The Blackbirds Song

Chapter 22

An investigation has officially been launched. They took into account the suspicious circumstances in which somebody had attempted to shut Michael up, (it only took them this long to realize that there was something quite weird about that.) and the fact that he had told the truth before, and if he really had been a murderer like they painted him to be, he would not have been so cooperative. 

While things are still being looked at, they are not releasing anything, and we are stuck in the dark with a lot more time on our hands. 

 I have confirmed that I am slowly whisping away. I woke, much more transparent then when I went to bed, and I could not remember where I was. 

Mike had asked what was wrong, but he currently has a lot on his plate, what with reporters, Internal Investigations, and the FBI coming to interview him every other day, so I decided that I would keep this one to my self. 

So far, I have used my time to brood. Have you ever imagined Mike's life as a painting? With the citizens and policemen being the artist, and America's racist history being the paint. Where am I? I am the outline, the lines that the citizens try to paint inside. Everything that has happened to me, is basically the outline of everything that has happened, and is going to happen, to Mike.

I know he was placed in my cell for a reason; there is no denying it anymore. We are so much alike, our paintings are practically identical. Both of us tried to call America home, and both were locked up for trying to be happy here. 

We had nothing here, but faith that we would get out to see the light of day in the flesh once more, but Mike's carried him farther, his paint stayed strong and bold, as mine ran. 

I cannot remember what my last name is. Every night, I repeat my name, but I can only remember saying   'Falvian...         Flavian...            Flavian...' in the dark long night. I am trying to cling onto my soul, but the harder I pull, Death tugs forever stronger than I. 

Mike just left with another law enforcement officer, to answer the same questions, for the fifth or sixth time, I cannot remember. I can hear them coming.

Half an hour later, Mike practically bounced into the cell, and he was trembling with glee.

'We have a date set in court, in a week from tomorrow.' He was over the moon with joy. I must hold on for another week, I need to see this.