Obligatory disclaimer: I do not own Friends.
Six of One
Prologue
September, 1995
The silence in the room was deafening.
The ticks of the clock fell sharply upon his ears, each stab of that shapeless dagger sending jolts through his spine. The molecules of the air stood miserably motionless, quivering with suspenseful anticipation, begging for a noise to stir them into motion. They were heavy and still, and their very nature rebelled against it. But God had not granted them the power to move themselves, and so they cried the only way they could, their suffocating voices gasping for a breeze – oh, for such a breeze! Any will do, even that as small as one created by the subtle stir of a butterfly's wings.
Then the silence was splintered, cracking apart like the dead twig of a withered tree collapsing under the weight of the accumulated snow Winter in her fury had mounted upon it.
The echoes of the mirthless laughter chased themselves dolefully around the darkened room for mere moments, before the near-solid air closed in and crushed them to a noiseless death.
How had it come to this?
The clock on the wall struck six till twelve.
(I cannot take credit for the title of this story. It was taken from an earlier name of the show we now call Friends')