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8 MONTHS LATER

TOKYO, AIRPORT BAR
Drake Lance

I sit in a bar waiting for something to happen as I drink myself down with vodka. The tour has ended days ago and I've answered the question of what I want. To love Ollie.

What is my purpose? What do I truly believe in? Why am I Black Canary? What makes me Black Canary?

My mind spins with questions as I don't know anything. It's the alcohol. My mind replays the same memory, the night with Ollie. When I left him. As my mind replays the same memory I start thinking of alternate ways it could've gone.

I could've stayed, dissed the tour like I almost did. I could've lived a happy life with Ollie. We could lay down together and do boyfriend things everyday.

That's not how it would go, it would've ended up with me and him fighting crime together every night

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That's not how it would go, it would've ended up with me and him fighting crime together every night. WE'D HUNT TOGETHER.

Ollie and me were complicated to begin with. Things were strange, it felt like it never should've happened. Things were going too slow. But maybe fate did his job, maybe it was meant to happen that way.

Maybe I was meant to leave Ollie and live the dream I wanted. I did everything I wanted these last 8 months. Released my first Album. Went around the entire world and sang my soul out to my fans.

The past is left behind. Black Canary, the screaming crime fighter is gone.

I continue to look at my new shot of vodka as it's my 6th shot. I chug down the vodka and as I do I feel like I'm loosing myself a little more. I never should've left Ollie, but I HAD to.

The question I had when I left Star City has been answered already. What do I truly want? TO LOVE. I want to be with Ollie, I want to love him in every possible way.

But a new question rises from those ashes. Why do I continue to fight? I'm thousands of miles away from Star City, far away from the city I love and I've forgotten who I am. I forgot the most important part of me. My purpose. Why do I continue to fight? WHAT DO I FIGHT FOR?

"I don't know." I whisper to myself softly as I slam my head against the palm of my hands. I feel the alcohol running through me and it's not me. This isn't me. I'm too damn drunk to even remember my own favorite memories.

"I'll have the special." I hear another American speak to the bar man and I raise my head off my hands and look at the man seeing his poofy nice quiff and golden white skin. He looks over at me and smiles at me softly.

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