short n sweet, just a lil piece of fiction by urs truly. i don't own 'em. i wanna dedicate this to all the people who lost their lives in the tragic events in new york and washington dc a few days ago. granted this isn't exactly a nice fic to dedicate, but in a way, the theme is relevant, death with no one knowing why...
-Why-
Chandler didn't hear what his secratary said to him as he slammed the door to his office, but if he had he wouldn't have responded anyway. Instead he marched through the busy hallways of his workplace until he reached the elevator, not answering anyone who spoke to him. He pressed the button for the groundfloor, his hand shaking violently. A co-worker was in the elevator with him and tried to make conversation, but he just silently stared straight ahead, trying not to explode. The knife was burning a hole in his pocket, and he had to restrain himself from stabbing the annoying man in the throat to silence his concerned questions. It wasn't time for him to use the knife yet, but if that guy asked him if he was okay one more time, he couldn't control his actions... The elevator doors opened with a 'ping', and he practically ran out of the building. The co-worker stared after him.
"What's up with him?" asked another man who worked with Chandler, standing at the recieption.
The first man shrugged.
Chandler stormed briskly down the busy sidewalk, not trying to hide from the rain. He hailed a cab and got in, slamming the car door shut.
"Where to?" asked the cab driver, an African-American man in his early fourties.
"Um, Central Park," Chandler answered, a slight quiver in his voice.
"No problem. Get caught in the rain?"
Chandler wasn't in the mood for talking and made this clear. "Shut up."
"Okaay..." the cab driver raised his eyebrows, used to rude people. This was New York, after all.
The cab came to a halt by Central Park, just opposite Chandler's apartment building.
"Five dollars, thanks," the cabbie said politely.
Chandler threw him a ten, "Keep the change."
He rushed out of the cab without another word. It sped away and Chandler ran a hand through his wet hair, blinking in the wind and rain. He thought about making a cameo in Central Perk, where all his friends would be at this time. He peered in through the door. There they were, sitting in the usual places around the orangey-brown couch. He sighed, and leaned his head on the door. The group's attention was on Phoebe, who appeared to be telling some story. He saw Ross scoff something, and an offended expression cross Phoebe's face. Rachel got up from the end of the couch, holding a coffee jug, adjusted her apron and went to serve a nearby table. Joey, sitting at a table near the couch, said something and proceeded to laugh, only to have Monica throw a screwed up napkin at his head.
Smiling, Chandler retreated from the doorway and turned to go. The walk up to his apartment was a slow one. Upon arriving in the hallway between apartment 19 and 20, he fumbled with his keys, and found the one to 20. He opened the door and entered the apartment, glancing around at the familiar purple walls. He reached into his jacket pocket and placed a folded piece of paper on the kitchen table before exiting, locking the door behind him. He opened the door to apartment 19, closing it gently behind him. He tossed his briefcase on the bench and opened the refridgerator. It was empty except for a packet of mustard, cheese, old milk, a six packet of beer with only two bottles left, some leftover Chinese food, and for some reason a shoe. He took a beer and skulled almost all of it down, only stopping to breathe. It went straight to his head. He moaned a little and staggered but regained his footing. He pulled the knife from his pocket and looked at it. The blade was stained with blood. His blood. He'd used it all through the day, just quietly at his desk, and the wounds on his hand and wrist proved it. But the knife wasn't going to finish him. He'd always thought if he was going to commit suicide, he'd go out with a bang, and leave the world with a big mess. But all he wanted now was to end his life, he didn't care how, so he might as well make it as pleasant as possible for his friends to suffer the aftermath.
He threw the knife through the open door of his bedroom. It landed with a thud. He hesitantly entered the bathroom. He had done this over and over in his mind a thousand times. He wasn't sure what he was going to use. There'd be something in the cupboard. He opened it and sorted through the contents.
Duck medicene, mostouriser, cologne, shaving foam...ah ha! Chandler grabbed the bottle he'd spotted. Methylated spirits. He smiled at the memory of how the bottle ended up in the cupboard. Joey had gone out and gotten his ear pierced after too much to drink. He'd never used the meths again, the bottle was almost full. Chandler read the label.
CAUTION: IF TAKEN INTERNALLY MAY CAUSE DEATH
Perfect. He unscrewed the top, reading the directions for the child-proof bottle. He raised it to his lips, hesitating as he waited for the regrets to flood in...none did. He reminded himself he didn't want any regrets, so why was he waiting for them? He waited for his mind to cook up some reason for not doing this. There was none. He couldn't think of any reason to continue living. All the possible arguments for living, he'd convinced himself around while contemplating suicide. There was nothing stopping him...he pressed the bottle to his lips, tilted his head and drank the disgusting liquid. The urge to vomit was incredible, and he couldn't fight it, but luckily was right by the sink. He could feel his insides burning. He was going to finish this properly. He reached for his pocket for a white bottle of anti-depressants. He wasn't going use them as first because over dosing on anti-depressants seemed to be the average suicide plan, but remembered he just wanted it to be over and shoved the whole contents of the half-empty bottle into his mouth, crunching some with his teeth, fighting the foul taste. He took the last swig of beer to wash it down and staggered out of the bathroom.
