A/N: This is something I wrote for a short story in English. It's kind of based off the Lovely Bones. All own characters though, just takes place in Suzie's type of heaven. A little sad. Not too depressing though. So if you love, if you hate it, review it!

I always thought it would be fun to watch my own funeral. Well, maybe not fun exactly, but at the very least interesting. It isn't. My name is, (or was?) Christina Ponte, born April 8th, 1998, died March 18th, 2011. And I do not want to be remembered as the girl with the most boring funeral ever.

I can't blame my parents for it's dullness, they just couldn't bear to schedule it. So they hired a funeral director whom I had never met to plan my ceremony, if something so depressing could be called a ceremony. She asked the school to pick a student to make a brief speech at the service, as well as my cousin Maya and Aunt Marilyn. Thankfully, Jess, Natalie and Amy came to the rescue. They called my mom and requested to all do eulogies. It's the only thing personal about the whole ordeal. Besides the flowers, my friend Lucy picked my favorite flowers. Good old Luce.

The teachers picked some goody two shoes girl that I didn't even know to make her standard speech. Same words, different name. How touching. I would have died of boredom, if I could, you know, die again. It seemed as though my funeral was taking a nosedive. For example, the family speeches were okay, but they cried the whole time. Not being able to give them a hug was killing me. Sorry, bad pun.

It's hard to look at my parents, just gazing straight ahead with empty eyes and mask- like faces. I would almost rather stare at my older brother Tyler. His bloodshot eyes are downcast and his knees are folded up against his chest, like he is keeping himself from falling apart. It's just heartbreaking to watch them mourn over me from my vantage point of a corner alcove with velvety red cushions on the dark-stained wooden seats against the wall. There's a huge picture window that I can view any part of the world from. And as much as I want to, I can't tear my eyes away.

I nervously tapped my fingers on the windowsill. As soon as I saw my three best friends, I collapsed into a fit of hysterics. How could I have doubted them? Just their clothing momentarily cheered me. Jess wore her standard paint splattered jeans, gray baggy sweatshirt, and muddy sneakers. Amy had on an electric blue t-shirt sporting talking toasters that we bought while shopping together. But Natalie, Natalie was the best. She was clad in a pillbox hat with a veil covering half her face, black elbow gloves with no thumbs, five inch black pumps, fishnet stockings, and silver hoops hanging to her shoulders. I wish I could playfully chide her, "You're at a funeral, not in a 1940's black-and-white movie!" and have a laugh about it. But I can't. And as delighted as I was by their get-up, I knew most guests would be scandalized. As much as I don't want a boring funeral, I don't want everyone to be outraged by it. I can't stop watching it either, it's like I'm bound to this scene with super glue, and I can't rip myself free.

Standing in front of the congregation, they discussed our crazy adventures, inside jokes, and weird habits of mine. Jess said it was fun to argue with me. Amy recounted our insane late night ramblings at her beach house (the one with the Oompa- Loompas was my favorite). Natalie was last. She stepped up to the podium, gripped both sides with her gloved hands, and started, "I can just picture Christina watching over us right now, laughing her head off about my outfit. She would say, 'You're going to a funeral, not a 1940's movie!' At least it's one last joke I get to share with her." Natalie stopped to inhale deeply. If I could have, I would have plummeted through my picture window back to Earth in shock. Natalie never stops to breathe when she talks. I was still recovering from that when she continued. "I remember the day Chris and I met, back in fourth grade. At first, I thought she was too well behaved for me. Soon, I realized that she was just better at not being discovered. Then in fifth grade, we sat across from each other. Whenever I got caught reading in class, Christina would catch my eye and we'd collapse into silent giggles. That's how we became best friends. I remember the last time I saw Christina like it was two minutes ago. But it also feels an eternity away. We were at Lucy's house for her 13th birthday party. Chris was so excited; she'd be thirteen in three weeks. Lucy's house was just up the road, so Christina decided to walk home. She smiled at me over her shoulder, pulling on her fuzzy brown winter fleece. Then she turned around and slammed the sticky front door shut. And I never saw her again." Maybe I should stop watching. It was making me yearn for happier times.

I observed a little longer. I see Oci put a pack of Gummi Bears on the side of my coffin while she's saying her last goodbye. She remembered my favorite candy! Alyssa did the same thing with a plump stuffed penguin. My eyes were watering from their consideration. I watched my entire family cry next to my limp, lifeless form nestled into my favorite loose gray shirt with my hair spilling out across my shoulders. My mom couldn't even cry, I think she's still in shock. Or maybe she has just shed all her tears. "I love you all," I whisper. Then I turn and walk away from my morbidly plush lookout. It's like Natalie said, an instant yet an eternity. I could watch forever, or start trying to move on. Because dwelling on my past isn't going to improve the future.