I sat in the shadows, silent, observing. There was no indication that he had done anything wrong, but, sadly, no evidence to the contrary either. I needed to uncover the truth. Why? I could not explain, even to myself. He just wasn't like the other prisoners.
He ate meals silently, and stared at other inmates, as if he was making a scientific assessment of their behavior. He seemed to search things only relevant to my murder, and my admiration for him grew.
I had to talk to him, I had to know. I approached him late one night, as I could tell that he was not asleep.
'I know you.'
I was thoroughly taken aback, for it was not me whom had spoken. It was the boy. He was staring right through me, though it was plain he could see me.
'Aye', I said, still too shocked to speak. But my surprise was not yet ceased when he spoke again.
'Dad talked everyone's ear off about you at home.' He grinned through the dark. 'He said he remembered waking up, and seeing you dead underneath him.'
So his father was Sami. Poor old Sami. Imagine waking up on a crime scene. It must have been horrific. I'm sure they must have tried to pin it on him, but they must have been unsuccessful; if he went on to have kids.
I couldn't dwell on it for long. I needed to gain his trust, I needed to know what happened, and I needed to know if it had happened again. If he was like me.
'Who did it?' He asked me abruptly. I was slightly surprised. He seemed to speak out of vain curiosity, though his voice shook slightly. I did not know how to answer, nor did I really want to.
'I never find out,' I said, slightly aggressively. Nobody have ever before asked, or even cared. I did not mean it to come out that way, but I could not help it.
'I didn't do it' he said. 'I was framed.' 'Felony rap', he added, and snorted. He sounded like his father.
'My name is Michael, by the way, Mr Jeong.' He said. I flinched slightly, as if somebody had hit me, or made a threatening gesture my way, though of course, you would have never noticed, as I am quite translucent. I had not heard my name in quite a long time.
YOU ARE READING
The Blackbirds Song
Narrativa StoricaFlavian Jeong fled his combatant country, with little more than the torn clothes on his back. He was hoping for a welcoming home in America, but he was not expecting hatred, brutality, and to be wrongfully convicted of murder. When he stumbles acros...