Unfortunate

Chapter 5

    John was pulled back to his senses by a sudden brightness invading his personal space. He blinked repeatedly, sheilding his eyes away from the flashlight's blinding light. "We'll need you to step away from the, uh, body" one of the paramedics worded guardedly. John blinked once more, looking around to find that George and Ringo were no longer kneeled on the ground, but milling around the single ambulance with blankets draped across their shoulders. They seemed to be talking quietly amongst themselves, or perhaps their teeth just danced inside their mouths from the inclimate weather. John turned his head back, looking down at the frigid, pale hand he was grasping on to quite harshly.
   A lump found it's way into his throat, constricting his vocal chords of any possible speech. He nodded once, letting go of his dear friend's hand. He wondered how long he'd been kneeling there, minutes, hours maybe? To John it seemed like an eternity. His head slowly rotated towards Paul's form where a couple of paramedics were trying vigorously to revive him. John winced at this and turned his back on the dreadful scene, stumbling numbly to his feet.
   Something felt different about the lonely night. Snow had stopped falling, leaving a lovely blanket of white that wrapped around everyhing as far as the eye could see. John thought it ironic that a night so tranquil could be interrupted by such barbaric violence. The man, who felt as though his body had been replaced by an empty, alien shell desolate of showing emotion, could not think of anything. He didn't want to. All John wanted was for something like this to have never happened, for this night to suddenly become imaginary; But he knew that was impossible.
   Paul's assault was more realistic than the concept of existing altogether. Perhaps this feeling was one associated with primal instinct. As if losing a brother also meant that a part of your soul withered and died. John emptied his head of such notions and turned around once more to the fruitless scene unraveling before his very eyes. Confused, John took a step back, never peeling his eyes away from the miraculous wonder that was taking place. Paul's chest was rising oh so faintly, but it was undoubtedly, unmistakenly, and absolutely there.
   This was enough to unravel John at the seams; his polished façade melting away with every ray of hope that burned deep in his chest. John hadn't noticed that he'd been holding his breath the entire time, and a gust of air escaped through the crevices of his teeth with a sigh. George and Ringo had taken notice of what was happening and proceeded to quietly walk up behind John. The young guitarist placed his pale hand upon his older friend's shoulder, grasping it to make himself believe that it was still reality, that this was not some kind of nightmare. John did not even flinch as George's thumb pressed unknowingly against the bone farther along his left clavical. Pain was ignored by his conscience, for it was too busy holding up the fragments of stability keeping John's mind together.
   A smile cracked wide against Ringo's face like an egg against a hot skillet. Being the only one who hadn't completely lost it at their close friend's turn of events, he let out a cheerful whistle. At this, John unfroze from place and in a blur had Ringo pinned to the brick building's wall. "You think this is okay?" he sputtered harshly, fighting to sound masculine over the growing lump nestled in his throat. Ringo calmly placed his hands around John's own that were clamped tightly to his shirt collar, and pried them off. He shoved him only hard enough to register authority over the situation and make respectable space between them.
   "John", he began timidly, unsure of the mental state his comrad was in. "This is, in no shape or form okay. It is so completely opposite o' that.. that's why you need to pull it together. We all do, for Paul's sake at least. If e's goin' to make it tonight so be it, but standin' around like foolish blokes isn't going to make the situation any better" he finished, glancing at George-who didn't look any less ghostly-for reassurance. John sighed shakily, but looked up with a hardened gleam to his eye.
   "You're right, Richie" he said steadily, features of his regular persona snapping back in place. "We need to find the fuck who did this, but only until we are certain that Paul will be alright" he said strongly, the lump in his throat receeding to that of a pebble. The boys headed to the ambulance and decided it was best that Ringo go with Paul, since he was the most level-headed at the moment. Ringo climbed into the backseat, unwantingly glancing at his dear friend struggling to hold on to his life. He gulped down his worries and dedicated his concern towards Paul's condition instead of the man who'd caused his suffering. Ringo worried then about John and what dark, twisted thoughts or intentions lay buried in the deepest concave of his mind.

AN/ Hey guys! This is mostly a filler chapter; things will begin picking up quickly in the coming chapters so stay tuned. I am so grateful for the 80 readers I have, thank you very much.