A short story written in an hour, just to celebrate John Lennon's 70th Birthday. Thank you for inspiring and enlightening millions around the world!

-M

"Christ, it's bloody cold"

The older Teddy Boy lit his cigarette, hunch over and cupping the end of the cancer stick with his hand to shield it from the October winds. He flicked out his lighter, striking it and relishing the nearly insignificant amount of heat and light it produced. After he lit the end, he coolly shoved the lighter back into his leather jacket pocket, inhaling deeply. He desperately needed to get away today, and he couldn't think of a better way at the moment than to light up. Maybe later when it was time to go home, he'd take a detour, sneak some liquor from a store and drown in his sorrows. Usually, today was supposed to be a day of rejoice for him; instead he wanted nothing more than to run away and hide, curling into a little ball and screaming or crying out his pain. Either way worked for him, just as long as he could finally get a chance to express himself through means other than violence.

Beside him stood his friend, who had his hands buried in his jacket pockets and his collar popped up around his neck. His cheeks were as pale as can be, save for his rosy cheeks; a typical look for an English boy. His teeth chattered in perfect rhythm with his shivering limbs, and he even began to sway back and forth in time, anything to keep warm.

Exhaling a long, swirling white cloud of smoke, the older boy said, "Oh shurrup, it's just a little chill. Come 'ead, let's do something then, other than stand here like a couple of gits."

He led his younger friend down the street, and they walked in silence; partly because his friend's teeth were clacking together too severely for him to even form coherent words, and partly because the Ted was so caught up in his own thoughts. If he wanted so much to run off and let loose, then how come he was allowing his friend to tag along? He asked himself this over and over again, but could only conclude his thoughts with this: Because he didn't want to be alone. That's what it always amounted to. His whole life, he was always with someone, even if he ended up humiliating them or wreaking havoc, because he feared living in solitude. True, he still lived with his guardian, but she had her face set like a stone statue ninety percent of the time, and her affection was as cold as the October air. He wanted company, because it allowed him to cling to that last shred of sanity that he had left in his blackened, empty chest.

The sun was quickly fading in the distance, leaving the calico tinted sky to dimly light their way. By the time the sun had completely gone down, they had reached their destination: the burgundy iron gates leading to Strawberry Field.

"What's this?" his friend asked, walking up to the fence and looking through the bars. As far as he could see, there was a long stretch of asphalt, and on either side of it were vast green fields. At the end of the walkway stood a rather old looking house, isolated from anything and anyone else.

Flicking the cigarette from his mouth and stubbing it out with the hell of his winklepicker boots, the older boy replied, "Anything you can imagine."

Furrowing his brows, he pressed on, "All right... then how do we get in?"

"Not sure. With me eyesight, I'll never find the bloody latch."

"Latch?" The younger boy, whose eyesight was perfect without the aid of a pair of spectacles, curiously groped around for a latch on the gates. Without any light to guide him, he was lost for a moment, until his fingers bumped into a piece of metal jutting out from the gates. "Found it!"

He lifted the latch and the gates gave a low groan as they creaked open, inviting the two in. Without a moment's hesitation, the Ted strolled right past the gates with all the confidence in the world, not even waiting for his friend to follow. After all, it's not like he knew, right? How could he; no one probably even knew themselves.

The younger boy was confused by his friend's somber attitude. He was always the lively, witty and cheeky one of the bunch; so why was he failing to act like so? Especially on a day like this! The most important day of the year for him, and he was sulking and putting up a front that was to thick to see through that he wasn't even sure if his friend remembered what today was. Maybe he did and just wanted to forget.

They ventured deeper into the fields, and for a second, they older boy thought he saw a flicker of light, but it was gone just as soon as it had appeared. Dismissing it for a figment of his imagination, he continued walking. After all, these grounds were his canvas for limitless imagination, wasn't it? He could imagine dozens of flickers of light if he wanted to here, because he had no restrictions or rules and regulations to abide by here. Nothing was real.

But that flicker of light caught his attention once again, and he knew that it was real. "What the—" he muttered, hastily making his way towards the light, once again forgetting his friend was struggling to keep up with him.

