Golden Slumbers

"Get it right you idiot!"
"Me?! I bet I can do it ten times better than you!"
"Oh yeah!? Prove it!" Paul scowled and turned back to the piano. He tried to play the riff once more correctly, but his fingers clumsily ran across the keys, giving wrong notes.
"I told you!" John sneered triumphantly. Ringo sat behind his drum set sadly. That's how it's been for the past few weeks: John and Paul yelling at each other while George and Ringo had to watch as the band split up right in front of their eyes. He had had (I hope that makes sense) enough.
"Stop it!" he yelled over his bickering friends. "I though you two were best mates. What happened to my friends!? If arguing's all yer gonna do, then get your arses out!" For such a little man, Ringo had a lot of anger. Paul slammed the key cover on the piano down, grabbed his coat, and stalked out of the studio.
"Drama queen," John muttered, turning his attention back to his guitar. Ringo groaned and banged his head against the snare drum in annoyance.
As Paul trudged down the street to his Aston Martin, so many thoughts rushed into his head. Most of them were centered around John. Why was he such a jerk? What made him that way? It started mainly when they started touring. But, they were done touring, so he should've mellowed out, right? Paul thought the same thing, but it was proved to be wrong.
"I'm done," he muttered as he got into the car and started it up. "I'm done with them." It was 5 a.m. and pouring down rain.
"This day can't get any worse," he grumbled to himself. While driving to his flat north of London (I don't know if he had a flat north of London, I just made that up), he saw a woman in a blue dress walking down the sidewalk, soaking wet.
He pulled up beside her, asking, "You need a lift?" She nodded gratefully as she got in. Thank God she doesn't recognize me, he thought.
"Thank you so much sir," she said quietly to the "stranger". "I'm Rita."
"Paul," he said. Rita looked over to get a better look at him. She screamed in delight when she saw who her driver was.
"Oh my God! You're Paul McCartney! I love you!" she squealed, pulling at his hair and practically jumping all over him.
"I can't see the road! Get off me!" he exclaimed. When he did get a glimpse of the road, he saw he was about to run a red light and crash straight into a pole. He did all he could to stop it, but was distracted by Rita's screams of terror and excitement. There was a loud crunch. Paul was met by the taste of blood and the smell of burning rubber and metal. Rita scrambled to get out of the burning car, leaving Paul bloody and in pain.
"HELP!" he yelled, "GET ME OUT!" Unfortunately, no one was around to hear Paul's screams. Maybe dying won't be such a bad thing, he thought, I've got nothing to live for no more. Just then, he remembered why he wanted to live. John. His best mate. He screamed in pain as he felt the hot flames lick his skin.
"Joh-" Before he could finish, he passed out. The last thing he saw was his mother's smiling face, as if to welcome him to Heaven.
Miles away at Abbey Road, the remaining Beatles were totally oblivious to everything that happened until and hour later when a police officer came in.
"i have some bad news, " he announced, making sure he had everyone's attention. "Mr. Paul McCartney was found in his burning car unconscious. He's in critical condition and isn't expected to survive." Silence bestowed the nearly empty room.
"Paulie, my Paulie?" John asked feebly. Even the thought of not having Paul made John cry.
Sure enough, within the hour, James Paul McCartney was pronounced dead as soon as he got to the emergency room.