Insomnia makes me want to write for some reason, so here you have it! My first fan fiction, with less than half the calories of most fan fictions!

Comments and critiques are welcome. And I do not own The Beatles, sadly. If I did there would've been a lot more shirtless photo shoots.

Beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep bee-

I lazily slapped my hand down on the alarm clock, causing it to cease its unbearable shrieks. I roll over and look at the time, 8:15 AM

When I wake up early in the morning, lift my head, I'm still yawning..

My least favorite part of the day, waking up. The sun gleamed through my curtains and didn't help with my efforts of trying to go back to bed.

Good day sunshine, good day sunshine..

Well I'm up, that's for sure. There's no way I'm going to back to sleep now.

Woke up, fell out of bed, dragged a comb across my head..

I roll out of bed, dragging the entire duvet along with me and I taste that disgusting morning taste in my mouth. Thinking past that, I remember something.

I haven't eaten in eleven hours, and I'm famished.

I fixed my sleeping boxers and adjusted my tank top, then trudged down the stairs, with my abandoned duvet laying at the top. Past the living room and entrance was my favorite part of a house, the kitchen.

The king of Marigold was in the kitchen, cooking breakfast for the queen..

No king of Marigold here, just me. It's so strange to have an entire house all to myself, especially one this... fancy.After my apartment burnt down my sister let me live with her. In this

BIG

FANCY

HOUSE

And if you knew me, you'd also know that that is a very bad idea.

I don't have anything to do at this exact moment, finals are over and I took a two-week break from work to allow my sister and I fix the my-apartment-burnt-down-and-I-lost-mostly-everything problem. I did manage to salvage my purse that had my wallet, iPod, iPod charger, car keys, cellphone, and the John Lennon cassette that I always carry with me. That's not all, I did get my portable record player with all 13 of my Beatles albums and a big, holographic Abbey Road picture. But that's it. I lost everything, my clothes, my laptop, my guitar, my PIANO! That made me mad the most, the one thing I couldn't save was my most precious belonging.

Shit happens.

Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on, brah! Lala how the life goes on..

I started making myself breakfast, trying to forget everything that happened. I made my favorite, plain oatmeal with strawberries and bananas.

Let me take you down, 'cause I'm going to Strawberry Fields..

After I finished I washed my dishes I went back up the stairs, picked up the duvet, and dragged myself up to "my" room.

It's not even my room. It's a plain guest room, with not a single memory of mine attached to it.

I at least got to hang up my Abbey Road holographicpicture. It looks like they're standing right in front of me. If you ever see something like this, buy it. It is the most fab thing ever.

That's when I realize how empty and quiet the house is, and how I'm all alone. When I'm by myself I feel so perturbed, especially in my case, when I have almost no belongings.

I laid down in bed and grabbed my iPod, and I hope that music will calm me.

Sure it will, I pondered, music, as Victor Hugo put it, says that which cannot be put into words and cannot remain silent.

I smiled at my reflection in the iPod, that which showed the ridiculous amount of freckles all over my face that even stretched down to my body and my across peachy skin.

I'm a vain little bird, aren't I?

My iPod screen glowed as I turned it on and pressed shuffle,

Anything is fine now, I thought to myself, I just need to drift away.

She's not a girl who misses much, do do do do do do, oh yeah..

What a lie.

I miss everything, I wish everything could be normal again!

"I'll just sleep, and when I get up everything will be perfect, like it was before." I vented.

Out loud, that is.

Great, now I'm talking to myself. Sleep is what I need now.

I snuggled deeper into my bed and listened to John's voice as I was weaving in and out of subconsciousness.

Happiness is a warm gun, bang, bang, shoot, shoot..

It's short, I know! I promise the next chapter will be longer!