Notes: New little story. Not really much of a point, jumps around a lot in terms of time periods.Chapters are named after the Muses. Some are a littledifferent, like Erata is the Muse of Lovepoetry, but here it's just love. Stuff like that. The little italicized things are parts of some poetry I've written that I thought fit in with the story. Hope you enjoy it though! Told from Mark's perspective unless otherwise stated.:D

Chapter 1 – Terpsichore (dance)

Golden flowers in a box
Burn the box, watch it rot
Golden flowers now are black
The springs of chimes long silenced

Zoom in on Angel and Mimi, spinning each other around the room. Mimi giggled and they stumbled together, Angel hugging her tightly, grinning at Collins across the room. Roger was smiling.

He stared down at his hands when he saw me with the camera. Caught you already, Rog, don't try to hide now, I thought. He looked up almost shyly and gave me a hesitant little smile. His eyes darted back over to Mimi and Angel. He gestured to me vaguely while still watching them and I came over to his corner of the room and sat next to him.

"Close on Roger,"

"Don't, Mark." He said softly.

I put my camera down and stared at him expectantly. "Are you alright?"

He nodded, looked down to his feet and then up at me again. "Yeah." He sighed. "I haven't been this happy in…" He trailed off and didn't finish his thought.

"Because of Mimi?"

"Look at her, Mark." He said in the same calm voice. Soft, reserved. He was enamoured. It was sort of sweet.

"I see her, Rog."

Mimi, having taken a break from Angel who was then next to Collins, was dancing by herself. I smiled because like Roger I could no longer hear the music, I could only see Mimi with her eyes closed, her arms outspread, face turned up toward the ceiling and spinning by herself. Camera went up, but Roger pushed it back down.

"Mark that's too beautiful to capture. Just let it be a memory." He said.

I turned my camera on when he wasn't looking, pointed it in the general direction of Mimi's dance. He didn't have as long as I did to remember it, and I don't like to forget things.


And the tiny ballerina girl
Crushed like powder on the floor
What do you dream about with such intensity?

I stop the film and stare at Mimi's frozen image. I've never been more glad to have carried a camera in my life. But then again, I think that every time I find a beautiful image of my old friends. How could Roger have tried to stop my filming of this?

Next frame. Next. Next, and then she smiles over in my direction and pulls Roger up with her. The camera focuses better because with Roger gone I filmed them freely. She leads him in a slow moving little waltz, laying her head against his chest and closing her eyes. Roger holds her and moves clumsily with her rhythm.

Both long dead from AIDS.

A few reels later and there's Mimi shuffling around the loft bundled in a couple thin blankets. She smiles at me, then drops the blankets and does a slightly strange version of pirouette on her way into the kitchen. Mimi and her dancing. The effort makes her lean against the counter to catch her breath a moment. I remember setting the camera back down on the table and pulling the blankets back around her.

"Tea?" I had asked, and she had nodded.

The camera focuses on her again when she's sitting alone at the table holding a little cup of tea. She stares down into the cup and I'm conscious of her illness. Mimi won't be dancing much longer.