Strawberry Fields Forever, A Beatles one-shot
Ok then so I got this off of the website DeviantArt from my friend Beatlemania9 I give full credit to her on this story. ONCE AGAIN IT AIN'T MINE PEOPLE I'M NOT AWESOME ENOUGH TO THINK SOMETHING UP :p just wanted to make a very great story known
Paul McCartney had grown sick and tired of the T.V., radio and phone making irritating noise incessantly. All three going on about the same topic; Ringo Starr had passed away at the age of seventy-four due to cancer. That makes three people Paul loved dearly who were taken by the awful disease.
Ringo had had many childhood illnesses, but is seems unreal now that he would have fallen under the fate of cancer.
Paul falls back on his bed and rubs his temples, trying to take it all in, while fighting back tears. He glances over at the clock hung elegantly on the maroon wall and sighs. Nancy won't be back for another three hours. Plenty of time to be all alone with the shadow of death looming in his mind. Terrific.
He looks around the empty bedroom and bites hard on his middle fingernail. It's just a horrible dream. He's not the last living Beatle. He doesn't want to be. He'd rather be dead and Ringo living.
He runs his fingers through his hair and lets out a whimper. Glancing down at his hands, he frowns at the wrinkles that run through them and his face. Where did the smooth baby skin go that had followed him for many years?
******* "Paul, look at your chubby cheeks! You're twenty-one and still have enough fat to look like a toddler!" John exclaims, a huge smile on his face. He grabs the bassist's cheeks and pinches them, and Paul brushes his arms away. "Shut up, Lennon. At least I don't have small eyes." John narrows his eyes so that they're thinner than usual. "Hey, look who's talking. You've got huge doe-eyes." Paul tries to look angry at him, but fails. A smile creeps across his face and gets the better of him. "There's the smile I always like to see. It makes all of your baby fat part. Make way for the crooked teeth!" He says in a voice that people use on small children. Paul smiles and shakes his head. "Crooked, chipped and stained yellow. Those are yours." John holds out his arms for a hug, and Paul wraps himself around him tightly. He's always in the mood for a hug from one of his best friends. "I love you, Paulie." John whispers, the way they always do. "I love you too, Johnny." *******
Paul's flashback is interrupted by a sharp pain near his heart. He winces and peers down his shirt at his chest, and nothing looks out of the ordinary. He tries to push it aside, and it doesn't seem to return.
****** George and Paul walk alongside the river peacefully, George puffing away at a cigarette. "George, how can all of your cigarettes be healthy for you?" George shrugs. "They aren't. They're just so addicting. Now, if you get a sharp pain in your heart area, that's not good. Not good at all." Paul stops in his path. "Heart attack?" George moves his head from side to side. "More or less. It's more of just one quick little jab, and then before you know it, you leave your body forever." Paul bites his nail and his eyes dart to George's cigarette in his hand. Something in him makes him smack it out of his hand and into the river. George swears and looks at Paul with his deep brown eyes. "What was that for?" Paul smiles sweetly. "Well I don't want my Georgie to die, now do I?" ****
Paul puts his hand up to his forehead and feels it raging hot. He climbs out of bed and takes a Tylenol from the bathroom cupboard,lies back in bed, pulling the covers up to his shoulders. One nap should do the trick. It'll all be fine.
Not soon after he drifts off to sleep, his heart skips a beat and then drops, and his chest heaves one last breath before staying put forever.
"Shh! Don't wake him up!"
"I'm not trying! I'm being as quiet as I can!"
"Oh, can we just wake him now? He's going to get up sooner or…"
"John, for the last time, you can't wake him up yet, he has to figure it out on his own."
"I think George should be the one to wake him. He misses him most."
"No, I think that's John, but thanks for the offer, Ringo."
Paul heard voices in his room. He peels open his eyes just a little bit and stares up at the white ceiling, heaving a sigh. Why did he interrupt the dream? He tends to have dreams about his old friends, but they aren't around anymore. He should know better. He closes his eyes again and tries to retrieve the dream.
"Did he seriously…"
"I don't know, maybe he got stupider over the last few years…"
Paul opens his eyes again but only sees the pure white ceiling above. The voices were back. He's mental, and he's hearing things. This happens to people who have lost someone dear to them, right? Of course, he's being crazy. He gently rests his eyelids down once more, but is interrupted by laughter.
Sick and tired of being taunted, he opens up his big doe-eyes and jumps a foot at what he sees. The smiling faces of John Lennon, George Harrison and Ringo Starr are peering down at him from behind the backboard of his bed. "Hello there, Luv. Fancy seeing you here."
