Untitled Story. Please Read.

[White Rabbit]

This story, unfortunatly, has no title. When I am finished, if any of you have some clever and witty titles that I could have, please post them. I would be so very obliged.
Anyways, onto the forward note:
This story isn’t very accurate, but I hope that’s ok. I’m not sure if Yoko and Linda were acquaintances, I’m really too lazy to look it up. I’m not sure if Paul really wailed like a baby such as I describe, but if it was me, that’s exactly what I was doing. Note: I don’t really know if John likes oranges. But I do know that he likes cornflakes. I’m not sure if he had a funeral either, but that’s ok. Basically, what I'm doing is taking a portion of the Beatle's history and making a story of it, and not caring if it is accurate or not. Besides, its fiction. As opposed to non-fiction. ;D

Prologue:
Monday, December 8, 1980, midnight

After he received that dreaded phone call at midnight, he never wanted to pick up the phone again. Never. Too many bad things happened from phone calls. When he had heard those three awful words, he collapsed into sobs, right there on the bedroom floor.
Yoko whispered the words into the speaker.

"John was shot."

[White Rabbit]

Part 1
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Paul, what’s wrong?” Linda sat up from bed and her curious eyes took in the scene before her. Paul McCartney, her husband was kneeling on the floor, sobbing. He held out the phone to Linda.
“Hello?” Linda said. “Oh, hello, Yoko.” She listened for a moment. Linda didn’t do the same thing as her husband; she just sat up in bed and listened to Ono. Though you couldn’t hear what Yoko was saying, you could tell that she told Linda because suddenly, a tear welled in her eye. Linda’s next few words were stuttered.
“D-d-d-dead? On a-arrival?” Linda raised a hand to her temple and rubbed it. Paul continued to sob on the ground. “Hold on, Yoko, Paul’s having trouble.” Linda set the phone down and got down to Paul’s level on the ground.
“C’mon, honey. Let’s go to the kitchen.” She helped Paul up and into the kitchen. There Paul sat on the kitchen counter as Linda inquired Yoko. “Ringo and George, do they know?”
“No, I haven’t told them yet.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not sure if they’d appreciate it if I called them at midnight.”
“You called me at midnight.”
“It’s a different story with you.”
“Is it really? Anways, Yoko, I don’t think either of them would mind if you called them at,” she checked the clock. “12:30 at night. Think of it this way, if you were them, wouldn’t you want to know that your best friend had died while they were attending to their garden or something?”
“Yes,”
“Well then call them.”
Paul had moved into the living room now. There, he put on a record, one of John’s best. He sat on the ground next to the record player and stared at it, watching it go ‘round and ‘round and ‘round….

“Instant Karma’s gonna get you, gonna knock you right on the head…” John’s voice echoed through the house. It was now one o’clock. Paul was sitting straight on the couch and Linda’s head laid in his lap. He stroked it gently with his red eyes staring in front of him. He tried to put care into his actions, but it was so hard when your mind was on the subject of murder.
“So, are we going to New York?” Paul whispered. He had stopped crying at 12:45. His red eyes glittered with the idea of bursting into tears again. Linda’s own tears had fallen silently when Yoko had hung up to call Ringo. Everything had been settled. The in-laws had been called, Paul’s brother was coming in the morning and they had already started to pack for the red-eye flight. They were staying for a day or two or three for his funeral, then immediately going back home, the big apple had lost its charm. Linda grabbed a naval orange, peeled it and offered some to Paul. He slowly nodded yes and she set a few slices in front of him and observed. He looked down at them with an expression of confusion.
‘Poor guy,’ thought Linda. ‘He doesn’t even know what he just accepted.’
“John liked oranges,” he said simply and sadly. “He also like cornflakes. Do we have any cornflakes?” Linda opened the cupboard and took out a box. She set that in front of him as well. She took Paul’s segment of orange for herself. “John liked cornflakes. His favorite food.” His eyes dropped to the carpet. “Linda, I don’t think I can handle it.”
“Sure you can, Paulie!” she tried to sound cheery and failed.
“No, I mean the funeral. I don’t think I can handle it.” He grabbed the box, opened it and took out a handful. “I think I’ll write a song for him,” Linda tried to look interested. She actually was, but at one o’clock in the morning? Not in the mood.
The phone rang again.
“Its George,” Paul said as he rushed up to get it. He picked it up. “George?”
“No, mate, sorry.”
“Ringo.”
“The one and only.”
“Did Yoko call you? Did she tell you?”
“She told me alright.”
“How’d you take it?” Paul looked around for Linda. She was sitting on the couch again; her knees brought to her chest and stared out the window. Linda hummed “Mull of Kyntire” and absent-mindedly ate cornflakes.
“I cried for about an hour. You?”
“Same. Now I’m a phase where I can’t look at something without connecting it somehow to John.” Ringo chucked.
“Lemme guess, cornflakes?”
“And oranges.” Ringo laughed again.
“You coming to the funeral, mate?”
“Of course.”
“When ya leavin’?” Paul asked.
“In the morning. Barbara’s coming with me.”
“Linda’s coming to help Cynthia, Yoko, the boys.”
“Poor Sean. Proabably doesn’t even understand. Cyn too. Has George called you yet?”
“No,”
“I just hung up with Yoko, she’s probably talking to him now.”
“I’ve got to go now, Rings. Linda’s looking at me funny.”
“’K, Macca. Keep up the good work, see you tomorrow. Oh yeah, Paul?”
“Yeah?”
“I bought your record the other day.”
“Really?”
“yeah. Good job on it.”
“Thanks. Linda’s on keyboard again.”
“Give her my compliments.”
“Will do. Ringo?”
“One last thing, Paulie, George is trying to call me.”
“Bring your drums.”

