Log in

No account? Create an account
24 June 2007 @ 12:48 pm
Theatrical Muse: Week 182: Question 182  
Name: Dr. Sid Hammerback

Fandom: CSI: New York

Word Count: 920

You've just won an award! What would it be and why?

The man closed his eyes, swallowed, and stopped mid cut. Opening his eyes, the Medical Examiner stared off into space briefly, his hand hovering perfectly unmoving, precisely in place, the scalpel it held halfway embedded into the flesh of yet another Jane Doe, or, more precisely, one Miss Sarah Sharpe. She was a beautiful young girl with red hair, and beautiful eyes. The unblemished skin of her torso lay before him, so, he already thought, she had died of something over than a gunshot, or a stab wound, something internal, that he didn’t know of yet.

Marianne had once been like that, a beautiful, young, slight thing, full of boundless energy and charming smiles. This girl, reminded him of her, just like others had done before. The way she smiled, the way she laughed, her teeth sparkling, her head shaking until some hair fell over her eyes, and, with her voice ringing like chiming bells, she had to calm herself down and brush it away.

The tragic thing was, for him, that he had lost everything that day. His world had crumbled, falling downwards into a million fragile, tiny pieces, until it seemed he had nothing left, and no other choice, but to continue. As much as he could have, gone crazy, left sanity away, and become enclosed to his home, to his grief, he wasn’t able to stop after her death, after the death of their sons. He had to continue, had to get himself up and going, because, he needed to, because, he wanted to, because, she, would have wanted to.

After a mere few seconds had passed, Sid kept cutting, his knife slicing firmly into the skin and underlying tissue of the young female victim. He smiled quietly to himself, as he processed her, noting her strong muscles, her well trained body. There was no desire or romance about the act, about the job, he was committing, but, despite all that, what he knew, what he had learned, in order to get there, into that position, gave him knowledge to interpret what he saw in each person. She was an athlete, and a fine one at that, so when he determined that her heart had been the cause of her untimely demise, he was, puzzled. This puzzlement was briefly lasting though, and, he talked quietly for a moment to the young woman as he sewed her up.

“You knew what risk you were taking.” he said, to her, and to himself, as they were the sole people in the morgue at that period in time.

“But you couldn’t give up what you loved. And in the end, it killed you.”

The lonely man chuckled to himself in a brief moment of light heartedness during that particular sad and tragic moment. She had died because of what she loved, she had died, doing what she loved. While Mac and Stella were looking into the girl’s enemies, he had the answer. Miss Sharpe, the young woman found on the racing track, was dead, by way of her own self, and no other. Although he didn’t know her, he somehow thought that she would be happy at that, happy at her fitting end, because, although she would have much preferred life, she had died, because of her love for sport, and not someone else’s love or hatred for her. In a world full of murder victims, this case, wasn’t the worst of them. Also, he was talking to her, and, since it was not a habit he had developed, nor kept up, over his years as a Medical Examiner, it amused him, somewhat.

In the end, he was trying to make himself happier, by looking at the brighter aspects of the death of the young woman on his table. He was also, trying, not to concentrate on the bubbling uncomfortable knot in his stomach, by ignoring her red hair, and smooth skin. What precious reminders lingered in that moment, had to be pushed aside, because, he couldn’t stop, couldn’t halt, and break down, because of the pressure of outward memories. He had to continue, and, while he considered continuing to be a good thing, and a decision that he had come about making, by way of his own choice, it was, still, so very, hard.

He found the predilections of human nature to be interesting, and alternately fascinating and happy, and tragic and sad. So, slipping the woman away into her own holding place, and pulling off his gloves, the man smiled. Happiness was an alternating aspect of his world, sometimes, it was there, and, sometimes it wasn’t. At least, he was still alive. At least, he had a chance to continue. It was a lot more than he could say for some people, and it was a gift, that he was truly grateful for. He had life, at least, at least, he had life. He was thankful for that, and thankful for the memories he was able to keep close and dear to his heart and mind. Nothing, could take that happiness, that, gratefulness away. Even if it did grow and change, shrink, and, sometimes, seem to not be there at all, it was always there, and he was, always, aware of its presence. His knowledge of those hopeful feelings, that happiness and gratefulness for life, was his reward, when nothing and no one else, seemed to be there, because, such knowing, assured him of better days ahead, and the fact that he would, indeed, continue on into them.
Current Mood: lonelylonely
Current Music: Give Me the Simple Life - Jamie Cullum