Bagism: Library

Skywriting -- Mar 04, 1998
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Continued from Mar 03, 1998

Or is it Asti Spumanti? You know the fizzy wine drink? Anyway...John decided to go to another pub and seeing as it was a made up story and he could do anything he liked he upped and went to the Philharmonic pub on Hope street, Liverpool. He hadn't been there in years nut decided to try a Guninness and sit down. He couldn't decide whether to sit in Brahms or Listz (only people who live in or have visited Liverpool will know what I'm on about here so bear with it). He settled in Brahms when who would come up to him but Paul McCartney. "Have you seen the inny these days?", said Macca. "It's called LIPA now mate, I bought the fucker",Paul continued. John repied,"bully for you, I've just opened a sweet shop called ...

"Streetcars R Us"!

Paul arched an eyebrow doubtfully. "Streetcars R Us, eh?" he repeated slowly. He paused for a moment and then continued, slightly hesitantly, "Bit of a funny name for a sweet shop, innit?" Seeing the annoyed look that was appearing on John's face Paul hastened to add, "*Not* that there's anything wrong with that! After all it is your sweet shop, and... er..." Paul trailed off, hoping that he had appeased his friend's firey temper.

"*And* I can call it whatever I bloody well like!" answered John, standing up and looming menacingly over Paul, still sitting nervously at the table. Really, Paul didn't much care for the way things were turning out. He hadn't meant anything by his comment, only that Streetcars R Us was a funny name for a sweet shop, that's all. Seeing John's face going an odd shade of pink as it often did when he was getting angry or pissed (at the moment, it appeared he was both), Paul realized that he sould clarify what he had said.

"Look, John, I really didn't mean anything by it... I- you can call your sweet shop anything you like, really..." Paul stammered, but it was too late. John's drunken temper had flared up again and without any warning the other Beatle reared back and punched Paul in the face.

Paul let out a cry of mixed shock and pain, and rapidly considered his options. He could punch John back, but that wouldn't do anything but prolong the fight. Or he could just keep talking and hope that John wuoldn't hit him again. "John, I said I'm sorry!" Paul said quietly, trying to ignore the gleam in his bandmate's eyes. No good. John punched Paul again, scarcely realizing what he was doing. Paul's nose started to bleed, and the other people in the pub were taking cover, expecting an all-out brawl to errupt.

Paul stood up now and before he could stop himself, swung a fist at Lennon. But he couldn't see well because of his swelling eye, the result of John's first blow, and John easily punched Paul again. After a split second of hesitation, Paul dove for the floor, and winced as John began kicking him. "John-" Paul gasped softly, grunting as John kicked him in the ribs. "What- are- you- doing?! What's- what's- wrong- with- you?"

John didn't answer at first, just kicked harder. Suddenly Paul heard a faint crack and there was a terrible burning, stinging pain in his chest. He cried out in pain, curling in on himself in the hopes of preventing any further injury.

John was furious, but not at Paul, not really. He was just sick of everything going on around him, not having any control. He needed something to take his frustration out on, and in his drunken stupor he happened to have chosen Paul. "I'm fuckin' sick and tired of all of this insane shite going on and no one telling me what the bloody hell it's all about!" he yelled, ignoring the way people were beginning to flee from the pub. When no one said anything in response, it just made John angrier and he kicked Paul hard in the head, despite the other Beatle's desperate protests.

"John!" Paul cried weakly. "Please, you've... you 'ave to stop! I can't take much more!" All he got in response to this was a sharp kick in the head and he groaned. Paul could hear John talking, but the voice was jumbled, coming as if from far away. Unable to get up, Paul just lay on the floor of the pub, gasping for each choking breath against the pain in his ribs. It was only a few moments later that his consciousness slipped away.

"Jazzy! If it's this the man that used to talk about peace, let me be friend of Saddam Hussein!", shouted a ten-years-old kid that came thru the door. John looked to her, blankly. She did look familiar. The voice that shouted for her too. "Luiza? You there?". Anna came inside the pub and kneeled near Paul. "Damn it, John, this guy is dead!", she whispered, as she was taking her sister away. "Dead...and I want to see how you're going to escape from that,"

Luiza looked behind, as they were walking away from the pub. "You are going to leave him alone, Anna?" "Yep. This time I cannot help him...not all my imagination ca't take away from some sealed fate.". Luiza shed a tear. "And the worst thing is that I like Paul. Damn it. I like him." Anna smiled in sympathy. "Don't shed tears...something might happen. Let's go, we have a meeting. And watch out ofr those streetcars. They are so many!". They took a long look back to the pub, where something was going on...

What used to be the pub was now just a pile of rubble. Damn those streetcars.

John looked at his hands. Blood speckled one knuchle. Had he done that? It seemed so impossible to him...he scarcely remembered being angry. "What did I do?...someone tell me what I did! someone give me an answer!"