[White Rabbit]

Sorry if its long, Part 2 is much longer, but I'll do that in parts. Please, if you don't like it, only constructive critisim or don't post anything at all. I have had man bad experiences with posting my stories online and getting completely bashed because of something.

[Liz]

IT's awesome. ;D ;D ;D

[Icee]

It's great! One problem though, Yoko wouldn't let Cyn go to Johns funeral.

She said to Cyn "It's not as if we're like old school friends".

[me]

Oh it's amazing!

[White Rabbit]

Icee said:

It's great! One problem though, Yoko wouldn't let Cyn go to Johns funeral.

She said to Cyn "It's not as if we're like old school friends".

hahahahahahahahaha go Yoko!!!! good, because in Part 2, I forgot to put in Cynthia, so i guess it was fate... hahahah! wow... i totally admire Yoko for saying that, even though it is sort of mean. oh well. part 2 is coming up

[White Rabbit]

Part 2, in portions.

Paul couldn't sleep on planes, never could, never would. He always felt that if he fell asleep, he would miss out on something. Well, that, plus the fact that he just couldn’t sleep on planes. But Linda could, and her head rested on his shoulder as she slept. So Paul just sat there and thought. And thought. And thought. About nothing in particular, just sitting there in the itchy seat and….thinking. He overheard two flight attendants talking behind him.
“Ohmygod, is that really him?” one whispered excitedly.
“Yes! Oh my god, I should totally ask for an autograph!”
“Are you kidding? He’s probably mourning because of… you know.”
“Oh yeah…” it was quiet for a moment. “I think I’ll go ask anyways. This present isn’t going to buy itself.” She started to walk towards Paul. “Mr. McCartney—” she started.
“That’s me,” he replied.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Um… anyways, my name is Donna, and tomorrow is my kid sister’s birthday. She’s really into your music and the Beatles, so I was wondering if you could give an autograph.”
“Do you have some paper?”
“Yeah, right here.” She pulled it out from behind her. He took it and ripped the paper in half. Donna looked surprised.
“What’s her name?”
“Kelly,”
“Age?”
“Turning 13,”

Kelly- Happy 13th birthday! Wishing you all the best on you milestone birthday. –Paul McCartney

On the other half, he wrote a note to Donna, though she didn’t ask.

Dear Donna
I wish we could’ve met on a more pleasant occasion, but we can’t always choose what happens, now can we? You seem to be a fine young lady and a wonderful flight attendant.
-Paul McCartney

