A/N: This fic is a little different from my others, partly because it's written in first-person POV. The idea came to me one day and I thought about it for a long time before actually sitting down to write it. And, like I said in the summary, it is VERY loosely based on the New York Times bestseller list book The Lovely Bones. But don't worry, I'm not stealing the book, only the basis of it. This story is very different, but if you've read The Lovely Bones(which I recommend!) you may see the similarities. This story takes place right now - Season 9. Anyway, please read and review.

From Up In Heaven


I'll never forget the day I died.

Well, no one ever does. Most of us have it imprinted in our minds. For a while, it's all we think about. It's like our lives revolve around our death. My therapist, Jessie, advised me to let it go. There's nothing you can do to change it and you'll just be miserable if you concentrate on it.

Yes, but I want to concentrate on it! I exclaimed. There were so many things I could have done, could have changed, if only I'd known that day would be my last of Earth. So many people to say good-bye to. So many to apologize to and laugh with and cry with and promise to remember forever.

But no. I died. Unaware. Thankfully, without much pain. But it was still horrible. It's not pleasant to die. You see and feel everything for a while, but then you drift away and watch it all. That last breath rushes out of you like a balloon deflating, and you hear a sound like a train running you down. And then you're sucked up, up, through a whirlpool of lights and sounds and people. You see everyone you love one last time, but they can't see you. Sometimes, if they are special in a certain way that I have yet to figure out, they can feel you, like a breeze floating by, or a lost hand touching their shoulder lightly. But it's only for a moment.

And that's when the real story begins.

The morning before I died, I got to see all my friends one last time. For this, I am grateful. They were all together, in my apartment - a great big mass of living, breathing joy. My husband, who could have been out of the state, was there to see me one last time. My best friends. My niece. I only wish the others - my nephew, my parents - could have been there too. But I am grateful for those who were. Chandler, Ross, Rachel, Phoebe, Joey, Emma. God, I love them.

I woke up nestled in Chandler's arms. The first thing I felt was warmth surrounding me. I kissed the tip of his nose and he woke up smiling.

I made breakfast that morning for all of them after Ross and Rachel came over exhausted and Joey announced he was out of - well, everything. We talked and joked and played with five-month old Emma. I made her laugh that morning. Granted, it was because I dropped egg down my shirt and tried to fish it out one-handed, but still - she laughed. Then, I kissed my husband for the last time and went to work.

Nothing out of the ordinary happened at work that day. I went through the motions of head chef, excited to get back home. I was ovulating, and we all know what that means! I left that night in a rush. The streets were jam-packed, and I opted to walk to the nearest subway station rather than take a cab.

It embarrasses me to recount how I died. If I'd just been a little more careful, a little less rushed, it all could have been changed. On Earth and up here, I have been described as neurotic, and, as I've exclaimed many times, "You would've though I'd been smart enough to see it coming!"

But I didn't. No, I was thinking about Chandler. My husband, the love of my life, the father to my unborn, not even conceived children. I like to think he was the last thing I thought of before my good-byes. It's romantic.

So anyway, I stepped down off the curb and began to cross the street. What I didn't see was a car, driven by a maniac, barreling down the less crowded street at sixty miles an hour. It made so little noise that I didn't see or hear it until it was practically on top of me. I heard the loud honk of a nearby car, warning me, and thought, How rude.

And then it hit me. I heard the smack as the car slammed into me, sending me flying up in the air. I hit the ground with a dismal crunch, and as I lay there, I could have sworn I'd broken every bone in my body. (I hadn't, I found out later.)

The car didn't hit me again, and as I was lying there on the ground, bleeding from hundreds of wounds, many passer-by ran over. Women were screaming and crying out, and there must have been a dozen calls to 911. Little did these people know they were wasting their hard-earned minutes.

"Dear," an older woman said, kneeling by my head. "Dear, can you hear me? Don't close your eyes. I'm a nurse. You're going to be just fine."

