Titanic.

“Shut up.”
                             “Why should I? Honestly.
                             Do you hear yourself?
                             Pitiful.”
“I said shut up.”
“You’re nothing more than a porthole on the doomed walls of a sinking ship.
So utterly confining. I can do nothing but see through
Your gleaming façade. But I am too late to save myself.
Far too late to save you.”
“You have no business in saving me.”
                             “You’re an awful coward, you know that?
                             You can’t bear to face the reality of your own hellish life.”
“That’s a lie.”
                             “You would know. You’re whole life is a lie.”
“I don’t have to justify myself to you.”
                             “Me? You can’t even justify your actions to yourself!
                             Look at you, you brooding whore.
                             It’s sad, really.
                             Nothing but a porthole.
With splintering glass shards slowly giving in to the water’s push.”
“Dammit.”
“I promised myself many years ago, under the foul reign of my personal eclipse
that if I ever has another friend ever again
I would never abandon her.
No matter the cost.
No matter what.”
“Just leave me alone.”
                             “I can’t.  I wish I could. I wish it all the time
                             that I could escape your inevitable venom.
                             But yet, I still stand here.
                             Eaten out and Hollow.”
“Shut up.”
“Can you feel it too? The insuppressible air blowing from the cherry lips of Fate?
There’s no denying it now.”
“I said shut up.”
                             “Here is comes. The rush of water. Terrifying lasts gulps of air.
                             How strange it all is. How long was the ship really sinking?”

[Slash. Thud. Gasp. Bleed.]

Silence.
The porthole is broken.