A/N: So, like, I know I shouldn't do more than one fic at once, since I barely have time to update one, but I had this sudden inspiration that I just couldn't ignore and homework that could ignore. (Not should, but could.) This fic is very different from my others, I think. It's a little…odd, I guess. But, if you can get past that, then please, try it. ;) Hopefully, it's not too far-fetched. Well, I guess I'll just see, eh? Please read and review, thanks! :)
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this fic…
Phoebe walked dreamily though the park, humming a happy tune to herself. She took in a deep breath of the crisp December air. Her nose and cheeks were nipped pink from the cold, yet she was unfazed. Instead, she enjoyed the peacefulness of the early morning, as the tree branches rustled in the wind and her hair flew over her eyes.
She should have been in school. Yet, how could she stay in class all day? There was a perfectly beautiful world, which the teachers never taught about, just outside the window. It didn't seem like she was breaking any rules, when she was merely experiencing life firsthand. In fact, the only crime would be keeping her inside.
Aside from a few straggling joggers, the park was completely empty. There were no children playing on the swings, no babies crying, no couples kissing on the benches. It was in the perfect state of abandonment. She sat down behind a large tree, overlooking a bike trail, and pulled out a notebook and pen.
The words hadn't yet left her fingers, although she could feel them at the brink. She shut her eyes and imagined a world full of letters and colors, willing the geyser of inspiration to overflow. Instead, she heard a rusting behind her, and, before she could open her eyes, she felt the cold steal against her neck and everything went completely black.
- - - - - - - -
Monica smiled as she walked down the hall, her boyfriend's strong arm wrapped tightly around her waist. For the first time in her life, she felt as if she truly belonged in her school. Whenever she would pass by the other girls, they would prod elbows into each other's ribs and whisper. They were jealous. Monica's smile grew, and, her boyfriend, thinking it was directed at him, smiled back. She blushed.
When they arrived at Monica's locker, he pushed gently pushed her back against the locker and kissed her. Monica couldn't help but feel slightly self-conscious as her boyfriend's hands reached lower and lower down her back. Still, she didn't want to say anything. It was normal to see a couple engaged in a tight tryst throughout the school hallways. She didn't want to seem apprehensive. If he was happy, she was happy.
It was odd though because, through her first three years of high school, Monica had managed to convince herself she wanted nothing to do with those types of people. However, once confidence in herself replaced the barriers of obesity, she found herself wanting to become just like everyone else. It might have been shallow, but since she was finally able to, she wanted to fit in.
Once the couple broke apart, her boyfriend rested his forehead against hers. Monica looked up at him and smiled demurely.
"You gonna come to my game today?" he whispered.
"Of course."
He smiled. "Great. Wanna get going?"
"You know what? I'll meet you there. I have a few things to do first."
"All right, but don't come too late. You wanna get a good seat."
She smiled, "I won't, John. Don't worry."
"Great," He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips, "I'll see you soon."
"Okay, bye."
Monica watched him walk down the crowded hallway, until she could no longer see him through the sea of anxious students, and grinned. She then faced her locker and began turning the knob, until the green lock clicked and she was able to open the door. She put her bag on the floor, removed a math book, and carefully aligned its binding with the rest of the books that stood in tidy order. She examined the locker thoroughly, fixed a piece of paper that was protruding from one of her binders, and then closed the door.
She was about to walk past her locker, when something caught her eye. In a space in between her locker and the next set of lockers, there were some new markings scratched into the white paint, revealing the wood behind the few layers of paint. She looked around, and, upon seeing none of her friends, moved closer.
Beauty lies knee deepIn a sea of tears.
Yet all that is felt
Is the salt against open wounds.
She read the poem over a few times, and then read over some of the older ones. She had seen this wall before. In her head, it was the 'wall of writings'. It was covered with anonymous poems. Sometimes, when her day would be really hectic, she would stop and study the poems there.
She never knew who wrote them, nor did she normally read or write poetry. Yet the poems on that particular wall always touched her. The writer intrigued her. There was always hope in her mind that one day she would find out who the author of the wall was. Of course, she would never let anyone know about the wall. They would probably laugh. This was her little secret.
Intent on memorizing the words of the newest poem before she left, Monica read it over and over again quickly. Then, she closed her eyes and repeated the words in her mind. She opened them and again and tested herself. It was memorized. She ran her fingers over the engraved words, while reading the poem again. Before she could lift her fingers from the wall, she began to feel weak and dizzy. Then, everything went completely black.
