This is far from my first fanfiction, but it's the first one I'm doing for Friends. This story is based strongly off of the book The Lovely Bones, but strays from that plot somewhat and interprets the characters differently. The story will feature eventual Lobsters and Mondler, and addresses feelings between Joey and Phoebe. Obviously, quite AU. Feedback is amazing, and I do not own any of the characters involved in this story and freely admit that I am ripping off a wonderful piece of literature quite a bit. We'll start with a short introduction, later chapters will be longer. Enjoy!

My name is Phoebe Buffay. As in all you can eat, but don't you dare spell it that way. I was 27 years old when I was murdered on December 8th, 1997.

No, I don't need to hear your "Oh, how terrible," or any other pity. I never feared dying. I had even gone as far as to predict when I would leave Earth. It's too bad I was off by about 40 years. No, my death was nothing to be scared of. I was scared that I hadn't finished my life.

You see, I lived on the streets for a few years as a teenager, and I thought I'd developed pretty sharp instincts about who could be trusted and who was just a slimeball. Those instincts served me well when I had no permanent address. Maybe I just went soft. But I saw nothing out of the ordinary when the man down the hall asked if I would help him take his car home from the shop. I didn't even protest when he asked to drive the cab, because "he knew how to get there and it would just be easier."

I can't remember for sure how he finally killed me. But I do remember where I was. We had just pulled up near this park that didn't even feel like we were in the city anymore. I might have noticed if I wasn't in the middle of writing a song in my head to perform later at the coffeehouse.

If I'd known better than to ask where we were, I might've at least made it out of the car before the attack began.

Exactly what he did isn't important, and if you don't mind, I'd rather not tell you.

I remember lifting from my body. I knew it was happening because I went from ice cold to pleasantly warm, and when I turned I saw him shoving what was left of me into the garbage bag. It didn't bother me much—I just felt too good.

But then his eyes shifted up and the weight of what had happened hit me. It wasn't a dream. I really was dead, and if they ever found me, they would find me like…that.

I needed to run. So I did. Down street after street, block after block, across a bridge, throwing caution to the wind as I sprinted between the cars. I didn't know where I was going, or if there was anywhere to go. I just couldn't stay with my body.

But then I saw her. She'd probably just gotten off work, and would soon descend the stairs into the subway. Part of me said I should avoid her like the plague, but most of me wanted so desperately to hang on to her. She stopped at the corner, waiting for the light to change so she could cross.

I stopped and stood next to her, wondering if I should touch her, or speak to her, make her realize I was there. But then I started being pulled away, as though some force was telling me to not even think about doing such a thing. I grasped onto her sleeve such and her arm jerked but the force overcame me and I started to fall away. But she noticed. She swung her head around and her eyes met my pleading ones. I was out of her sight before I knew it, but the look of helpless horror that overcame Monica's face will stay with me forever.

And now, I speak to you from a place that you too will one day go. It's known as the In-Between. The place where those who have recently died go before they move on to heaven. I died a pretty long time ago, so you might be wondering why I'm still here. Well, the simple answer is this: I simply can't move on until the five most important people I ever knew move on too.