Why god why? Why do I do this to myself? Ahem, sorry, bit of personal time there...I was doing my assignment, all happy (not really...you know, it's an assignment, why would I be happy?) and I was reading a bunch of short stories and saw the words 'not fade away' which I instinctively stored away for a later time...then I went to write my own short story and I planned this...for another thing completely...and then I knew that I just had to make it into a fanfic...right then and there! So here I am, havent finished my assignment, written yet another depressing story, and I still havent got any inspiration for smoke and mirrors...graaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar!
Okay, I'm over it...I'll just fail, shall I? Hmmm, sounds like a plan! Anyway, onto the story...this is the first time that I have ever written a story and cried. (I'm sure that leaves ya'all with warm, happy feelings) I dont know why, but I never cry when writing my own stories, but this one really got to me...just the thought of being in that position I guess...so please read and review and I love you...and I am going to do my freaking assignment damnit! Oh, this is set in Season 9, in case you didnt figure it out...hmm, but I just realised that I didnt write in Tulsa...this was after there...yeah
I do not own friends/actors/characters but I do own an itchy underarm...I dont know why I told you that.
My name is Chandler.
It's a name that's always been considered odd for me; too stuffy, too formal, too not me. I had always agreed when people said that, and complained about my name on various occasions. But let me tell you a secret. There seems to be no harm in doing it, especially not at this moment in time.
I sort of like my name.
It's different, it's not me, but then could you think of a name that is me?
And besides, when you put it together with Bing, the classiness goes out the window and it sounds like something out of a movie from the 50's.
So there is my secret, and I hope you don't tell. You probably will, but it most likely won't affect me in any way.
But that really isn't the point today. None of that is important, so I'll start again.
My name is Chandler, and this is the last day of my life.
You can call me a pessimist for saying that, but it's true. Today is the last day of my life.
How do I know that?
Well, there are many ways as to how I could have clued myself in on that fact.
I could be psychic, did you ever think of it that way? Phoebe is. She knows when she is going to die, why can't I?
But that wasn't it.
I could have dreamt about it. I dream about a lot of things, maybe I dreamt about my death.
But that wasn't it either.
Someone could have told me, but would I really have believed them? No.
So that definitely wasn't it.
I knew I was going to die simply because of the scene splayed out in front of me. Corpses, lying on the floor. Blood, staining the carpet. And me, back pressed against a dirty wall, gun pressed against my forehead.
That is how I knew I was going to die.
It would take a miracle for me to survive, and I never had been one to believe in miracles. Chances, yes, but that seemed far off too.
Add that to the fact that the man holding the gun had created those corpses with barely a second glance, and he had already given me my chance.
The chance to run; to get home, to be free and alive and happy.
Most likely not happy; to have survived when so many others did not was not exactly the cause to be happy. It would have been a horrible feeling and it would have left me feeling guilty.
But that didn't matter today.
I was about to live my final moments, nothing really mattered. Nothing in this room anyway.
Other things mattered, Friends, family, loved ones. They were the ones that mattered; they were the ones that I was upset about.
If I had have known that today would be my last day, I would have stopped. I would have taken longer to say goodbye to everybody, taking in their faces as I left. I would have hugged them all, remembering what each one felt like in my arms. I would have inhaled each of their scents, so distinct, so real, so familiar. I would have told them I loved them, and then I would have turned to her.
If I had have known I would never see her again, I would have taken longer to bask in the sheer presence that was Monica. I would have taken in each angle of her face, a face that was more beautiful then anything I had ever witnessed in my life. I would have recognised every curve on her body. I would have kissed her till the end of the world, and I would have taken her into our bedroom and made love to her.
And I would have told her, for the millionth time, that she was my everything.
But I hadn't known that today would be my last, so I had left, bellowing out a quick goodbye as I headed for the doorway; my friends so caught up in the show they were watching that they had barely answered. I had high fived my wife, a silly thing that we did on occasion and I had left.
