Change in Perspective

by Quicksear

Epilogue: Those Left Behind

Gale finished her audition at the club. The manager had liked her performance, so it had gone as well as could be expected.

Winter had just started. There were rumours of growing conflict in the Middle East yet again, and global warming was apparently getting worse. But Gale didn’t really care about the hings that didn’t affect her. It had been over two months since Marc's mysterious disappearance without so much as a clue as to what had happened. This did affect her, very, very personally.

She had worried herself sick for a few days, then gone into denial over that fact that Marc obviously was not just missing. His logical fate had taken her this long to accept. The paperwork had all been written up, all the T’s crossed and every dotted line signed. Gale was signed as Marc’s closest acquaintance – she didn’t know he had done that – and had inherited all of his belongings. It wasn’t much. Other than some clothes, a few pictures and a strange statuette, there had been precious little. Not much of a footprint for Marc to leave behind. She had picked it all up the day yesterday.

She sighed and made her way to the parking lot of the club in the dark, alone. Marc had been a good friend. He would have been there with her when she tried something as big as an audition after so many years.

It had been him that had convinced her to try out for a singing role somewhere. After the accident that left her mute for months, she had never actually taken him seriously, had always said no, she wasn't good enough, but he had disagreed. Now, in his absence, she had honoured his memory by fulfilling his dream for her. And she had succeeded. She had the Tuesday evening spot, three times a month, and every Saturday. If only he could've seen it, he would have been so proud.
She fumbled with her keys for a while before shoving the right one into the door. She collapsed into the seat and waited a moment. She huffed as she turned and shoved the box in her way back over onto the passenger seat. It was the last box of Marc’s possessions, containing a few sets of clothes and that weird animal statue, she had found. She looked curiously at the odd figure: a random mismatch of animal parts, some strange piece of modern art, no doubt. Something, though was different about it. She tipped it this way and that, trying to figure it out, slightly unnerved at how the eyes seemed to follow her. But just then, a small slip fell away from the discordant statuette.

It was a rolled up piece of think paper held together with a blue ribbon. She sat in confusion for a second before picking it up and reading the name on the side.

It was hers, written in a slightly square handwriting she recognized instantly.

Oh, God…

Ripping off the ribbon, she quickly unrolled the letter, and scanned the contents. What she read left her in a state of emotional turmoil.

It read simply, yet conciliatorily : Marc was okay. He missed her, and all their friends, but he was happy where he was. And he wasn't coming back.

The last lines read:

I'm sorry for the pain all this has caused to you and everyone I knew, and I hope you forgive me one day.
This letter will not be with you in the morning, it will return to whence it came.

Now, turn on the radio.

Confused, she did as the letter instructed. And, to her amazement, a song began to play: Chasing Cars, by Snow Patrol. It was the song she and Marc had listened to on the first night they'd spent together outside the hospital. She’d taken him up to the overview, to say thank you for being there so selflessly as he had. And he had played…this. It was the song she had just sung in memory of him.

She threw down the letter and raced home before emotion overwhelmed her. She stumbled through her front door, tripping over some boxes, carrying the letter clutched in one hand and the final box in the other. She stopped at the hall desk, dropping the box and it’s statuette on the table, and read the letter again carefully.

Then she turned it over and wrote of the back, under the angry stone gaze of the figure:

You're forgiven. Have a happy life, my dear friend.

She pulled out her iPod and put Chasing Cars on repeat. She watched through the night until the letter suddenly smouldered into nothingness, bearing her heartfelt message to her old companion, god knows where.

Author's Note:

There we are, the final chapter of Change in Perspective! But not quite the end of Marc's story...or Discord's.
There will be more in time, and of course I will inform you all when that time comes. Thank you for reading, and have great day.

Regards
Quicksear

Comments

[Deadinlight]

delicious

[Fire-Storm]

I dont think that William shakesturrup cold have ended it better
wonderfull story and hope to read more of your work very soon
and for the final time here über und aus

[JBL]

And there it is, the familiar emptiness that hits me whenever I come to the end of a good story. Even the promise of a sequel can't diminish it. Ah well, at least it ended on a happy note and you got your 100th like! I was glad to help whenever I could and I'm looking forward to what you have in store for the future.

[Quicksear]

2745594 Thanks, mate! Do take a look at my other works, if you're so inclined: I would love for my The Mother City to get some more attention. Thanks for all the help, much appreciated.

[ArthurHucksake]

Thanks for a great story! I'll be checking out your other works too. Thanks again!

[GallantNavy]

Woo! 'Cordy's still alive-ish! :D

[RubberBrony]

Congrats on your 100 up-votes!
I enjoyed the story quite a bit.

[dargondarkfire]

congrats on the finish!

[Sonson-Sensei]

Pretty good piece you've written.

[AnormalUnicornPony]

Hah! So Discord became a paperweight?

[Quicksear]

2807080 ee'yup