Donna smiled. “Thank you!” she exclaimed and hurried away to her fried

George, Paul, Ringo, and the wives stood in the Dakota apartment building with Yoko and Sean. Yoko was wearing a simple, yet beautiful black and white silk kimono with her hair all tied up in a bun. Her pale face and dark hair made her look like a porcelain doll. Sean, on the other hand, wasn’t dressed up at all, though; he looked like he was ready to go take a walk though Central Park across the street.
Sean’s big eyes darted from George, to Olivia, to Paul, then Linda, then to Ringo and then to Barbara, then finally settling back on Paul. He was quite happy to see Paul, the last time they had seen each other was what, January 1980?
“Where’s Cynthia?” Paul asked.
“I didn’t invite her,” Yoko replied.
“What? Why not?” Ringo asked.
“We’re not friends, John didn’t love her anymore; I just didn’t see a need.”
The wives went to go sit on the couch and talk about wife-things, while George, Paul, Ringo, and Sean sat on the ground and talked about nothing in particular.
“Sean, did you dad ever teach you some guitar?” George asked, eager to teach if John hadn’t taught him. Sean nodded and got up quickly to run to his room. The rest followed. Sean brought down a guitar and positioned it so he could play. Without further ado, he played a perfect A, C, E, and G.
“Wow, Sean! That’s really good! A lot better than when I was your age.” exclaimed George.
Paul stared at him. “You didn’t play guitar when you were his age.”
“My point exactly!” George whispered in Paul’s ear. Paul was confused. He shook it off and got into the next conversation.
“So, Sean, how’s school been treating you?” Ringo asked.
“Good enough,” Sean said simply.
“Any cute girls in your class?”
“Ringo!” George and Paul said together. “For God’s sake, he’s only five!”
“I was just curious…” he looked down. Sean just kind of looked at them, with a curious look on his face that said: ‘I have no idea what’s going on.’
They changed the subject.
“Hey, Sean-y boy, wanna go bang on something that makes a loud noise when you hit it?” Ringo asked.
“Yeah!”
“Okay then, I’m gonna go set up my drums, you wait here.” He left the room and Sean stayed connected to Paul’s leg.
“Daddy used to talk about you,”
“Did he really?” Paul wasn’t surprised. “What would he say?”
“Can’t tell,” Sean whispered. “Top secret.”
“Is it really?”
“Yup.” They both, along with George, walked into the living room where Ringo was setting up the drums. “I’m sorry Daddy isn’t here, he’s going to be away for a long time.” Sean said simply. The remaining Beatles froze. George, who had been strumming his guitar, stopped mid-way between finishing an F chord. Paul, who had been tying his shoe, fell back so he was sitting on his butt, cross-legged, and Ringo, setting up the cymbals, dropped them with a loud crash! on the ground. He quickly picked them up and began setting up again. Tears formed in George’s eyes, but they soon vanished. Ringo finished and called over Sean.
“Now this is the bass drum… and this is the snare… cymbals…” he began to teach, and George and Paul drifted off into conversation.
Soon after Ringo had called the night before, George called. And cried.
“I can’t take it, Paul! Just too much!” George cried. “He was like a brother to me, man.”
“He was to all of us,” Paul said calmly, though he felt like sobbing. It was true, too. Being the most mature (well, kind of) and almost the oldest of the group, John was like an older brother to all of them. “But we need to just… meet. Talk. I suspect that Yoko called you?”
“Yeah,”
“She invited you to the Dakota tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah,”
“Well, I’ll meet you there,”
“Okay then,”
“Bring your guitar.”
“Paul, I haven’t gone anywhere in the U.S.A. without it.”
“Well just bring it. Bye.”
“Bye.” They hung up.
And now there they were, sitting on the ground, talking about their plan for the funeral and listening to Ringo give lessons.

[White Rabbit]