I wonder if they would regret not saying a proper goodbye to me either. I wonder if they thought the same thing. That if they had known that today would be my last day, that they would have stopped to take in my scent and remember the way my body felt in their arms. I wonder if they would have shed a tear, begging me not to go; begging me never to leave them.
I wonder if they will shed a tear when they find out. I wonder if they will laugh, in the future, not now. Laugh when they remember me, not cry. Crying is a wonderful thing at the beginning. Mourning is good, but it should never go on too long.
I wonder if they will wish that our places had been swapped, that they had died and I had stayed with Monica. I hope to hell they don't. No one is any more important then me, and selfishly, I am glad that it is me. It saves me the pain of losing my friends and my Monica, although that isn't true.
I am still losing them. Never again will I be able to bask in their presence, instead having to watch from afar, watch as they go through their everyday ritual; moving on away from me. Monica finding another man to love, another man to fill the space that I no longer fill. A man to give her the child that I desperately wanted to provide for her. Another man to make love to her and hold her through the night.
And I will be forced to watch that, knowing that she will never be mine again and that I will be alone.
They call it heaven, but as the gun presses harder into my forehead, I realise that it is nothing but Hell, poorly concealed with the shimmering light and white clouds that I expect to find when I get there.
I had heard on many occasions that death is only the beginning and in a way it is true. But at the same time, it is still an end. An end of happiness, of warmth, of love, of freedom. An end of the most wonderful thing in my life.
Even though it will pain me to see her move on, I know that it will pain me more to see her not. She has to move on because I would hate for her to be mourning me in five years. Ten years, twenty. Still clinging to my shirt, inhaling my scent and having tears run down her face. It would be a horrible sight to see and I hope to god that she does move on, and that she is happy.
I hope that they all are happy.
My friends. They deserve nothing but the best, and I can't wait for them to grow and to settle and find the stability that they all long for.
Joey, my best friend. I long for Joey to make it in Hollywood, and finally settle down with a girl that is good enough for him, because he is worthy of only the best. I know he will be angry, confused, hurt and most of all, upset. I know he adores me and that thought scares me in a way. Having someone that devoted to you is a wonderful thing but it is also terrifying. I love him, simple as that. And I wish him the world. I hope he finds someone else to have a beer with; to watch Baywatch with, to have excessively long hugs with. I hope he finds everything he dreams of and I hope that he is happier then anything. Most of all, I hope that my death won't tear away the childlike wonder that he holds in side of him, because there is nothing more appealing about him then that. My best friend. God, it hurts to think of that. I love you.
Phoebe, beautiful Phoebe. She is special and I think she knows it. I also think she knows that life owes her may things; having taken so many things away from her in the past. She's not conceited; she is just more clued in then most. I hope that she finds what she is looking for, and that she will be dancing for many years to come, blonde hair flowing like always. I love to watch her smile and dance. She has a spirit that I have never encountered and she is amazing. I love you Pheebs.
Rachel, just as beautiful as Phoebe. My pretend baby sister, the one I have always secretly felt protective of. I love her more than she knows and I only wish I could have stayed to watch her grow, to tell her that I am proud of her. To watch Emma grow into an amazing woman, which I know she will. If she is anything like her mother, she will. My amazing Rachel, with the smile that lights up a room. I love you.
Ross, my buddy, I wish he knew how much I admired him. He was the person I clung to for so long, and I have another secret. I loved listening to him talk about dinosaurs, even if I didn't show it. It was a wonder to see someone speak so passionately about something and I will miss that. My only wish is that both he and Rachel will get their act together, because it is driving me crazy. I love you buddy.
And Monica. My beautiful Monica, more beautiful than a thousand sunsets. I wish you could hear me right now. But you can't. Thankfully, I have told you so many times how much I love you, but I think this situation merits one more time. I love you.
I love you.
I have thought so much in the past few seconds, and now that the gun is being cocked, I have time for only one more thought.
Please don't forget me. I will not fade away, and I hope that you will not let me leave the corner of your minds, making you laugh when you least expect it.
I love you all and I hope you know that.
Please don't forget me.