Blackbird // Mclennon

Free As A Bird [ Epilogue ]

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" It's the next best thing to be. "

Disclaimer: hey y'all! it's been about a year or so since i've completed this story and it's become pretty popular since then! i've now decided to publish an epilogue, sort of as a thank you to everyone who has read this far. it is a bit long, i hope you don't mind. a quick note i wanna add, is that i do not intend to disrespect ANYONE'S death nor ANYBODY'S mourning process. losing someone very close to you is an unimaginable kind of pain, and i want this to flow as naturally and as honorably as possible. so anyway, without any further ado, seriously... thank you!

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     It's been about a year or so since McCartney had passed away. Infact, the "anniversary" wasn't too long ago. Christ, and when that wretched day fell upon me once again, it took my breath away just as it had done a year ago.

    Not a single day has passed where I don't think about him. My lover. My bestfriend. Paul.

     "Oh, Macca. Ye really weren't kidding around when ye said that ye'd do... absolutely anything for me." I thought out loud. "Shit."

     I tried my best to protect him from the second I met him. From wretched schoolboys, from his Father's terrible abuse and negligence. I thought I could be his shield forever; That I could hide him away from any type of conflict or pain that lingers on this planet. Yet... he was still taken away from all of us far too soon in just mere seconds by the jerk of all jerks... toting an ugly pistol.

     Thinking about all of it again just makes it hurt ten times more. I threw myself on my creaky bed, trying my best to push all of these thoughts into the deepest corner of my skull. I tried to make myself comfortable within the sheets that only made me feel more trapped, it was no use. I feel like I could crawl out of my bloody skin.

      I turned to face my bedside table, noticing an old bottle of Stolichnaya Vodka sitting out from a few nights ago with about a fifth left in it. I decided to take a large swig or two, just to ease my emotions.

      With a huff, I tossed the tangled blankets off of my body and looked around for the telephone. George is on tour with his group right now in America and should be swinging by New York City pretty soon. I oughta ring him to get these dreary memories off of my mind.

      I tried to remember the number in which George gave me to call whenever I needed to reach him while he's here. My fingers tried their best to recall the digits as I dialed them up.

      "Ello?" A deep voice answered.

      "Aye, is George there?" I asked whomever was on the phone, probably the touring manager.

      "Who is this?" He asked me.

      "John. John Lennon!"

       The man didn't reply, but soon enough I heard the phone being passed to someone else.

       "John?!" George yelled out. "Thanks for ringin' me, mate. How've ye been?"

       I sighed, "I've been alright, and ye?"

       "Quite alright. And! I should be in New York in... jus a few hours! Can ye meet me somewhere, then?" George asked.

        I chuckled under my breath, "Well, ...I jus drank a fifth of Vodka, ye dare me to drive?"

       "Shit. Alright, figure out somethin' within walkin' distance and then ring me back?"

       "Hm... Okay, talk to ye later. Buh- bye." I hung up the phone and rubbed my tired face with my shakey hands.