He was almost to the point of crawling as his organs shut down but made it to his bedroom. He flopped onto the bed and waited. Waited to die...
"So then, he says it's not hot enough! Can you BELIEVE the guy? First it's too hot, then it's too weak, then it's too strong, God!" Rachel moaned at the antics of a customer. The friends laughed as Monica opened the door to the apartment. They removed their jackets etc and started to get comfortable.
"Does anyone know where Chandler is?" asked Ross, closing the door.
The others shook their heads.
"He should be home from work by now..." Ross gave a shrug. "Oh well, I guess he can't be far away."
"What's this?" Phoebe picked up a piece of paper on the table. She read it quickly and frowned, muttering, "What the hell...?"
"What is it?"
"...I don't know..."
"What's it say?" Joey said with a mouthful, closing the fridge door.
Phoebe read aloud, " 'Don't worry, there was nothing you could've done to prevent this. I love you all, Chandler.' "
Everyone exchanged glances.
"What does that mean?" said Rachel.
"I dunno," declared Ross, a concerned frown creeping across his face, "But I don't like the sound of it..."
Monica picked up the phone, "I'll call him," She waited. After a moment, a faint sound could just be heard. Joey picked it up first.
"That's Chandler's mobile ring!" he said, "He's across the hall."
Ross opened the door and they all moved into Chandler and Joey's apartment. "Chandler?"
Silence.
"Chandler?"
"His briefcase his here..."
"What the hell is going on?"
"Guys?"
All eyes turned to Joey, standing at the doorway of the bathroom. He tossed to Ross a white bottle.
"Anti-depressants?"
A fear washed over the five friends. All having the same thought, they rushed to Chandler's room.
"Oh my God," said Joey, the first to the door, turning around with his hand clasped over his mouth.
Chandler lay on the bed, his face a disturbing white.
The doorknob of Apartment 20 turned, and five friends in black trudged in. They'd just attended a funeral without knowing why. Their friend was gone forever and they didn't know why.
Dead.
And no one knew why...
umm the end. don't review goin on about "why?" because the whole point is that no one knows why. u can ask me why i keep killing chandler, i guess, but u won't get an answer coz i don't know myself. i just do. maybe it's coz it just irriates me the way everyone keeps picking on him on the show...he's obviously very bitter and has a waaay complicated mind... ah, i dunno.
-Why-
Chandler didn't hear what his secratary said to him as he slammed the door to his office, but if he had he wouldn't have responded anyway. Instead he marched through the busy hallways of his workplace until he reached the elevator, not answering anyone who spoke to him. He pressed the button for the groundfloor, his hand shaking violently. A co-worker was in the elevator with him and tried to make conversation, but he just silently stared straight ahead, trying not to explode. The knife was burning a hole in his pocket, and he had to restrain himself from stabbing the annoying man in the throat to silence his concerned questions. It wasn't time for him to use the knife yet, but if that guy asked him if he was okay one more time, he couldn't control his actions... The elevator doors opened with a 'ping', and he practically ran out of the building. The co-worker stared after him.
"What's up with him?" asked another man who worked with Chandler, standing at the recieption.
The first man shrugged.
Chandler stormed briskly down the busy sidewalk, not trying to hide from the rain. He hailed a cab and got in, slamming the car door shut.
"Where to?" asked the cab driver, an African-American man in his early fourties.
"Um, Central Park," Chandler answered, a slight quiver in his voice.
"No problem. Get caught in the rain?"
Chandler wasn't in the mood for talking and made this clear. "Shut up."
"Okaay..." the cab driver raised his eyebrows, used to rude people. This was New York, after all.
The cab came to a halt by Central Park, just opposite Chandler's apartment building.
"Five dollars, thanks," the cabbie said politely.
Chandler threw him a ten, "Keep the change."
He rushed out of the cab without another word. It sped away and Chandler ran a hand through his wet hair, blinking in the wind and rain. He thought about making a cameo in Central Perk, where all his friends would be at this time. He peered in through the door. There they were, sitting in the usual places around the orangey-brown couch. He sighed, and leaned his head on the door. The group's attention was on Phoebe, who appeared to be telling some story. He saw Ross scoff something, and an offended expression cross Phoebe's face. Rachel got up from the end of the couch, holding a coffee jug, adjusted her apron and went to serve a nearby table. Joey, sitting at a table near the couch, said something and proceeded to laugh, only to have Monica throw a screwed up napkin at his head.
