Martha My Dear, Where Have You Gone?

Part 2

"Finally! That walk was about as long as Ringo's nose!" John exhaled as he rubbed his hands together as an attempt to warm them all while taking in his surroundings.

Hyde Park was a beautiful, spacious area, which completely contradicted the tight spaces of the bustling city of London.  Park benches mottled various spaces, but, other than that, snow was the only thing visible. Lots and lots of snow. Paul often walked Martha to Hyde Park as an escape from the reality of his fame. Today, as you know, was no different.

"Oh, Ringo's nose isn't that big! You shouldn't mock the afflicted!" Paul smirked, for he and John both knew that they were basically quoting their own movie line.

"Paul, the only problem is that that's not really your line," John replied.

"Well, it is today!" he laughed before turning his attention back to Martha, who was waiting patiently to be unleashed. "Are ya ready, girl?"

She then barked and jumped up and down excitedly as if she was begging him to unleash her.

"Alright," Paul said as he unclipped the leather leash. "Off you go!"

With that, Martha took off. She sniffed everything in sight and then ran through the snowy pine trees. While she was doing her thing, John and Paul decided to do theirs.

"So," John started as he wiped a bit of snow off of one of the many metal park benches, "have you written any songs worth a crap lately, Macca?"

"Well, John, I don't know if this qualifies as 'crap' or not, but I've actually written a symphony that coincides with Eleanor Rigby. I'm thinking of calling it Eleanor's Dream," Paul answered smartly.

John sat still, expressionless for a moment before he suddenly busted out laughing.

"Um, John? What's so funny?" Paul frowned.

"You? Writing a symphony? Or any sort of classical music, for that matter! I don't believe it!" he guffawed.

"Well it's true," the bassist defended.

"Yeah, right. And I'm a knight."

"Pff, yeah. Sir John," Paul scoffed with a roll of his big, hazel eyes.

"Pff, yeah. Sir Paul," John copied.

"You are so immature," Paul laughed as the two then began to talk more about music, fame, and the prison which they seemed to be stuck in.

They talked and talked for what could've been hours, laughing, joking, and bouncing ideas off of each other, all until the younger Beatle's face suddenly fell, seeming as if it had just realized something horrible and draining of all life.

"Paul? What the heck's wrong with you?" John asked, worried, as he waved a hand in front of his friend's crestfallen face.

"W-where's Martha? I haven't seen or heard her in a while. I was so caught up in conversation, I didn't realize she was gone!" Paul cried as he bit his nails nervously.

"Oh, I'm sure she's around here somewhere," John sighed as he stood up. "Here, Martha!" he called.

No reply. Just complete and utter eerie silence.

"Martha!" he called again.

When Martha didn't respond once more, Paul abruptly got up from the bench and began to scream her name as loud as his cracking voice could muster.

Again, she didn't respond to her master's calls.

"Oh, John, what if she's gone? We've got to find her!" Paul cried as he sprinted down the snow-covered sidewalk of Hyde Park.

Before John could reply, a gust of icy, cold wind cut through the two Beatles, seeming to discourage them from their intents. It didn't help night was already falling.

"Ahh!" John grimaced as he attempted to zip his coat up even more.

Thick, crystal snowflakes then began to fall liberally, causing a blinding effect as the heavy, grey clouds that were once only visible in the horizon covered the sky like a thick, possessive blanket.

"Paul! Get back over here! You can't just bugger off when a storm's comin'!" John yelled.

Paul, instead of the desperate running he was doing before, slowed down and turned around to face his friend, or at least he was trying to. The blinding snow was effectively preventing him from seeing anything but a blur of white.

"John?!" he screamed.

A sudden tap to the shoulder got his attention, though, and he turned to meet the almond brown eyes of his best mate.

"Phew, John. Don't do that to me!" Paul sighed as he clutched his chest.

"Macca! Listen to me! We've got to get back home! We'll freeze in this weather!"

"No!" Paul immediately disagreed. "We have to find Martha! She could freeze too, y'know!"

"Yeah, but she's not a world famous Beatle. She's just a dog," John answered harshly, which he instantly regretted, for Paul's worried expression then turned to a hurt/angry one as soon as the words had left his lips.

"Well she's not just a dog to me! Y'know what, John?! Why don't you just go back to your flat and I'll look for Martha! I don't need your help anyways!"

And with that being said, Paul turned on his heel and began to walk in the opposite direction, trying his best not to let the wind sway him too much.

"Macca! You know that's not what I meant! Get back here!" John cried, but Paul kept trudging along, now so far ahead of John that the latter couldn't see him any longer.

"Paul!" John screamed. "Get back here!"

The only answer the rhythm guitarist received was the howl of the harsh wind.

Suddenly, a sound actually was heard by John. It's too bad it wasn't a pleasant sound, though.

"Oh, gosh Paul," John panicked as an ear-splitting scream emitted from somewhere in the distance after a loud crash of an unknown object sounded. An extremely strong gust of wind followed as it rammed into the rhythm guitarist.

"John!! Help!" Paul's frantic voice carried through the terrible wind.

"I'm coming, Macca!" John yelled. "Wherever you are," he then thought to himself.

And so, there he was. Trudging through the nearly knee-deep snow, in search of his in-need-of-rescue- friend. The only question was, what had happened? And would he be too late?

15 Minutes Earlier; Martha's Little Adventure

It was a bluebird that had done it. A simple bluebird. Martha had been smelling various trees and digging in the snow before that bird had made itself known.

It must've been a mother bird because Martha was finding her way closer and closer to her nest and she didn't like that at all.

Swooping down without warning, the mother bird began to peck at Martha's poor head. The dog let out a small yelp before growling at the livid bird. The bluebird wouldn't stop her pecking, though, so Martha began to grow even more angry.

Charging at the squawking mother, Martha completely forgot everything she had ever known about her manners or her master's wishes.

And so, there she was. Running off to who knows where, all over a bluebird. Little did she know the stress and pain she would cause her master all because of her lack of thought. It was as if she had forgotten about Paul all together, just because he was spending his day in conversation. Oh, you silly girl. Look what you've done now.

Alright! So ends part 2! Thank you so much for all of your votes and comments, by the way. I really, really appreciate it! Until next time, you'll have to wonder what's happened to Paul. Next time...