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Evil Behind The Sweater Vest"George, George! Wake up!"
"Ugh..." his eyes fluttered open with a pounding in his head. George couldn't move his arms or legs. He was tied to a chair and Ringo was tied behind him. "Richie," his voice grew low and scared. "W-wha's going on...?"
"It's Paul," Ringo said quickly. "He's crazy!"
"Is he the one who tied us up? In the... Kitchen?" George could see the fridge in front of him and the leftovers from last night on the counter.
"Y-yeah," Ringo stammered. He let out a shaky breath and tried to squirm against George's back. "Do you remember anything at all?"
"No, not really..." George hissed from the pain in his head. "How long was I knocked out?"
"A good hour or so. Paul did it. He slammed you with a baseball bat..."
"Fuck!" George cursed. Then he coughed a few times and realized his throat felt very sore like he had been yelling a lot. He licked his lips and tried to peer around the room. "Where is he? Where's Paul?"
"I heard his giggle upstairs," Ringo shivered.
Tomorrow Never KnowsThe Beatles sat around in a circle on the beach. It was a full moon tonight and the bonfire kept them nice and toasty warm. A bag of marshmallows was being passed around until the bag was empty and Ringo somehow ended up holding it. He snorted and tossed the bag aside. The wind picked up and made it roll and tumble across the sand.
John plucked a few random chords on his acoustic guitar. He was sitting cross-legged next to George who was holding up his brand new sitar on his lap. His pair of sandals laid beside. Paul sat next to him wearing a bulky gray sweatshirt and was holding a can of raspberry ginger ale. He had taken something earlier and couldn't stop laughing.
"Whatever it is, Paul, it's not funny," Ringo said, but he was smiling, too. A cigarette dangled halfway in his mouth, bobbing along his lips whenever he spoke.
Paul giggled for a response and leaned himself sideways on George. "A very stony Paulie," George said, and chuckled. He then tried to sit Paul back up with his fi
Cindy, the bar waitress, leaned on both elbows on the counter and watched eighteen-year-old George Harrison drink his milk without using a straw. "You're cute," she said. He carefully set his milk down on the blue coaster and gave her a shy smile in return. He opened his mouth to thank her, but a soft squeak came out instead.
"George! What have I told you about flirting with older birds?" twenty-one year old John Lennon demanded, slapping a hand down on the boy's shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze. He then eyed Cindy playfully and liked what he saw through that red silk blouse she wore for tonight. She clicked her tongue with dismay and pulled the blouse up. George's face soon matched the color, and now he wished he could go crawl in a hole and die.
"Hi there, sweetums," John purred. "Why you wasting your breath on George for? He's just a boy!"
George hissed for a response. He was not a boy. He was a man. A real man like John!
"I'd rather talk to him than the likes of you
Therapy Session pt 2Betsy took a deep breath and said in a high, shaky voice, "Let's not panic." Her hand flew to her mouth and Paul was still smiling on the couch.
He didn't panic. He felt great. He began to watch his oddball therapist get up from her leather chair and walk over to the smashed tape recorder on the carpet floor. While she picked up the broken pieces, his smile vanished once he realized what he done.
"Oh gosh," Paul whispered. "Please forgive me, Betsy..." He started to get up from the couch to go help her with the mess, but she shot him a glare that said Stay away from me you crazy bastard. He swallowed hard and sat back down.
"I can get you a new tape recorder," he heard himself say.
"Don't bother," Betsy snapped. "I think we're done for today."
What? Paul blinked a few times. That's it? But I still have so much to say!
"I really don't feel better," he told Betsy out loud. "Please give me another chance!"
Betsy Rosendale took another deep breath. "Fine," she murmured
Therapy Session pt 1The walls were a soft pink color. The fireplace had a vase filled with dead flowers, and he was thinking, Are those suppose to make me feel better about myself? Paul sighed softly and grew nervous in the waiting room. Maybe going to this therapy appointment was a bad idea... He left early from the studio and the other boys grew very suspicious.
"Where you off to?" John asked him.
"Uh, I need to get a haircut," was his horrible reply.
"A haircut?" Ringo said.
"You don't need one, you look fine," George gave him a small smile.
He shook his head and grabbed his jacket anyway. What do you know, George? He thought. You know nothing, that's what!
"Um, I'll see you all later," he told them, making a quick beeline for the exit.
Now, while the others practiced their new songs without him, Paul was sitting on a cream floral couch with a glass coffee table in front that was covered with magazines. There was nothing he saw that sparked his interest, except maybe the newest is
Cookie MonsterMarch 1982
Stella McCartney shivered underneath the burgundy hand towel that was draped over her shoulders and tried to hold still in her seat at the kitchen table. Her mother Linda was standing behind her running a plastic comb through her soaked, blonde hair. The ten-year-old had just gone out swimming for a good forty-five minutes, and already her lips were turning purple.