Smiling, Chandler retreated from the doorway and turned to go. The walk up to his apartment was a slow one. Upon arriving in the hallway between apartment 19 and 20, he fumbled with his keys, and found the one to 20. He opened the door and entered the apartment, glancing around at the familiar purple walls. He reached into his jacket pocket and placed a folded piece of paper on the kitchen table before exiting, locking the door behind him. He opened the door to apartment 19, closing it gently behind him. He tossed his briefcase on the bench and opened the refridgerator. It was empty except for a packet of mustard, cheese, old milk, a six packet of beer with only two bottles left, some leftover Chinese food, and for some reason a shoe. He took a beer and skulled almost all of it down, only stopping to breathe. It went straight to his head. He moaned a little and staggered but regained his footing. He pulled the knife from his pocket and looked at it. The blade was stained with blood. His blood. He'd used it all through the day, just quietly at his desk, and the wounds on his hand and wrist proved it. But the knife wasn't going to finish him. He'd always thought if he was going to commit suicide, he'd go out with a bang, and leave the world with a big mess. But all he wanted now was to end his life, he didn't care how, so he might as well make it as pleasant as possible for his friends to suffer the aftermath.
He threw the knife through the open door of his bedroom. It landed with a thud. He hesitantly entered the bathroom. He had done this over and over in his mind a thousand times. He wasn't sure what he was going to use. There'd be something in the cupboard. He opened it and sorted through the contents.
Duck medicene, mostouriser, cologne, shaving foam...ah ha! Chandler grabbed the bottle he'd spotted. Methylated spirits. He smiled at the memory of how the bottle ended up in the cupboard. Joey had gone out and gotten his ear pierced after too much to drink. He'd never used the meths again, the bottle was almost full. Chandler read the label.
CAUTION: IF TAKEN INTERNALLY MAY CAUSE DEATH
Perfect. He unscrewed the top, reading the directions for the child-proof bottle. He raised it to his lips, hesitating as he waited for the regrets to flood in...none did. He reminded himself he didn't want any regrets, so why was he waiting for them? He waited for his mind to cook up some reason for not doing this. There was none. He couldn't think of any reason to continue living. All the possible arguments for living, he'd convinced himself around while contemplating suicide. There was nothing stopping him...he pressed the bottle to his lips, tilted his head and drank the disgusting liquid. The urge to vomit was incredible, and he couldn't fight it, but luckily was right by the sink. He could feel his insides burning. He was going to finish this properly. He reached for his pocket for a white bottle of anti-depressants. He wasn't going use them as first because over dosing on anti-depressants seemed to be the average suicide plan, but remembered he just wanted it to be over and shoved the whole contents of the half-empty bottle into his mouth, crunching some with his teeth, fighting the foul taste. He took the last swig of beer to wash it down and staggered out of the bathroom.
He was almost to the point of crawling as his organs shut down but made it to his bedroom. He flopped onto the bed and waited. Waited to die...
"So then, he says it's not hot enough! Can you BELIEVE the guy? First it's too hot, then it's too weak, then it's too strong, God!" Rachel moaned at the antics of a customer. The friends laughed as Monica opened the door to the apartment. They removed their jackets etc and started to get comfortable.
"Does anyone know where Chandler is?" asked Ross, closing the door.
The others shook their heads.
"He should be home from work by now..." Ross gave a shrug. "Oh well, I guess he can't be far away."
"What's this?" Phoebe picked up a piece of paper on the table. She read it quickly and frowned, muttering, "What the hell...?"
"What is it?"
"...I don't know..."
"What's it say?" Joey said with a mouthful, closing the fridge door.
Phoebe read aloud, " 'Don't worry, there was nothing you could've done to prevent this. I love you all, Chandler.' "
Everyone exchanged glances.
"What does that mean?" said Rachel.
"I dunno," declared Ross, a concerned frown creeping across his face, "But I don't like the sound of it..."
Monica picked up the phone, "I'll call him," She waited. After a moment, a faint sound could just be heard. Joey picked it up first.
"That's Chandler's mobile ring!" he said, "He's across the hall."
Ross opened the door and they all moved into Chandler and Joey's apartment. "Chandler?"
Silence.
"Chandler?"
"His briefcase his here..."
"What the hell is going on?"
"Guys?"
All eyes turned to Joey, standing at the doorway of the bathroom. He tossed to Ross a white bottle.
"Anti-depressants?"
A fear washed over the five friends. All having the same thought, they rushed to Chandler's room.
"Oh my God," said Joey, the first to the door, turning around with his hand clasped over his mouth.
Chandler lay on the bed, his face a disturbing white.
The doorknob of Apartment 20 turned, and five friends in black trudged in. They'd just attended a funeral without knowing why. Their friend was gone forever and they didn't know why.
Dead.
And no one knew why...
umm the end. don't review goin on about "why?" because the whole point is that no one knows why. u can ask me why i keep killing chandler, i guess, but u won't get an answer coz i don't know myself. i just do. maybe it's coz it just irriates me the way everyone keeps picking on him on the show...he's obviously very bitter and has a waaay complicated mind... ah, i dunno.