Warning: Depictions of illness, sleep deprivation, possible caffeine overdose, blood
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It was all hustle and bustle backstage as the boys were getting ready for their performance. Powder foundation was being applied, ties were being straightened, vests and white collared shirts were being buttoned up, and combs slid through gorgeously maintained mop-tops.
As John was buttoning his vest, he noticed something odd.
It was George. For one, he didn’t look like his normal self. It may have just been the lights of the dressing room, but to him, George looked more pale and skeletal. His cheekbones were more sunken in than normal, and he overall looked more gaunt, almost emaciated, even. One could even tell from looking at the size of his arms.
And that shirt he wore was most certainly Ringo’s.
That didn’t catch his attention, though. What caught his attention was what the boy was doing.
He seemed to be writing on a sheet of paper, one that he could tell Paul would be using later, as the word “Boston” was on the paper in bold black ink.
However, before John could say anything, the skeletal boy turned the paper back over, and John noticed it to be the set list for the upcoming Boston concert.
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George couldn’t deny that he was cold. After all, it was New York City in October. However, this level of being cold was… odd.
And that’s something that Paul noticed straight away.
“Hey, Geo.”
It took some effort for George to realize who was talking to him, but as soon as he did, he could feel his heart drop.
“Look at ya, mate. Ya look horrendous.”
“Mate,” Geo said, “I didn’t think I was that ugly.”
“I’m not saying that you’re ugly. I’m saying you look…”
“Look ...?”
“Cadaverous, corpse-like, even. Basically, I don’t think you’re effectively taking care of yourself.”
“I’m ok! Geez, you don’t sleep for 5 days and everyone thinks ya got 1 foot in the grave! Relax, Paulie, I’m ok and I’m going to be ok.”
“You say that now, but you’re so tired now, that after the concert-”
“Ya tired, Hazza? I’ll get you some coffee to last the concert.” John shouted out.
“Thanks. I appreciate it, Lens!”
“John, no.” Paul snipped. “You’re only going to make it worse.”
“Yeah, John. And besides, I’d need 5 cups if I wanted to make it through the concert and be ok.”
“That sounds like a caffeine overdose.” Ringo shouted from across the room. “Oh, and Geo? I won’t be too mad if you ruin my shirt, but please be careful. I don’t want you getting hurt again.”
George started to pull at the Band-Aid on his forehead.
“Rings, you don’t need to worry. I’ll be fine.” As George finished that statement, he yanked off the Band-Aid and blood started running down the young man’s face. “See? Totally fine!”
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And down went the 5th cup of coffee.
Everyone, including Paul, stared in amazement. Well, yes, George had drunk an astounding amount of coffee over the past 3 weeks, nothing beat 5 cups in roughly 20 minutes. And with only 5 minutes to curtain, the feat was even more impressive.
“What?” George shot out. “We have a show to play and an audience to impress. Let’s go!”
And he and Ringo ran to the wings.
“Hey, Macca.” John whispered in Paul’s ears. “Bet ya 10 quid that he’ll violently crash afterwards.”
“Such a cruel bet to place, but you better believe me. It’s on.” Paul whispered back, with a 10 pound note in his pocket.
“Now where are we headed fellas?” John inquired.
“To the toppermost of the poppermost!” They all yelled in unison.
That was the last time that any of them saw George with the illusion of him being ok.
YOU ARE READING
The Illness's Illusion
FanfictionThe year is 1965. The Beatles are well into a U.S tour, and George, unfortunately, pushes himself too far to keep the fans and his fellow band mates happy. He only realizes this far too late.
