That guitar never loved me like you did, Mark, but nonetheless, I leave it to you. That along with my thanks. My true, heartfelt thanks for everything you've ever done for me. You have been more than a friend to me; you were my brother. And the greatest one I could have ever asked for.

I know I could never say this out loud, but I'm a writer, man, and words come easier to me when I use a pen and paper than when I use my big mouth. So thanks. I love you, bro. I'll say hi to Angel, Mimi and Collins for you when I get there. Oh and by the way---promise you won't bury me in some ugly suit or anything like that. I don't wanna look like I croaked on my way to a business meeting or while I was taking a stroll down Wall Street.

Thanks again, Love always,

--Roger