Paul blinks and rubs his eyes, but the three bright faces stay crystal clear. He's not imagining this. Paul shakes his head in disbelief, unable to say anything. He can't peel his eyes away from his mates that he missed so much. Neither can they. Their three mop-tops are hanging down as they lean forward, clean shaven faces, smooth skin and no glasses in sight. Paul wants to say a million things, but all he can make out is, "What happened?"
John walks around the side of the bed and grins. "You died." The words ring in Paul's ears and he shakes his head. His own mop-top hits him gently at the side of baby-skin cheeks. He knows that John's telling the truth, but he can't believe it. He doesn't want to believe it.
George comes around the other side of the bed and sits down gently. He nods. "I didn't believe it either, until John told me to sit up." Paul just looks at George like a deer in headlights.
"Well go on then!" George says. Slowly, Paul sits up in bed and stares forward at the nothingness that surrounds them. The only thing to be seen is the bed, and the four of them.
"My, you looked old when you died. How old were you?" John laughs, and Paul turns around to look at him. "What do you mean?" John motions towards the bed, and Paul falls backward off of the bed at what he sees. His old body, laying motionless peacefully.
Soon, it disappears along with the bed. Paul breathes heavily, eyes wide with terror. Then he stands up along with the rest and they stand there, looking at each other in a circle. Nobody moves, and they all just stare. Then, in unison, they all squeeze into a huge hug, and nobody wants to let go.
Everybody's crying, hugging and apologizing for everything that they have done to hurt one another. They hug for what seems like years before hesitantly letting go. They can't stay here forever.
"Where are we exactly?" Paul asks, gazing into the nothingness. John shrugs.
"I'm not sure. I guess this is your first stop. I have seen many people pass through. Loads of people. I was just looking for you. All of you. You didn't come for a long time, and I didn't want to go on without you three. I needed to find you first. And once George came, I was so excited, even though I felt guilty that I was excited. I was just lonely,"
"Linda." Paul says, interrupting John rudely.
"What?" John mutters, his eyes widening.
"She died?" Paul's jaw drops.
"Yes, she died, a long time ago! And you never saw her?" John bites his lip and shakes his head.
"No, I haven't. I have seen many, many people, but I never even knew Linda was here."
"But what if she's not! Where else would she go?" George grabs Paul's shoulders and relaxes him.
"Calm down, Paulie. She's here somewhere, but John just went to the bath or something and missed her. She'll turn up soon."
Paul looks at John and his heart sinks.
"What about Yoko? Do you miss her?"
John's eyes bulge and he shakes his head frantically. "NOT FOR ONE SECOND."
Paul, George and Ringo are taken aback by John's answer.
"What… what do you mean?" John scratches his head and sits down on the blank floor.
"The whole time I was waiting for you guys, I had a lot of time to think. At first I couldn't wait to see Yoko again, and then I thought of Cyn and Jules and then I kind of pushed Sean and Kyoko and Yoko all away. I noticed what a horrible person I had been to old Cynthia and Julian and you guys as well. Just because of that woman, Yoko. I figured out that she's not my key to happiness, love or peace. It's my first family. Paul McCartney, George Harrison, Ringo Starr, Cynthia Lennon and my beautiful son, Julian Lennon. It's not fair that you all had to suffer from myself and that woman. I didn't want to be that kind of a person that I turned out to be. Sometimes I thought that you boys were my enemy, but now I figured out that the only enemy I have is myself. I'm really sorry to you all. Truly, I am."
They all fall silent and there's not a single sound to be heard for miles.
"It's alright John. Nobody's perfect, and we all have our flaws. But they will all work out in the end." George whispers, pulling John into a hug. John smiles in relief, and then his face turns serious.
"Alright then, enough of that, I suppose. What'd you say we go out exploring? I've been waiting for this for about 30 years, I think it's time I walk around a bit." Paul looks around again and frowns.
"Well, wherever we are, how come nobody's coming? I don't see anybody besides us." George raises and lowers a shoulder.
"I don't know, mate. Maybe we only see what we want to see." Paul's face flushes red.
"Well I want to see Linda too!" The other three boys turn to look at him, faces full of shock. Paul shakes his head.
"No! I didn't mean it like that! Ugh… I hate myself sometimes." The three boys look at each other and start laughing at Paul's sudden embarrassment.
"Come on guys, what are we waiting for?" John yells, and they all begin walking into the unknown.
I don't own the beatles all rights go to themselves I also don't own Julian Lennon, Kyoko Cox, Sean Lennon, Yoko Ono, Brian Epstein, George Martin or any other Beatles Related Person