"Cold?" Linda grinned, holding her daughter's hair flat down as she dragged the comb's teeth through the tangles and knots.
"Y-yeah," Stella replied with a stutter. She couldn't help it, she was shivering so much.
"I wasn't kidden when I said it'd be too cold to go swimming, was I?"
"The weather man said it was going to be h-hot today!"
"Mothers know best." Linda paused with the comb and covered her free hand on top of Stella's head to make her stop shaking. It worked with a result of a sneeze.
"Bless you," Linda smirked.
Suddenly her five-year-old son, James, dashed through from outside wearing a cooki
The Water GardenJohn had rolled all the car windows down and set the radio low on the classical station. Paul was sitting on the passenger seat with his head facing the warm sun and the cool breeze blowing his hair. He took a few deep breaths and listened closely to the pretty orchestra with the several different violins and cellos playing. His nose twitched like a rabbit's, and he could smell the freshly blade cut grass and the grape flavored gum John was chewing.
"You know what yesterday was?" Paul heard himself speak. His voice sounded a little groggy like he just woke up from a dream, and cleared his throat waiting for John to answer.
"No, what?" John said. He then blew a large, purple bubble from his mouth, and soon popped it with his teeth.
"The first day of spring," Paul said. He turned his head around to give John a grin. A grin he hadn't done for a long time.
"Huh," John said, never taking his eyes off the road, but could feel Paul's eyes looking at him.
"Where are you taking me?" Paul change
The Way Things Are"I'm sorry girls, but you'll have to eat those outside," the shopkeeper said, not sounding the least bit sorry. He waited for Myra and Levy Ferguson to turn around and leave, but the two sisters remained standing inside the soda fountain with their ice cream cones.
"Why can't we have our ice creams inside with the other customers?" Levy asked, already knowing the answer. But she wanted to hear the words come out across the shopkeeper's face.
"Because," he said flatly. "That's the way things are." Then he reached over and took a broom from behind the counter. He began to swipe the sisters with it.
"Hey! Watch it!" Myra cried, raising up her chocolate mint cone higher, out of reach from the broom. She was ten months older than Levy, but with her shyness and distance, she sometimes acted like the younger one.
"Scat!" the shopkeeper snarled.
"It's all because of our skin color, huh? Say it!" Levy shouted. She had not moved a muscle from her position on the cream tile floor. She wasn't even
Something New"Come out, John," Paul said. "Let's take a look at you." He smiled and waited on the porch swing with their meal in a basket and the rolled up checkered tablecloth below his bare feet. John shook his head gravely behind the rusted screen door that separated them and took a step back.
"I-I can't," he said.
"Why not?" Paul frowned.
"Because I look goddamn awful in these clothes you made me put on!"
"Just come out so I can see," Paul urged. "Please?"
John groaned, because Paul was giving him the Look. The Look showed off his trademark pout and big puppy dog eyes. Scowling, John shoved the screen door wide open and stepped out in a pair of jean overalls and white cotton shirt.
"Laugh, and I'll kill you," he snarled.
"You look like a true farmer now!" Paul exclaimed. He pushed himself off the swing and rushed over to give John a kiss on the lips. Feeling a little better, John smirked, and said, "I'm such a hillbilly."
"A wonderful hillbilly," Paul corrected.
The two of them made thei
Our DutyWe swallowed the path home
Because we were hungry,
Though starving is an ongoing
Story, an empty bag
Dancing in the streets,
Full of an unfastened voice
Walking through the house,
Wind unchained, heart admonished.
Heaven fills its eyes, crawls away,
That sleeping boat content to follow
The vacant waves, intervals
Of dying that we dare not interrupt,
And we watch the kind ear shrinking
From our charcoal docks; heaven
With a full stomach crawls away.
This is what we were put here for.
Leaving Southampton She was in the kitchen when he stumbled in noisily, tripping as he went past the shelves and catching the edge of the table to keep himself from falling.
Pretending not to hear the stream of curses that followed, she kept her eyes fixed on the dishes, letting her hand trail in the soapy water. There was a loud scraping of wood against grimy concrete as he drew a chair and collapsed into it. At this she looked up, and after a moment's hesitation, she said, unnecessarily, "You've been drinking."
He clutched his head and said nothing. He hadn't shaved in weeks and stank of sweat and alcohol; he looked much older than his eighteen years.
They sat in silence for a while. Then he announced, loudly, "Fuck."
She didn't bother to tell him off. She just waited. And jumped when he suddenly brought his fist down, hard, onto the table.
"Our lives here are s
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