"KA-BOOM!"

The Beatles watched the Palladium theater blow up hundred yards away from them. George covered his mouth looking about ready to cough. John's eyes were popping out from their sockets. Ringo's mouth was hanging out; catching flies. It was Paul who really showed emotion. His face crushed, and tears started rolling down his cheeks. "No," he spoke in a half-whisper. "No no no!" He fell down to his knees and started pounding his fist on the ground. "Paulie?" Ringo bent over and wrapped an arm around the bass player's shoulders. "Shh, it's okay... You're okay, mate..."

"Ohmygod, ohmygod! Did you see that?" John screamed. Just like in the crystal ball, Paul thought. "Holy shit! Wow!" For a second there, Paul thought he could see a smirk form John's lips. "Do you think this is funny?" Paul shouted through his tears. He pushed Ringo off him and stood in front of his witty, smart-ass of a partner. "Huh? Do ya?" Panic filled John's eyes now, and he raised his hands up in surrender. "Honey, calm down," John said softly. "You sound ugly when you raise your voice like that."

He wasn't trying to be funny, but Paul was too upset to realize that. He shoved John and stormed away. "Where's he going?" George asked. John called out a few times. "He's going back to the gypsy's house!" Ringo exclaimed.

Paul burst through the fortune teller's home with pure hatred in his eyes. "Where are you?" he yelled. A few seconds later, Madame Aishe entered through the beaded curtain with a pleasing look on her face. "I'm here," she said. Paul cried, "You said there'd be no fire! No death!"

"Yes," Madame Aishe nodded. "I did."

"So why did the goddamn theater explode?"

"Paul?" The three other Beatles appeared. "Calm down, son."

"Please do," Madame Aishe added. "I won't accept such language..." She watched Paul cover his face with his hands and let out a huge, awful sob. His friends quickly came over to him and John squeezed his waist. Ringo glared at the woman. "I hope you're happy!" he snarled. "I'm not," she said. "It's very unfortunate, but at least you haven't perished..."

"Our sanities just did!" George barked. "You're a liar and a murderer, you filthy gypsy!"

"You said we couldn't play tonight, and we didn't," John pointed out.

"I'm sorry Beatles," Madame Aishe replied.

"Why's that?"

"The only lives I could save tonight were yours."

"So what are you implying? The Beatles have some kind of curse struck upon them?" John questioned.

"Yes." Madame Aishe's eyes lit up like two dark jewels. "If The Beatles don't want their fans to die, they cannot perform concerts ever again."

"What about tonight's show? People are dead, and we didn't sing!" Ringo said.

"That was a mistake. You never know what happens in the future..." Madame Aishe shrugged her shoulders.

"Show us, then," Paul croaked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Show us - The Beatles' - future. I want to see what we become in the future!"

"Are you sure?" A sly grin formed the woman's wrinkled lips. "It's not a pretty sight."

"Yes!" Paul urged.

"Fine. You asked for it." Madame Aishe snapped her fingers with a loud crisp "SMACK".

The Beatles disappeared and traveled to the year of

2011.