Hey Johnny

Hey Johnny

When Freddie Lennon takes his young son John into town for the day, John’s mother, Julia, and her sister, Mimi, assume his intentions are pure. But when they discover Freddie is not everything he claims to be, they have to get little John back- fast.

A little ditty for John’s birthday :) I submitted it into a Beatles short story contest a while back (and I won :)) It’s my gift on this, most glorious of days. From me to you XD
An no,there won't be more. It's a short story.
Enjoy!

Chapter 1

Everyday

Young John Lennon lay sprawled out on the floor, surrounded by sheets of paper and an endless supply of crayons. You could tell the boy’s favorite colors just by looking at the crayons. Blue, red, and purple where practically down to nubs of color from constant use, but green was practically non-existent. Colors like pink and gray, however, had never been touched. On his lift side was a stack of white drawing paper his Uncle George had purchased for him, despite his wife Mimi’s objection, and to the right of the 5-year-old was used paper, each one filled with color and drawings of the strangest things, not a single bit of white left on any paper.
It was little John’s version of paradise.
“That’s enough, John,” Mimi scolded, towering above the little boy. “You’ve been doing nothing but drawing that dribble since you got up. It’s time you went outside and played.”
“Aw, let him alone,” Uncle George, who sat in a nearby armchair and behind a crossword said. “I think Johnny’s more the creative type, eh?”
John sends a smile full of gaping holes his uncle’s way as a thanks to him. He can always count on Uncle George to be on his side.
Mimi, however, cannot, as she sends her own “Why-must-you-always-contradict-me?” look to her husband.
“Oh, Mimi, come on now. Look at him! Who knows, those drawin’s could be worth something one day.”
John secretly smiles to himself and continues sketching with what’s left of the green crayon, not saying a word.
Mimi glares at her husband. She’s never lost an argument before, and she sure isn’t about to start now. “John, go get dressed and go outside.”
“Aww, Mimi!” he moans, but his aunt will have none of it.
“Go!” she orders, pointing her long, skinny finger upstairs.
John wrinkles his nose and glares at his aunt for a moment, just so she can know this upsets him, but shuffles up the stairs anyway.
George sighs and wishes he had John’s bravery. Never could he stand a glaring contest like that with his wife.
“Why must you always make me look cruel in front of John!?” Mimi whisper-shouts to her husband once the boy is out of sight.
“Because you are,” George replies with a teasing smile, even though he’s only half kidding.
Mimi shoots him her third look within the minute.
“Mimi, we’re his aunt and uncle, not his parents. We don’t have to deal with discipline, that’s Julia’s job.”
She grits her teeth. “George, I don’t think Julia’s nearly ready to take John back, which means we are going to have to be John’s parents for a while. Which means you can’t be the fun one. You have to be a father!”
George narrows his eyes at his wife. “It’s not like I’ve had any practice.”
Mimi is taken aback by the comment of her lack of children, but says nothing in reply. She would argue that they were both never to speak of such a subject, but the pain was too great. She stayed silent, but kept the glare on her face, letting her husband know he hadn’t won. Luckily, John steps downstairs to interrupt the conversation from furthering. And he is quite a sight.
“Dig you, Johnny!” George cries at his nephew, trying to contain his laughter.
Mimi’s jaw drops. “Oh… my,” she replies.
Standing at the top of the steps, John wears a tan, black and red diamond pattern sweater, knitted by Mimi herself, and a pair of bright green pants. He has two mismatching shoes.
“John, why haven’t you worn the outfit I picked out for you?” Mimi asks, her voice edging on scolding.
John bites his lip, searching for a response. He could never tell Mimi he wears those pants for freedom of grass stains without her knowing. How does she really expect John to go outside and play if she yells at him every time his knees get marked up with a few grass stains?
“I… like this one better,” he replies quietly.
Mimi narrows her eyes, telling him that a showdown is about to begin.
“Go wear what I picked out for you, please,” she says quietly.
“But Mi-“
“Now!” she cries.
John sighs, wondering why he even tried in the first place.

“Pew! Pew! Pew!” John shouts, his arms stuck out, spit flying from his mouth as he imitates the shooting of a fighter plane. “Down with the Germs!”
The morning dew soaks his socks and chills his toes, but he doesn’t care. He’s a big strong pilot, fighting for England, shooting down the Nazis. Pilots don’t slow down because of cold toes.
“There they are! The Crouts!” he bellows, pointing at a ant hill. “Drop the bomb, men!”
Having no actual bomb, John leaps into the air and lands directly on the colony of ants, wiping each one out.
“For the Queen!” he shouts, and pats himself on the back.
He looks down at his victims. Suddenly, he feels less heroic. The tiny little ants are crippled now, having done nothing truly wrong. Their little legs are bent and twisted, and he knows they cannot be saved. He can only watch as they slowly, painfully, die.
He’s no war hero. He’s a monster.
“I’m sorry!” he apologizes, and drops to his knees, but they mean nothing. Slowly, one by one, the ants die. He can almost feel their souls around him.
Little John sniffs away tears and mucus and quietly decides to play something else.
“I’m the Kind of England!” he declares, and climbs to the top of his favorite tree. The climb is long and hard, and the rough bark hurts his little fingers and scrapes his little knees, but he makes it.
“I declare that today is Green Pants Day!” he bellows, and pulls a branch off of the tree to use as a scepter. “Huzzah!”
He smiles to himself and sticks his face against the blowing September winds. He feels almost like he could jump right out of the trees and the wind would carry him with no fear of falling. Maybe he can do it!
Still holding onto the tree, John leans as far out of the tree as he can. Forcing himself not to look, he slams his eyes shut, but still feels like he’s floating. Maybe… just maybe…
“Hey Johnny!” a bright, cheery voice calls up to the King
King John turns his head in the direction of the sound. His eyes go round at the sight of the person, and he lets go of the tree to wave.
And fell right out of the tree.
Despite those accursed grass stains he receives from using his knees to cushion the blow, little John is fine, and immediately runs at top speed.
“Daddy!” he shouts, and leaps into the man’s arms.

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