OK, it is short, it is a standalone. (unless ppl r interested enough to tell me to write more, or you know I get a good enough idea to continue) It is from good old Chester's point of view, Oh and I wrote the poem so don't I titled it You Lay and when I re-read it I decided to build a fic off of it. So now (if your interested) you know how I came up with this. This one hasn't been beta'd plz ignore my typos. . . And such. . .

Disclaimer: I don't own any rights to anything that Linkin Park has ever written

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Gone

In a pool of crimson blood you lay

Head down eyes frozen in place

Your stare chills me, it was the last

One that you ever made, you were

Searching for me but I was not there

When it happened I was dealing with

Something that I shouldn't have been

Dealing with, you, you tried to stop me

And got yourself killed

Now there is nothing I can do to save you

I have to live with this grief

Why did I have to get involved

With those kind of people again?

They drew me in I was intrigued

I could I say I couldn't have done anything

But that would be lying, this didn't

Have to happen, you didn't have to die

It could have been avoided

But will thinking it ever reverse

What has happened? Take back all the

Things we said that hurt?

So here I am staring at you corpse

These thoughts pierce me like the bullet

That took your life, coming quickly

A single tear flows from my eye,

I loved you, but

The last thing that I said to you was

I hate you

Well, that poem is pretty much how it happened how Mike died, it hurts so much just admitting it, so painful, so hard to cope with. It is like nothing happened though, like I will just turn around and he will be there standing in the doorway telling me I should let my hair be, and not mess with the any bottled dyes, or something along those lines, but I realize that will never happen. It is like I am trapped underwater and not able to breath, Mike was like the air to me, the thing that let me live. Without him, I was dying inside just a little, every day. It was like a piece of me was being torn out like I could never get it back, and no time wouldn't help this one, it would only cause damage. I looked over the poem and my eyes watered, I could write a song, not without Mike here.

Knock, knock, knock

"Chester?" Rob asked, only half/appearing through the door,

"Yeah." I said running my hands over my face and back through my hair,

"Um, it's time for the interview . .. . You know . . . . About. . . Mike." he breathed rather sharply when he said Mike's name,

"Tell them that I can't make it, tell them that I'm sick." I put my head down on the table.

"Chester I know that this happening is hard on you but, it's hard on the rest of the band too, you know? He meant a hell of a lot to all of us." I didn't have any argument left in me so I got up walked to the door where Rob was standing,

"Please Rob, you guys.. . . you, aren't the reason that he is dead, I was the one to get fucking involved in those drugs. . . again" I put my hand to my face and rubbed my right eye as a tear fell out of my left one.

"Yeah, alright man, but you know that you can't avoid the next interview and unless there is some kind of miracle, and you know that there will be more." he said understandingly, "Just, Chaz, you know it can't be good for you, not eating anything, keeping yourself shut up in this," he looked around the room and scanning over the multiple pictures of all of us, when we were doing Meteora, and some of the uncased ones that had survived form Hybird Theory "Hell-pit of memories, immersing yourself in dark poetry and we can all see . . . . Well I hope that you come out of this phase, what ever it is." for a fragment of a second he put his hand on my shoulder, the way that Mike used to, and slapped it gently. It felt kind of like he was saying "you're going to pull through" it was comforting for a moment, but then I thought of Mike and I winced.

"Thanks Rob, I. . ." trailing off was just easier sometimes, thankfully he understood and left, shutting the door softly.

If there was a way, a way to make it so that I wouldn't have to deal with the media, the fucking pressure they put on all of us, every time that something happened, anything happened. You know I've heard that beating your head against the wall doesn't help in the least, but maybe they just don't know how hard you have to beat it to make it worth while. Pressing my hands up against the only part of the wall that was solid wood, you know like you would have to do to do wall push-ups? Yeah, well I only wanted to do this once, because it will hurt like hell if I don't do it hard enough. I took a deep breath in and with all my strength slammed up against the wall, it hurt worse than slicing my wrists for a second but then, thankfully, darkness overtook me.

*********

"No I haven't seen him since this morning, you know that fucking women asked us if we were going to hold auditions to replace Mike, can you believe that? I almost threw a punch at her on live TV, dude I was so pissed, and I mean right after. . . I am not agreeing to do any more interviews, no matter what people tell us to do." Phe's voice was soft and in the distance but the words were clear, and even though my head was throbbing I understood them.

"Whoa! Chester what did you do? Are you OK?" after Phe said this I ran my hand over my face again, looked at it and realized that my head had been bleeding, I chuckled ironically in pain when I found this out and lethargically rolled over.

"Yeah man, I'm fine I just needed to. . . . forget." I said hoping that he would leave me alone.

"Um, dude, I don't mean to be like a shrink here, but, A. You're NOT emo, and B. That is not the way to fucking solve problems!" He yelled the last part, I'm guessing trying to knock some sense into me I had to let him know that it wasn't working,

"Go." I said

"No, you need help, you think that I am going to sit here and let you push yourself until you end up like Mike?" ouch, that one hurt

"Go Dave, get the fuck out of here, now." I said and turned away from him,

"I'm coming back, with help." He slammed the door, well if he was coming back with help then I wasn't going to be here when they got here.

After washing my face with a hotel towel, I sifted through my stuff that was spread all the room and started throwing stuff in a bag, maybe I could run, run away form all my problems leave all this shit and start new somewhere, no I'm too famous for that. Then a new idea came to my head. I threw the bag that I was holding over into the corner of the messy hotel room and walked almost mechanically to the side of the room where I had shoved a few things into one of those crappy dressers. As I opened the the drawer adrenalin began to pump through my vains, I began to breathe heavily. A thought came into my head as I pulled the gun out of the dresser,

cock it back and watch it go

I pulled the trigger.

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Sooooooooooo, wut do ya think?