Like all children, after a while, Sean got bored. He even told Ringo about it.
“I’m bored.”
“I’m Ringo! Glad to meet you!” and shook Sean’s hand. “Anyways, that’s how I learned! I was really bored! What else do you think I did while I sat in all those hospital beds?”
“Ate candy?”
“No, they taught me how to play the drums.”
“I’m hungry.”
“Why don’t you go tell your mom about that one.” Ringo smiled. “I can’t cook for beans.”
“Got that right!” called out Paul and laughed. Sean ran to Yoko and tugged on her kimono.
“Food,” he said. Yoko, Sean, George, Paul, and Ringo all went into the kitchen. Sean watched as his mother made him something, and the rest sat at the dining table and read the funnies. Except for Ringo, for some reason he read the advice column.
“Aw, jeeze, they’re bashing John in this one,” Paul said, hitting the paper and pointed it out to George and Ringo.
“Makes me sick!” exclaimed George.
“They don’t bash John,” laughed Ringo. “It’s actually quite funny.” Paul stared at him.
“Are you sure we read the same one?”
“It was that one, right?”
“No, the other one.”
“Oh.” Ringo read it. “Oh, yeah, that’s pretty mean. Why can’t they give a dead man some respect?” He said the last comment softly so that Sean wouldn’t hear.
“I know, really.” George sighed.
“The comic was probably published before John died, so it’s just a coincidence that they used it today.” Paul reasoned.
“Pretty dirty coincidence if you ask me.”
“Agreed,” It was quiet for a moment. “Hey, do you hear that?” asked Paul.
“Yeah, what is that?” asked George. Paul got up and looked out the window.
“Oh my God. Oh my God. George, Ringo, get over here. Look outside.” They both got up and joined Paul by the window. There, four or five stories below them was a large crowd. Enough people to fill up both streets. The crowd wasn’t protesting, more like mourning. Almost all of them were wearing black, and the ones who weren’t were wearing rainbows and all that hippie stuff. There was a group of a hundred people or so singing all the John Lennon songs they could think of, both Beatles and solo career. Currently they were singing “Imagine”.
“Jesus!” George exclaimed. “They weren’t there when we arrived! I wonder what they’re doing. They’re not protesting, they’re not marching…”
“Wow…” Ringo said quietly. “I always knew that John was more popular than me!”
“What are you talking about, Ringo?” Paul asked.
“I’m not quite sure. Carry on.”
“Anyways, I wonder what they’re waiting for.” Paul continued.
“Let’s go down there. Cheer ‘em up, join ‘em in song.” George looked out the window more.
“Sounds good. Yoko, come with? Sean?” Ringo asked.
“Sean and I will stay up here and watch, but thanks for asking.” Yoko replied and ruffled Sean’s hair.
“Well that’s okay too.” Paul, George and Ringo all filed out of the apartment and into downtown New York.
The first people to spot the remaining Beatles were the singers, and that was probably because they joined them in song. They didn’t know all the words to John’s own songs, but fortunately they knew their songs.
“Hey, it’s Paul McCartney!” one yelled as they sang along to “Give Peace a Chance”.
“George Harrison, too!” yelled another.
“Ringo as well!”
All the singers just laughed and kept on singing. There was no real great reaction to them being there, so Paul, George and Ringo kept singing for an hour, maybe less. Afterwards, they went back inside the gates of the Dakota and back into the apartment. The burst into the room, laughing, and their cheeks flushed and excited from singing their old songs and it being so cold outside. The wives stood and stared.
“You guys are so weird.” commented Barbara.
“Talk about it.” added Olivia.
“Ah, but we love them anyways, right?” Linda said as she gave Paul a big hug.
“So who’s on the guest list?” asked Paul.
“Other than you,” said Yoko. “Bob Dylan, Fred Lennon—”
“I thought he was dead.” said Ringo.
“Who cares, let’s invite him anyways. If he’s already dead, that means… it means nothing important, just that he’s dead.” Paul explained. There was a short silence.
“Anyways,” Yoko said slowly. “As well as his aunt Mimi, and some other friends.”
“Okay, sounds good.” George said. “Liv and I need to go back to the hotel. You guys too.”
“Okay, see you guys later.” Paul checked his watch. It was almost nine o’clock, and the couples still needed to find their hotels. “Sean asleep? I want to say goodbye.”
“He’s asleep, yes.”
“Oh, well, then never mind. I’ll see him tomorrow.”
“Goodbye,”
“Bye.”
They all left and walked together. The crowd had long since left the streets to go parading somewhere else, probably somewhere in Central Park or had gone home. Coincidentally, they had all gotten to the same hotel and their rooms were on the same floor, so during the middle of the night, Paul wasn’t surprised to hear knocking on his door and finding his two best friends standing there. None of them were able to sleep, and they didn’t want to disturb their wives by having their own little talk session in their bedrooms, so they had it outside. In the hall.
“Man, I’m gonna miss him.” George started.
“Talk about it.” They were all staring at different portions of the wall.
“John and I would call each other once a month just to talk, see what was up and all that.” Ringo started.
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“We barely talked at all, except for the times I was in New York for recording or something like that.” Paul stared at the wall some more.
Paul, George and Ringo just sat there until two in the morning talking about John and remembering him.
“Well, I’m finally getting tired.” Ringo yawned.
“Me too,” George seconded it by yawning also.
“Yeah.” Paul didn’t yawn.
“You ruined it, Paul. Thanks a lot.”
“What, I’m tired.” Then, finally, he yawned. “I’m going to bed. See you tomorrow… I mean… later today, at a more reasonable time.”
“Sure,” George and Ringo said, walking to their rooms slowly.
Today was the day of the funeral.

[lookingthroughyou]

Oh my. this is...very amazing. it actually made me cry. You are an awesome writer, I can't believe someone bashed you on that other site. It's really, really good.

Just in case you didn't already know, John was cremated, I believe.

But honestly. it's so terribly good.

[White Rabbit]

lookingthroughyou said:

Oh my. this is...very amazing. it actually made me cry. You are an awesome writer, I can't believe someone bashed you on that other site. It's really, really good.

Just in case you didn't already know, John was cremated, I believe.

But honestly. it's so terribly good.

well i did know he was cremated, but you can have a funeral for a cremated person.... that's what we did for my grandpa...

and thank you... very much... you just made my day...

[Zap]

I like it a lot, the only problem I see is that Paul + Linda were in England when John died, so it wouldn't be anywhere near 12:00 AM when he found out from Yoko, who called him, Julian, and Mimi almost as soon as she got back from the hospital.

Yeah, it's good otherwise, though

[White Rabbit]

i'll start writing part 3 as soon as i finish this report i have to do on Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, i need to write a speech.... i should be done in a few hours.

[White Rabbit]

Zap said:

I like it a lot, the only problem I see is that Paul + Linda were in England when John died, so it wouldn't be anywhere near 12:00 AM when he found out from Yoko, who called him, Julian, and Mimi almost as soon as she got back from the hospital.

Yeah, it's good otherwise, though

thank you for the comment, that is really quite fascinating. oh well. i don't want to change it. but thank you for the comment.

[White Rabbit]

tiiiirrreeeddd...