- - - - - - -
Slowly, Monica's eyelids began to flutter open. It took a lot of effort. They felt heavy, protective over her eyes. She looked around, anxiously trying to figure out where she was, but everything was blurry. She had no recollection of what happened and the harder she attempted to recall it, the more her head throbbed in pain.
"Monica, dear?"
The familiar voice soothed her, as she looked up at the source of the sound and attempted to focus. She tried to talk. Her throat was too dry. She swallowed a few times, but it was all in vain. It felt like her throat had been replaced with sandpaper.
"Mom?" she managed to choke out.
"Yes, honey. It's your mother," she stroked Monica's hair, "Don't worry. You're okay now."
She rapidly blinked, and things began to become clearer in front of her. "Wha – what happened?"
"We don't know," Judy whispered, as she continued to stroke Monica's hair, "But don't worry about that right now."
"Yes Princess," Jack's booming voice came from behind them, as he walked over to her bed and grasped her hand, "All that matters is that you're okay."
"I…okay, but –"
Monica was cut off as Ross entered the room dejectedly. Suddenly, his demeanor perked up more when he noticed Monica was awake.
"Monica! You're okay! What happened? Do you remember anything?!"
"Ross," Jack admonished softly, "Now, don't bombard your sister with questions. She's not completely better yet."
"I – I don't know what happened. I can't remember. I was standing at my locker and then…and then…I was here."
"That is so odd."
"Yeah…"
- - - - - - - -
Ross sat down beside Monica, on the hospital bed. She had been in the hospital for three days. Test after test had been conducted; yet they could find nothing that would have caused Monica to faint. No drugs, no starvation, no signs of injury. Finally, by the third day, the doctors decided it was one of those strange, inexplicable occurrences that the human body sometimes experienced. If, by that evening, there were no signs of sickness, Monica would be released with nothing but a heavy watch upon her.
Hope was strong that she would be able to leave. She was beginning to feel bored of being cooped up in the hospital bed for so long. There was nothing to do, besides think. In fact, she was not allowed to get up, or even have visitors, outside of the family.
"So, what's new at Lincoln High?" Monica asked.
"Um, not much. It's only been three days."
"Yeah, I guess. It feels so much longer though! I'm so bored here!"
"Well, you get to leave tonight..."
"Hopefully."
"You will."
"I can't wait."
It was silent as both Ross and Monica focused their attention on the television. The four o'clock news was just beginning. Monica's eyes were focused on the television, but her mind was elsewhere. It made her nervous that no one could find out what was wrong with her. What if she was deathly ill, just when her life was starting to fall into place? Of course, she knew she was thinking irrationally. That was highly unlikely. Still, she couldn't help but think it was all a tad suspicious…
"Monica?"
"Huh?" she asked, snapping quickly out of her daze.
"I just asked you a question."
"Oh, you did? Sorry, I'm still not…feeling a hundred percent yet."
"It's okay," he pointed to the television, "I wanted to know if you'd heard about Phoebe Buffay."
"Phoebe Buffay?" she asked, recognizing the name, but unable to place the face, "No, what happened?"
"She was…murdered."
"Murdered? Oh my God. When?"
"It happened Monday morning."
"Oh wow. Hey," she realized, "Wasn't she dating your friend, umm…?"
"Chandler?"
"Yeah, him."
"Yeah, she was."
"Wow, I can't believe someone from our school was killed! So…how's Chandler handling it?"
"He hasn't really…reacted yet. He just shrugs whenever anyone tries to bring it up."
"Oh wow," Monica mused, "Was there a funeral?"
"Yeah, but it was a small one – only family there. Her church's having a memorial service on Monday, though."
"Are you going?"
"Yeah, why?"
"I want to go."
"Okay…"
Monica was surprised at her desire to go to the memorial service. She hadn't known Phoebe. In fact, Monica wondered, if she had seen her, would she have even recognized her? Phoebe had been a grade ahead of Monica and was the type who would rather smoke pot in the back of a van than go to a football game. They had little in common. Still, there was this unexplainable, almost separate, voice in the back of her head, urging her to go. Although she didn't know why she felt it, she did know she couldn't miss that service.
A/N: So yeah, there you go. Yes, no, maybe so? Please leave me a review and let me know what you think! Just, if you can, maybe keep your punches above the belt, okay? (unless your Matthew Perry, of course, mwahaha)
Ou, I miss my Yen. =(