Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me (but if they did, I can tell you I wouldn't be writing a story on *this* topic)

A/N: Okay, I just had to write this story; I'm a big fan of Clear and she was one of the reasons I went to see the movie. I've been walking around the house, randomly whining "Clear" -I have, just ask my brother and my friends- so I had to write the story. You can call it a vent, you can call it a tribute, call it whatever you like and you don't have to like it, but since you're reading it, you might as well tell me what you think. So, please review whether it's good or bad. Continue...


The rain poured in thick sheets over the side of her beige umbrella, creating a miniature waterfall in front of her face. It always seemed to be raining at funerals, she thought grimly, thought it didn't seem to be much of a funeral.

Kimberly Corman and fellow survivor, Thomas Burke, were the only people in Restfield Cemetery on that rainy afternoon, hunched together underneath the sloping umbrella. Despite the slope of the off color umbrella, Kimberly could see the headstone in front of her, standing out boldly amongst the backdrop of rain, which was running down its side.

The rain failed to block of the inscription that the stone proudly displayed, an inscription that Kimberly never wanted to read. She hadn't known Clear Rivers for very long but she knew that she owed her life to the deceased; if not for Clear, Kimberly knew she wouldn't be standing her now.

In a way, Kimberly wondered if it was fair; fair for her to be standing on the squishy ground, reading the inscription of her friend, when it was her fault that it was there in the first place. If not for her...if not for her Clear wouldn't be wherever she was now.

It would be Kimberly in the ground instead, and Clear living her "life" in a padded cell. But was it really a life? Clear had once questioned that question when she first met Kimberly, and she wondered if Clear would prefer staying locked up for the rest of her life, or knowing that she had saved two people.

Kimberly walked out from underneath the umbrella, despite Thomas's protests, and, ignoring the heavy rain, knelt down in front of the drab marking, running her fingers along the wet inscription. Clear didn't have an family that Kimberly knew of, and knew that she owed it to her savior to pay respects, as she had at everyone's funeral. But none were as important as this one; they hadn't been saved, they hadn't survived, and Kimberly knew -in a way- that it wasn't her fault. She had simply prolonged their inevitable deaths, there was nothing she could do to help them, no matter how hard she tried.

But Clear, Clear was another story. If not for her, begging for help and understanding, Clear would have never found herself mixed up in the very thing that she had fought so hard to avoid. It was that thought that caused her tears to fall, mingling with the rain on her cheeks. Perhaps that was way it always seemed to rain at funerals, so the mourners couldn't see each others physical grief.

Kimberly knew that being one of the two survivors of the disaster on the highway was bitter sweet and when she thought about it, it left a bad taste in her mouth. She had the chance at a full life, and finally dying when she was old and past ready to do so.

But did that make it right? Did it make it right for her to get the chance to grow old and die when so many others did not; fifteen-year-old Timmy, twenty-something Clear, and Kat, Rory and Eugene. What law said that they had to die young and afraid? What law said she didn't?

Kimberly often wondered if being a survivor was worth all the trouble; she knew not a day would go by that she didn't think of Clear, or the others. Clear, who offered her advice and in her own strange way, comfort.

As she traced Clear's name with her fingers, Kimberly whispered, "Is it worth it?" She almost wished that she would get an answer from something, from someone.

She wasn't surprised when she didn't receive one and she bowed her head, resting it against Clear's tombstone, the coolness of it comforted her slightly. "Clear, I'm sorry." Kimberly muttered, pressing her lips against the cool stone. "If any of us should have survived, it should have been you."

She was surprised, however, when someone did have something to say to her words. "Don't say that, Kimberly." Thomas Burke mumbled, standing over her protectively with the umbrella.

Kimberly was startled slightly, she hadn't heard him approach; she looked up, squinting her eyes against the rain, gazing up into his face. "Why? It's true, if it wasn't for me..." She trailed off, not taking her hands away from the headstone.

Thomas knelt down beside her, resting the metal of the umbrella against his shoulder. "Clear helped us, she saved our lives. That's all that matters." Thomas told her, glancing over at her.

Kimberly just nodded, she had nothing to say to him, and in the back of her mind, knew what words would come out of his mouth next. "We're survivors Kimberly, that's what matters." He added.

"Yeah." She mumbled, not meeting his glance, not wanting to.

Whatever that meant.