Paul is dead.

The Beatles were taking a trip out to the English countryside, a musical inspiration trip.. but that’s what they called it. It was really an excuse to get high on LSD, Weed, and whatever hippie shit that George found.

One day after trying some of George’s new stuff, they were all waking up after a hangover. They were all confused when they didn’t see Paul coming out of his room with his trademark ‘hangover stare’.

The stare that they saw was a dead man’s stare. Paul’s doe-like eyes stared off into nothing, like he was still in one long acid trip.

George checked his pulse, nothing. Ringo threw up, John’s face was stuck in a horrified expression, while George’s hands couldn’t stop shaking.

George felt so guilty that Paul had a terrible reaction to the drugs he brought. John was angry, and was upset that their careers were ruined, but in reality he was grieving over his best friend. Ringo was in shock and couldn’t believe what had happened.

They were in a small English pub, drinking their worries away when they heard singing.. that sounded just like Paul’s. The same notes, the same guitar cords, everything.

They rush over, to see you. You who looked exactly like their dead friend. Your back was turned to them. John puts a hand in your shoulder, trying to act normal. They knew what they had to do. You had to replace Paul. And by their logic, he had never died.