AN:/ A song fic, yes, the horror. But this has sat on my hard drive shuffled from one computer to the next time after time. Right now it just feels right to post this. The inspiration was a cover of the original by Linkin Park.

The skies were grey. It felt like rain. In truth, the skies were only grey because it was late. It didn't feel like rain, it was just humid. I still couldn't accept it. It couldn't can't won't be true. She can't- it won't-

I close both locks below the window….

They took her posters down, cleaned the books off her shelves. Her dad groaned at the screw I stripped, taking the door off its hinges. Her sister looks almost as lost as I am, as she sits on Margo's bed, trying to imagine it. I expect neither of us were prepared.

I close both blinds and turn away….

She always left clues, clues telling us where she went. She always promised to be safe, always left these to prove she was thinking ahead. We just hadn't expected it. After all of these times, after all these adventures of hers, why would we think it would fail? It had worked all the other times, worked for every other situation. Why not once more?

Sometimes solutions aren't so simple…

It wasn't to be. She was so close to the edge, so close to being her own person. She could fold herself up and fly away from this paper town. She had only days left before she was eighteen, before she was free. Those shackles that bound her only let her go so far, only let her do so much. If she had been days older, she wouldn't have been walking, she could have rented a car and driven. She wouldn't have had to wait by the broken down bus, where anyone could grab her. It would have been different.

Sometimes goodbyes the only way….

The funeral was yesterday. It was a sad thing. A lot of people showed up. A lot of people paid lip to the mystery, to the legend. None of them really knew her. None of them cared enough to see below the surface. They didn't see her sobbing after dates, or concealing bruises on her face. They didn't know, couldn't know. The image must be upheld. I sat in the back. No one really said anything to me. Ben and Radar, they kinda understood. But, they had their own lives to look after now. Her parents tried to be sad, but I could see the relief on their faces. Their daughter was at peace, no more harebrained elaborate schemes. She was safe, resting. There was only a hint of superiority, of I-told-you-so, in their faces. They tried to hide it, but one had to remember, this wasn't the first time they had grieved for their daughter. This would just be the last.

And the sun will set for you…

It was sad really. I suppose her last 'gift' to me was an understanding. As hard as she tried, as hard as I tried, we were locked in the Paper Towns. The gates were bound with matches- the only escape was to disappear, to vanish into thin air. In this time, filled with so many 'lasts,' I had most of my firsts. That was what she showed me. My careful application of self wasn't living. All these other people had many memories, many adventures. I wasn't so lucky. My 'firsts' were also most of my 'lasts'.

The sun will set for you….

When we arrived, at Agloe, at that ramshackle barn, we were expecting to see Margo. We thought we could be like her, go on this epic adventure to seek out something more. We found something more all right- we found her body. Radar saw it first. Call it Detroit instinct or whatever, but he called it. We pulled up and he says 'something doesn't feel right. Something feels fishy.' I waved his concerns off, mouthed something about it being a ghost town. Then Ben puked. Without warning. To anyone who knows him, this doesn't happen. He is the king of announcing his events. It was creepy at first, but lead to some nice saves given warning. Sick ben, projectile vomiting, warning was nice. So he bends over and heaves without warning, now I know something is off. I step onto that porch, and I smell it. Something is rotten, something has died here. I delude myself that it's a skunk, or some other woodland critter. I edge inside, push around the stall wall, and there she is.

And the shadow of the day….

My parents tried to help, tried to counsel me. I wasn't a good patient. I stole the car, broke the passenger limit. I damaged the car, I ran from graduation. I went out late at night, I went to a party where there was alcohol. I skipped school. Somehow, word got out that I was with Margo on her last night. That blue M was pretty damning. It wasn't long before someone came forward about it. It then exploded. Everyone reported what had happened to them, what Margo had done at one time or another. It was like since she was dead, the code on it being between us High Schoolers was broken. Everyone had a story, had an injustice. They found the spray paint in the back of the car. Suddenly, it wasn't just Margo, it was Margo and Quinten. I got dumped with the litany of her crimes, stretching back seven years. From minor things to serious felonies: Grand theft auto, destruction of property, assault and battery, Breaking and entering, the works. Thankfully, most of which I was only an accomplice to. It meant no jail time. Lots of community service though, and ruined college chances. No school wanted someone like me, with that degree of crimes on his name and record. My future ruined by her.

Will embrace the world in grey…

I couldn't blame her, not at first. She was my miracle, after all. She opened my eyes to what the world was, in her own way. She just didn't see the parts that I did the same. I wasn't living, but she wasn't living long. She could only see the monotony, the drudgery of everyday life. She felt doomed to the stereotypical, chained to the life without substance, without meaning. She wanted to be something more than just a girl, or just a woman. She wanted to be something special. In her attempts, she didn't see dangers of the world, didn't see all the ways it could go wrong. She still believed in life as a fairy tale, that she could overcome any obstacle to have her dream. She didn't see that somethings you can't overcome, you can't beat. She was reckless, I was cautious. If we had embraced each other sooner, maybe it would have turned out all right. Instead, it was too late. We had reached the climax of our lives by the time we really met. Our ending was written.

And the sun will set for you…

She wasn't breathing, that was my first clue. Really, the smell was the first clue. My near second clue was the dried blood on her clothes. I didn't see a wound, but my vision was getting blurry, so I can't say. I backed out of there, ran for the others. Amidst the questions, I somehow choked it out. Someone called 911. We waited. It smelled. All I could think about was the fact that she was gone. After a few minutes, Radar kind of checked his phone. He murmured that we were going to miss the dance. I shook him off. A few minutes later, he tried again. They wanted to go home, to enjoy their last days. I numbly handed Ben the keys. They could go, I'd stay. I'd try to explain. I sat on that porch, watched as they slowly drove away.

In cards and flowers on your window….

Her grave was pretty, for a few days. It had all sorts of flowers on it, beautiful bouquets of all kinds. It was a riot of color. By day five, it was grey. The colors had faded, the petals blown away. Each time I came, I placed a single blade of grass on the headstone. It wasn't much, but it felt right. They didn't understand that Margo wasn't like flowers. She wasn't much like grass either. Margo was paper. She had meaning, but only what was written on her. Only what others gave her. She wasn't natural, wasn't defining. She was defined. Somehow, rumor got out that I was the last one, that I had confessed my love to her before she died. I get cards of sympathy. None of them understood. None of them realize. She's gone, and they somehow think that a card will make it better? That was my first act of my own. The first time I stepped out of the legend of Margo Roth Spiegelman, and her shimmering, warm, comforting Paper Town.

Taking all those cards, and burning them down.