parallel_crooked_lines



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    Something ticked in Paul’s mind as the familiar words washed through him. When he looked at John, his friend was already looking at him. And suddenly, it all became clear: He remembered having that conversation more than 50 years ago. He remembered it too well.

    He had been thinking about it for years, wondering what he should have understood, how he should have reacted. If it was as meaningful as it had felt or if his memory had just romanticized it.

    “I don’t think a love like that obeys to any rules,” John went on, unaware of Paul’s agitation. “It’s not something that humans have created, not like a societal thing. It’s deeper than that, and that’s what some people are afraid of I guess, because they can’t control it. Whatever laws they create, they can never control it. A white lad will fall in love with a black girl.” He paused. “A lad with another lad. You know.”

    --

    Summer 2019, 77-year-old Paul wakes up feeling surprisingly good. One tiny problem: he is back in December 1965.

    PLEASE DO NOT SHARE THIS FIC ON ANY PLATFORM. DO NOT PUT IT ON GOODREADS, OR ON ANOTHER FANFICTION PLATFORM, PLEASE.
    NO TRANSLATIONS EITHER, SORRY.

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    09 May 2020

  2. Public Bookmark 29

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    This serial fic follows both in chronology and plot-line my previous serial fic, Wednesday Evening Salons. It continues to project one AU fantasy of what might have happened if John Lennon had not been murdered in 1980.

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    English
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    13 Jan 2020