A crying sound rose in the distance. "Paul? Paul, what happened? PAUL? Wake up, Paul, wake up, dammit!" "Holy..." John gasped. In his rage he'd forgotten Paul was married with 3 kids.

"I killed him?" John trembled and called Paul's name again. No reply. Again. No reply. "No, no, no, no....No!" Then a child's voice. A little boy. God, he sounded almost like Julian, John's little son. "Daddy?" Then an angry squawk. "James! I told you to wait outside!" "But what's wrong with Daddy?" "Um...James, Daddy is just sleeping. Now go wait in the car with your sisters."

The padding of soft footsteps on the concrete startled John. He turned around, and yes, there was little James McCartney. What a cutie he was, in his little toddler outfit. James waved at his father's former best friend, unknowing to what John had just done. He climbed in the car and into Heather's lap. He soon was fast asleep. What horrible news he would face when he woke up in the morning!

John sank to the floor of the pub, tears welling up in his eyes as he knelt over his friend's lifeless body. "No," he whispered. "No, this can't have happened! Christ, what have I done?" John scrubbed a hand across his eyes, not noticing the shadow that had fallen across Paul's body, cast by someone standing in the doorway of the pub.

John forced himself to look at Paul's thin form, crumpled on the floor. Swallowing hard, the Beatles raised his eyes and gasped at what he saw. Paul's face was heavily bruised and there was a small pool of blood underneath his head. Paul's cold hands were still clutching at his ribcage, and tendrils of still-sweaty hair clung to his forehead. Giving in to impulse, John reached out with one trembling hand and brushed at the hair, scarcely believing what had happened.

"This can't be real. God, please don't let this be real," John wailed. "Paul, man, I'm sorry! Look, you've gotta get up, we've got a recording session tomorrow!" Paul didn't move. John felt a sick feeling pass over him. "I didn't do that. I couldn't have done that."

Cold reality set in. "Paul," John said. "Paul, I'm begging you. Please get up." Paul remained motionless, as he would for eternity. John felt a warm tear trickle down his cheek. As much as he hated crying, he didn't try to hide it. "Paul, please?" Then a thought hit him-"CPR, you bloody fool!" John felt for a pulse, some breaths, anything. Paul was absent of both. John let it go then. He wiped his bloody hand off on his pants. "Ah, Paul, why did you have to say that! You knew I'd been drinking." In a small voice, barely audible, he added, "But I didn't have to blow up at him like that." Suddenly- a siren. Help had arrived! But help was too late for Paul, who on his way to his final destination. John ran outside, wiping his tears from his face. A paramedic on his way in was stopped right in his tracks by a cold look from John. "You're too late." John took a shuddering breath and walked down the street, so empty inside he didn't even notice the streetcars. Expect the one that hit him.

So the cops came and hauled John down to Attica State. "Attica State? Wait a minute..." John complained. "Sorry, Mr. Lennon, this is where federal offenders go." John slumped down in the back of the cop car, even though no one could see him anyway because there were no windows.

Attica turned out to be this depressing place. Upon John's arrival he was assigned a uniform: orange jumpsuit and orange plastic sandals. His cell was 999A, which he shared with a short, fat little man. John was never hungry so he gave the other guy his servings of the tasteless prison food. Prison food. Blech.

Meanwhile.... James woke up from his nap and everyone was crying. since he was just a wee little thing at the time, he didn't understand what was going on, and the fact that his mother looked like she was having a heart attack, at the same time wailing and jumping on top of a black body-bag just scared the hell out of him. He started to cry. "What's wrong with mummy?!" he asked his sister. She just told him to shut up and kept on crying. Just at that moment his mummy...

saw Yoko Ono walking down the street. She walked right up to Linda who started to laugh. Yoko stared at her as if she were crazy. "Linda.... we can help you..." she began to say "NO YOU CAN'T!!! YOUR HUSBAND HAS ALREADY HELPED US ENOUGH ALREADY, THANK-YOU-VERY-MUCH! GET AWAY FROM ME YOU BITCH!" she then grabbed the stretcher that had been in the ambulance and cloberred Yoko on the head with it, killing her instantly. There she lay, her head beated to shreds as Linda hovered over the body laughing like a lunatic....

Somewhere near-by, two girls were looking to that nut situation. . "We got to do something.", Anna said. "Well, is there anything we can do?", Rea said, in a bitter tone of sarcasm. Anna sighed, then some piece of music came thru her head. "What will it take to bury me? I can't wait, I ca't wait to see!...Flip the switch!" Her eyes got as big as two plates of soup. "Damn it, Rea, john is going to be killed!" "What?" Anna left the pub, and outside of it she shouted. "Capital punishment, you know? We got to do something. Claim our powers and bring Paul back. Lose 2 Beatles in only one night is more than enough!" Rea followed her down the street. "Call Annie. Call Gabbie. We got to make it right.", she said, slipping into the shadows of the wall, just like a lizard. Meanwhile back, the ambulance went its way to the hospital, in any hurry.