Approaching the light, he could now see there were figures surrounding the light that he was able to identify as a flame. Three figures to be exact; and he was so sure he heard their voices in low murmurs, belonging to both male and female. Drawing even closer, so close that he could pounce on them across that short distance, he was able to clearly see what was taking place.

"George? Peggy? And who's—oh, it's Mike. What the fuck are you three doing here at this hour? Shouldn't your mummies be worrying about where their poor babies are?" he sneered, feeling the bitterness rise in his throat rapidly and outpouring through his words.

The female, Peggy, rose and dusted of the skirts of her dress before propped her hands on her hips. "Really, now, John, is that any way to address the hosts of your little party here? I baked you a cake, which is an amazing fete for me, so don't make me take it back!" Her lips were curved up into a playful smirk, as if she were urging him to loosen up.

And it worked; the boy's face softened and he relaxed his shoulders. "Cake? What cake?" he asked curiously.

George and Mike stood, the latter holding a pie tin with a cake on it, covered in vanilla frosting with a cherry on top. Just beside the cherry was the source of the light—a single birthday candle. Peggy smiled at John, then at her best friend who had just caught up and now stood behind him with a wide grin on his face. "I baked you a birthday cake, John. It is your birthday, isn't it?"

Now he was just appalled. They did this for him? But how could they have known that he'd go to Strawberry Field the night of his birthday? He had done that every year since he realized he didn't have a normal family—nearly seven years ago—and spent his evenings in deep thought and occasionally sobbing, wondering went wrong in his life; why was his family so broken?

But gazing at the people before him, he began to understand a few things: his family was broken, and there was nothing he could do to change that. His mother was dead, his father's whereabouts were unknown, and he lived with his cold Aunt Mimi. But his friends were all around him, smiling and holding a cake. His eyes sparkled when he saw George pull out a couple of presents in wrapping paper from his jacket pockets, and soon saw that Paul was holding one himself. He didn't want to be alone; and he wasn't. He had a feeling he never would be alone.

"Happy birthday to you, you smell like a zoo, you look like an ape man, aaaaaand you sing like one too!"

John snorted at their altered birthday song and said, "Well apparently ape men sing much better than you, Peggy Mae!"

Rolling her eyes, she retorted, "Just because it's your birthday, Lennon, I won't say anything to that. Now blow out the candle before it's just a puddle of wax! Oh, and make a wish, first!"

He muttered something along the lines of, "Yeah, yeah, keep yer knickers on. Or maybe take them off, if you want too...?"

"John," Paul warned.

"Right!" John said with a wide, cheeky grin. He closed his eyes, leaning his face towards the candle on the birthday cake, and thought of the best wish he could. There were so many things he wanted: his mother to be alive again, his father to be in his life, his aunt to be a loving guardian, his family to be mended, his family to never have been broken in the first place. And then he thought of the best wish he could. Taking a deep breath, he blew out the candle, hearing claps from his friends around him.

John turned to Paul, his face scrunched up into an expression of confusion, and he asked, "But you did you know? I never told you anything. Hell, I didn't even tell you about my birthday last year."

Shrugging sheepishly, Paul rocked back and forth on his heels as he responded, "Well, I uhh... I asked Ivan. Told me you came 'round here every birthday alone. Thought maybe you'd want a little celebration. I mean, we didn't see you all day, so we decided we'd host a little party here. Mike even brought his camera to get the evidence!"

As if on cue, Mike pulled out his camera, a large flash attached to it, and snapped a quick photo of the two talking. John luckily had quick reflexes and made an obnoxiously funny face for the camera just in time, making everyone laugh.

"So, what did you get me fer presents? Because if you didn't know, I got one of me porn magazines taken away today in class..."

"John, we all love you to bits, we truly do forever and stuff, but we're not buying you Playboy magazines."

John let out a grand laugh at that. Obviously, his friends weren't perfect if they didn't even think to buy him a new Playboy magazine!

But then, neither was he. And that's what made him smile even more.

Not a great fic, I just wanted to get this in before midnight!