Once again I stress the fact that I am not the reincarnation of Jonathan Larson come back to write fan fiction. Duh.

April Eriksson - September First, Nineteen Eighty Eight
Angel Dumott Schunard- October Twenty-Ninth, Nineteen Ninety
Mimi Marquez- January Seventh, Nineteen Ninety-One
Roger Davis- February Fourteenth, Nineteen Ninety-One
Maureen Johnson- December Twenty-Fourth, Nineteen Ninety-Six
Joanne Jefferson- December Twenty-Fourth, Nineteen Ninety-Six
Thomas Collins- May Sixth, Two Thousand and Six.

We were hosting our annual Christmas party at the New Yorker when the phone call came. I grabbed the cordless from behind the counter and went outside to answer. Inside was a mixture of alcohol and merriment. The weather was mild, and it wasn't so cold that I needed a coat.

On the other line I heard Benny's voice, racked with fear and tears, "Mark, there was an accident. Maureen and Joanne were coming to my apartment for a dinner, and the other guy was drunk. Mark, they died." He told us to come back to New York on the next flight, that our group had shrunk once again.

I hung up, feeling drained. I went back inside and told Collins, who was, in turn telling his own stories. His face fell and became somber. He suddenly stood atop of the chair then and called for everyone to be quiet while he toasted.

"To those who have preceded us! Let they never be forgotten, and may there sprits be at peace." Everyone drank and began talking again.

He turned to me with a smile, "we can't end the party now, we will leave in the morning."

Their caskets sat next to each other in the front of the church and we all had our say about them. In between their caskets set two vases, one holding two tiger lilies and the other several roses. Only the three remaining bohemians knew what they meant.

The three men that were left all went to a bar and drank. They couldn't enjoy it though, knowing that was the reason for their deaths. Mostly we just stared into our mugs quietly. Benny, as usual, was the first to speak.

"How is the restaurant?"

I looked at him, thinking what? "It's good, real good."

"Why didn't you go to Santa Fe?"

Collins laughed, it was rather funny, "We ran out of gas. And there was a position open at a local college there."

"How is Muffy?"

"Allison. She's good, we are looking into adoption you know..." he trailed off staring at the wall. "I didn't think it would happen like this. When we were younger you know, they were all so young, and were…not."

"Nobody thought it would be like this. You don't think that your best friends would never live to see thirty or forty."

"Or twenty." Collins cut in. "Mimi was only twenty."

"You don't want to imagine that."

"Do you want a girl or a boy?" Collins asked.

"Both." Collins chuckled, "Allison has it in her head she wants a dozen kids." We all smiled at that, "We are going to try just one at first. Were looking into adopting from Russia or Macedonia, somewhere exotic."

"Moscow is exotic?"

That night we got back onto the plane, it was December twenty eighth, we rode back home surrounded by happy families marveling over their gifts. I hated flying, worse than almost anything, I could never sleep during the entire flight. Collins, of course was fast asleep snoring so bad that even if I could sleep on planes he would have kept me up. On my other side was a kid, couldn't have been more than twenty. Twenty, God when was I twenty? He wasn't sleeping either, though his head was in a catalog. Of course I thought, musicians friend.