Roses Are Red

Roses Are Red

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WpMetadataReadMatureComplete Thu, Feb 26, 202649h 2m
George ran a hand through his hair in distress as she walked away from him, her head held high. "What do I have to do to make you admit you love me?" George's voice cracked as he called out to her. Samantha stopped in her tracks and froze for a moment. Then, she turned on her heel. Her face was set in a hard scowl. Her anger at him had only grown from his sudden and unexpected comment. "Is that what you want me to say? You want me to admit it?" "For Christ's sake yes!" George exclaimed. "Fine!" She threw her hands up into the air in exasperation. "You win, George!" Samantha laughed incredulously. "I've always loved you-you -you goddamn idiot." ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Samantha Clarke moved from America to Liverpool in 1956 at fourteen years old and met four lads who were destined to become one of the most famous bands in history. George Harrison bumped into his friend Paul and a random redhead girl on his walk home from school on a cloudy day in 1957. For both of them, there was a long and winding road ahead. "Roses are red, my love Violets are blue Sugar is sweet, my love But not as sweet as you" Updates Every Sunday | I DO NOT OWN THE BEATLES|
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----------- Based on the song, "It's Only Love" By The Beatles. The story is told through memories, letters, flashbacks, and diary entries. December 1964 Liverpool, England _-_-_-_-_-_-_ Karma Vaughn arrived in Liverpool beneath a sky so gray it felt like dusk had swallowed the morning. The wind off the Mersey bit through her coat, a far cry from the sun-soaked hills of the Texan countryside she'd left behind. But she didn't mind the chill- it made her feel awake, alive, like something was finally happening. She came chasing a dream and carrying a name nobody knew yet. Her great-grandmother had once sailed from Liverpool to Galveston, leaving behind cobblestone streets and red-brick row houses for open plains and southern skies. Now, generations later, Karma had returned, driven not by heritage, but ambition. She wanted to write. To tell stories. And Liverpool, pulsing with music, youth, and something electric she couldn't quite name, felt like the perfect place to begin. Fresh out of Texas A&M, she'd spent the last year working odd jobs, scraping together the courage- and the funds- for this leap. Her professors had made good on their promises, sending glowing recommendations across the Atlantic. And just like that, The Liverpool Post had taken a chance on the American girl with a sharp wit and a sharper pen. What she didn't expect was how quickly her world would spin. Behind every byline, every interview, every smoky barroom conversation, loomed the faces shaping a generation. Some smiled easily. Some saw right through her. But one of them- cocky, maddening, brilliant- had the nerve to spark something inside her she wasn't ready for. She didn't particularly like John Lennon. And yet, somehow, she already knew this story was going to be about him. ----- These are real people in fake scenarios written by me. I obviously don't own The Beatles or any lyrics or anyone or anything mentioned. #1 in #Lennon 5/30/25 -----

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