The reporters - seas of them, all placed on the hospital's door - were trying to get any information. ANYTHING. Pieces of conversation between them flew to heaven just like whispered fears. "...so who's the killer'?..." "Kicked to death? you gotta be kidding..." "...there's a girl who saw it all...a ten-years-old, I saw it with my own eyes..." "I can't believe John did it, I just can't believe..." "What will be of them now?"... Luiza looked to that mob of people. She ried to pass thru them, but someone recgonized her asthe little kid on the pub. "Damn it!", she sighed, as the army of microphoned-men surrounded her. "What did you see?", they all asked in unperfect unison. She had to lie to save John's skin - and face perjury if someone else saw it too. Thankfully, her sister came along, taking her away. "You won't get nothing from her, crows!", Anna said in a tone that didn't give space to argument. "Have fun with the rags. My sister ain't say a word!".

they passed thru the overcrowded hallways. "FBI is going to nag at us, Anna. We saw it all. We saw it all!" "Shh...don't say that, I am with you. Let's stay together, and no harm will get to us.". Just as she said it she saw Linda and her children at the hallway. "Mrs. McCartney, I am sorry", Luiza said, and her words were true. She was a bit older than Stella, and couldn't help crying in silence. "Where the hell is Rea? Did she find the others?", Anna thought, biting her nails, as some doctor came along.

THEN THEY ALL GOT HIT WITH STREETCARS. All the people cheered as this plot came to an end.

*Fade to Black*

*Close Curtian*

*End Act Two*

Luiza looked behind the curtains. "Shhh...act three is nearly starting", she said to the audience. "Watch out for any streetcar!", she said, laughing, and scooting over of some streetcar that passed on by on the stage. "Ready? here we go..."

"I AM I, DON QUIXOTE! THE LORD OF LA MANCHA! MY DESTINY CALLS AND I GO...." sang Luiza.

"Pssssst!" whispered Natalie. "Wrong show!" Then she got hit by a streetcar.

"Shhh, Luiza, wrong text!", Anna shouted. "Ops, sorry.", she smiled, and, red as a tomato, climbed down the stage. "Let's just watch it.", she warned her younger sister. Luiza just nodded. "Can't believe I am going to hear the Beatles! Do you think they're going to play "Yellow Submarine?' "Who's to say?" But, instead of the Beatles, it was Mal Evans who entered the stage, in a hurry. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a problem.", he said.

And then his voice disappeared. Everybody at the audience looked puzzled. An evil laughter filled the mid air, making all the people cring. "It's HIM", Anna whispered. "Who?", Luiza asked.

"You know who," Anna replied. "The one and only Beatle Phantom." "Beatle Phantom? What are you on about?" Luiza asked. "Well..." Anna hesitated, then began the tale. "It all started several years ago."

Luiza, sensing a long story, quieted Anna by running her over with a streetcar.

This much talked about, never really known Beatle was, in fact, John. His cheeks were hollow, his eyes a little sunken and his face ashen grey. "Ladies..and gentle people..." His voice sounded emptied of any emotion.

"You think you know me but you haven't got a clue."

"Yes, that's right" a female voice said as a familiar blonde walked onstage beside John. "LINDA?!" the audience gasped as John grabbed her and began groping her. When they came up for air, boy, did they have some explaining to do...

Luiza had almost dropped the curtain on their heads, she was so taken aback. John looked out into the audience. "Well," he began, and then he looked over at Linda. She gave him an encouraging nudge. "Y'see, it's like this.... well, after Paul died, and after Yoko died (he carefully edited out the "cause of death" in both cases) Linder and I well... i don't know what happened, but... we're going to be married" there was an audible gasp heard throughout the auditorium...

"And we'd like you to be the first to hear our new band we've formed together called...

The Clinicly depressed Street car gang.

Everybody cheered at this annoying development exept for me. "John, how could you DO this?!?!" I screamed, jumping up on the stage. "You can be in it too, if you want." He said. "That's not the problem! She is! I wanna marry you!!! You're MINE!!! And do you know how STUPID the name of this new group is?!?! The Clinicly depressed Street car gang. What kind of name is that, anyways?" I asked. "Sorry luv," John said. "I didn't know it meant so much to you. How do I know you anyways?" "You slept with me when you visited California in early '67." "Oh, YEAH, I remember now! OK, I'll marry you. Sorry, Lin."

Just then they all got hit by a street car. "Bloody fucking street cars!" John screamed. "I hate them! Why do they keep coming back?!?!?" "What's with all the bloody street cars?!?!!?!" I screamed, breaking all the glass within ten kilometres.

Continued on Mar 05, 1998

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