I just saw Cloverfield twice and I loved it (obviously). I decided to pay some tribute to it. This is from Rob's POV, just after the end of the movie. This does have spoilers in it.

Disclaimer: No, I don't own Cloverfield. Why would I be writing FANfiction if I did?

There are probably a bunch of mistakes in this so feel free to point them out, right?

Enjoy.

-

He could feel it coming.

Through the blood on his lips.

Through the uncomfortable weightlessness of his legs.

Through the unsteady palpitating of his struggling heart.

The warm mixture of blood and vomit pushing its way through his up his raw, stinging throat, onto his tasteless tongue, out of his trembling lips –

His eyes wouldn't focus.

They spun around dizzily, taking in anything and everything in a blurred miasma.

The boulder resting on his stomach, his legs.

The lifeless eyes of Elizabeth McIntyre.

He found he couldn't meet her stare, but was unable to turn away (literally).

He was the last of their little survival group.

His brother was dead. Jason . . .

His best friend was dead. Hud . . .

His 'girlfriend' was dead. Beth . . .

Even his best friend's crush hadn't survived. Marlena . . . -

Was this it?

Was this all there was to his life?

Is this what he worked so hard for?

To end up in Central Park pinned to the ground by boulders, waiting to bleed to death?

To let go of all the people closest to him . . . ?

Is this what it all comes down to?

Is this –

His train of thought was cut off by another vomiting fit.

He was beginning to feel light-headed.

Lost,his mind told him vaguely.All lost . . .

He was just so tired . . .

What was the point of staying aw-

"Rob?"

His hazy eyes shot open. Although he wasn't able to focus, he could make out the obscure shape of a person.

A familiar person.

Voices . . .

His brother?

"Rob? Hey, Rob, can you hear me?"

He felt a hand land gently on his shoulder, but even the slight pressure stung like hell.

He shifted his head toward the afflicted shoulder, mouth wide open in a silent scream.

"Sorry," he heard Jason murmur.

He tried to speak but only agitated gurgling erupted from his windpipe.

"Don't talk, lil bro. We'll get you out of here."

The indistinct form shifted, stood up, and leaned against the large rock holding his legs and stomach captive beneath it.

This time he did scream. It grated through his blood encrusted throat. It sounded feral, animalistic.

An animal waiting to die.

His breathing was now harsh, irregular.

"Alright," he heard his brother say. "We'll just wait here, ok?"

He didn't even have the strength to nod.

His brother sat down beside him and began running lithe fingers through his tangled hair.

Felt good.

He took a deep breath, ignored the pain the flared in his chest.

"-ove hyah, . . . b-brother."

He imagined he saw Jason smile.

"Me too, now get some rest."

He obliged.

Life was good.

Death felt better.

Delusions of a man balancing on the edge of mortality.

Fin.

-

Like it? Yes, no? (Yes, it's supposed to be choppy.)

EDIT: There, is everyone happy?