They talk about your life flashing before your eyes, and I am ready to vouch for that. But this wasn't a fast-forwarded Monica movie I was watching. I saw all the people I cared about. Chandler, Ross, Joey, Rachel, Phoebe, and me, gathered around in Central Perk years ago - Ross and Ben - Rachel and Ross, proudly displaying their baby daughter Emma - my parents and family - everyone talking and laughing and hugging and loving each other.

I saw my parents and Ross when we were children. I saw Nana and my aunts and uncles and grandparents. I remembered Christmases and Hanukkahs and Thanksgivings, then such a bore, but now treasured family memories. I wished my mother was there with me. She may not have been the best mother I could have had, but she was the one I got, and I loved her. I may have even called out for her - I can't remember.

I remembered all the good times I'd had with my best friend Rachel, in high school and after. Rachel was the one to teach me everything I knew about men and sex, even if she didn't do it in the best way. I looked back on all the jokes and fights we'd had, all the tears and joy, the sleep-overs and parties and boyfriends we survived. I wanted to yell at her then, tell her to get over her damned pride and admit that she loved my brother!

I saw Phoebe and Joey, who had been like my children for so long. Phoebe was a self-described flake, and she helped me for years to balance, to not stretch myself out too thin. And Joey never failed to make me laugh, usually by some mistake or anomaly. For some reason, I became confused, and thought they were together. They'll be great together. They'll be wonderful parents. Little did I know that I was experiencing a strange sort of ESP, something many feel before they die.

And Chandler. I saw him as I did the night we first made love. I saw him the day he told me he loved me, and I said it back. I remembered the tears that filled my eyes when he proposed for the fourth time, and I finally accepted. And I saw him on our wedding day - the day that was, in fact, the happiest day of my life. I wanted him there with me, holding my hand, kissing me, telling me everything was going to be okay. I wanted him instead of the strangers who were there with me, comforting me, and the hard, unkind gravel that would be my deathbed.

I heard the sirens coming nearer and nearer. "Everything will be fine," I was promised. "The ambulance is coming. Don't worry, ma'am, you're going to be fine." But my heart was slowing down - I could hear it beating in my ears, could hear the blood rushing through my slowly dying brain. It was then that my vision started to blur and dim, until the sky was just a blue dot at the center of my pupils. I was becoming detached from my body.

That was when I knew it was ending. I was scared and sad, but none of the emotions were too intense, because I was in pain. No, the horrible, gut-wrenching emotions were saved for later.

I watched the faces above me waver and flicker. I begged them silently to save me, the final hope of a dying woman. I now knew the feelings described in those stories about soldiers dying on the battlefield. War was being fought around them, and they were in the middle, alone and cold and fading. It didn't matter that everyone was around them, that guns or horns were making noise, that soldiers were yelling or people were whispering - no, they were alone in their own heads, alone with the ends of thoughts.

I thought about how I never got to have children. You failed, Monica, I thought sadly. You never pleased your mother. No, I said. She loved me, and I succeeded in life. She loved me.

Now someone else was speaking, telling me to try and not close my eyes. You won't get to see Emma or Ben grow up. You won't see Ross and Rachel or Phoebe and Joey marry. They want you there. Hold on. Hold on for a little while. Who was talking to me? Whose voice was that? I knew that voice.

"I can't," I gasped.

"What?" the woman above me asked. "What was that, dear?"

Please, Monica. Don't go yet. I need you here. I need you to come home to me. I love you.

"Chandler," I breathed. "Chandler. I love you too."

"She's talking to someone," the older woman said. "She just said I love you. Dear God. Who are you talking to?"

"Chandler," I whispered. "Tell Chandler I love him."

"What's your name, sweetheart?" another woman asked. I watched as she began to cry, and I wanted to reach up and touch her cold, wet cheek and whisper, Don't cry. Everything will be fine. Don't cry. Even though I didn't know her. That woman is precious to me now. She is the last person I saw.

The sirens were above me. "Move out of the way, people! Move!" I didn't like this new voice. I much preferred the kind, soft ones of the women.

"Monica," I said with the last of my strength. "Monica Bing."

And then I died.

A/N: Okay, you may be able to tell my now that this fic will be a little depressing. Please tell me what you think so far! Reviews are highly appreciated!