White Feathers (John Lennon/Beatles Fanfiction)

Chapter 1

I stare blankly out the window. The spot he was shot is still splattered with blood. Many people are gathered around, holding up candles and posters. Many of them have tears streaming down their faces.

I notice one particular man with a sign that says, "Why?" and a picture of my John. My eyes seep him as I wonder the same question. Just then he looks straight at me and holds up a peace sign.

I'm quick to shut the curtains.

Laying on my back, I stare up at the wall. I still feel the cold from the window. It's seeped in my veins. Now it runs through me like electric wire. It's the only thing I feel.

I don't notice it, but my quick feet travel to the bathroom and put my face into the toilet to throw up. I haven't eaten since it happened. Typically, I avoid mirrors, but this time, while waiting for bile to rise from my throat again, I look at my reflection.

I jump back quickly and gasp as I see someone else. Pale, a pasty white. Sagging bags underneath my eyes, bloodshot eye whites. I was skinny before, but now my hip bone shows from underneath my pants, sticking out like a sore thumb. I spit blood in the sink. Then I lose control.

I scream at my own reflection, grabbing the wood of the mirror and smashing it all to pieces. I run to my room and fall on the bed, my elbows on the side. I cry into my chest as I see a picture of us and the baby on my nightstand and I scream at it, picking it up and slamming it on the ground, the glass breaking.

I cough up more blood and open the closet door. His clothes. His shoes. All the glasses he wore for 'Walls and Bridges.' They still sit there, waiting to be worn by him. I scream again, at nothing although something, and tell the silent objects he's not coming back. I want them to experience the pain. But they won't. All they will do is sit there and mock me.

I grab his jacket that he used to wear in the spring and wrap it around my body. I feel no warmth.

I spit up more blood and stare at it in my cold hands. I laugh. It's not even warm. I make myself walk back to the living room, wiping the blood on my short pants bottoms. I pull back the curtain again and look out. The man that gave me the peace sign is still there. He's been waiting for me to open the curtain up, I see, because he notices me right away.

His mouth opens but he's silent. For a second I feel like he's interpreting me, but then other mouths open. I hear a murmur, and at an instant everyone is singing, "Imagine." I watch them, all like tiny ants. Singing the same song my husband sang, they are all looking at me now. Their hands raise up with candles or lighters, saluting me in a way. I stare at them and shake my head. I don't need their sympathy.

The cold surges through my veins. The voices seem to get louder and my head is filled with their chanting. I cry out and fall to the ground, holding my head with my hands with my knees drawn to my chest as I scream.

All at once it stops. The singing, the hurting, the screaming. I slowly remove my head from my chest and look up. It's John.

He is his normal self but he has no glasses. His eyes are bright, his clothes not stained with blood, no pain in his eyes. And he has wings like an angel.

"Katherine, love. Come with me." He whispers. My eyes are wide and I no longer feel cold. I reach out to grab his hand. And fall to the ground with a thud, my ribs taking the beating.

"John!" I scream as his shadow fades away. He reaches for me and I reach for him. But he's gone. The apartment is dead again.

I no longer control my body.

I scream at the top of my lungs, smashing every bit of glass and turning over any table I can. The singing returns and I pound on the window with my fists, telling them to shut up. I tear the curtains and break the flower pot, crack the glass table and smash our wedding photos.

Slowly, I inch into the room. I walk on the glass of the broken picture from earlier, no longer even feeling the pain. I reach up to the top shelf of the closet and grab the loaded gun.

I'm coming, John.