Michael took a long swig from the bottle of cheap whiskey in his hand. He was three sheets to the wind already and well aware of it. But he didn't care. He deserved it. He deserved whatever repercussions the whiskey gave him. Because when he woke up tomorrow morning, he'd probably still be alive. And that was the worst thing that could happen to him.

there's always one reason
to feel not good enough
and it's hard at the end of the day

He pulled the faded jean jacket closer around him and sat on the soft cold ground. Slowly, he traced his fingers over the large gray stone, and the lettering beneath it:

Here Lies Maria DeLuca
Friend and Daughter
1983-2000
We Shall Never Forget You

I need some distraction
oh beautiful release
memory seeps from my veins

Yeah, waking up alive tomorrow morning would be the worst thing that could happen to him. He would wake up knowing Maria couldn't. That he couldn't hide in the shadows and watch her smile. He couldn't hear her laugh, or her voice. The swing of her hips as she walked. The facade she tried to build around her to make her seem strong. Teflon strong. But he saw through her facade as easily as she saw through his. That's why it hurt her so much more when he left her.

let me be empty
and weightless and maybe
I'll find some peace tonight

Idiot. The word vibrated through his body. For that's what he was. He left her because two stones and a message from some woman said to. Because it was his 'destiny.' Bullshit. That's what it was. He left her for Isabel. A girl who he grew up thinking was his sister. A girl who was his fiance in another life. A girl he loved only as a friend, and could never love as a lover. Maria knew this, and she watched with anguish day after day as he tried to convince himself that this was right. Destiny. Bullshit. Idiot.

in the arms of an angel
fly away from here
from this dark cold hotel room
and the endlessness that you fear

Maybe that was why she decided to go out with a man she met at the CrashDown. A man she knew for less than 10 minutes. A man who raped her, and stabbed her repeatedly in the heart. A heart that was constantly beating with life. A heart that now lay shredded and cold beneath the Earth. Never to beat again. At least the asshole was caught.

you are pulled from the wreckage
of your silent reverie
you're in the arms of the angel
may you find some comfort there

He sucked the last drops of the burning liquid down his throat and starred hopelessly at the empty bottle. His hand tightened around the neck as he relived all the memories with pixie girl. The bottle shattered. He jumped. Slowly he picked up a piece of the sharp glass and looked at it in wonder. He brought the sharpest point to his wrist, holding it there. He pressed it lightly and stopped. He willed himself to do it. Slice the flesh and the delicate hose. Let his life blood pour out onto the dirt over Maria's fresh grave. But he dropped it, and put his head in his hands and cried.

so tired of the straight line
and everywhere you turn
there's vultures and thieves at your back

The message of Maria's death. A sudden flash during dinner. The feel of something sharp in his chest. His heart and breath stopping for an instant. The picture of the blonde fairy in a dark ally with her clothes torn off, and blood spilling from her chest. The picture of a man, tall with black hair and maroon eyes. He ran. Isabel, Max, and Tess at his heels. He ran smack into the man. He ran smack in front of Maria. Or what used to be Maria. She wasn't the Maria he remembered, she was just another body, dead body, in an ally. A cold dark ally. On Saturday, June 27, 2000.

and the storm keeps on twisting
you keep on building the lie
that you make up for all that you lack

Gone. Beyond the point of resurrection. Max could heal the dying, he couldn't heal the dead. She was dead. He had begged his friend. In fits of anger, turning to tears. But Max didn't even try, his finger prints weren't on this one. The man's were. Isabel called the police. They came and found him on his knees, cling to the already frozen hand.

it don't make no difference
escaping one last time
it's easier to believe in this sweet madness oh
this glorious sadness that brings me to my knees

No one was ever the same. Amy moved. As far away from Roswell as she could. Away from the alien nation she had called her home. Far, far away. Liz was a ghost. She never smiled, or laughed anymore. Just moved on her way as if she was a dream. Maybe she thought she was in a dream. A nightmare, and when she awoke, Maria would be babbling about a fabulous date she had gone on. And how she rarely thought of Space Boy anymore. And the facade would grow. But this was harsh reality. And winter had come instead of summer this year.

in the arms of an angel
fly away from here
from this dark cold hotel room
and the endlessness that you fear

Curling up in the fetal position on the soft dirt of the freshly made grave, Michael cried himself to sleep. Imagining Maria stroking his hair and singing. Singing with an angels voice. For she was an angel now.

you are pulled from the wreckage
of your silent reverie
you're in the arms of the angel
may you find some comfort there

Maria smiled sadly as she finished her song. She blew lightly on the spiky haired boys face and he fell asleep. Sitting on her grave stone, she watched him. She was his guide now. His angel. Not really an angel, just a spirit. But if he thought her an angel, she would be his angel.