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01 May 2008 @ 10:55 pm
Theatrical Muse: Week 228: Question 228  
Name: Dr. Sid Hammerback

Fandom: CSI: New York

Word Count: 476


3am.


It was dot on three in the morning when he first dug the scalpel into the girl’s chest, and already the emotion in the morgue, the one that emanated from every single occupied table in the area, had gone from curious, to the preoccupation with the task at hand. Indeed, every autopsy table was occupied, there was a massacre at hand and all hands had been called on to process the victims. People had been woken from beds, nipped at from tables where they sat eating, couches were they sat reading. Whatever it was that the small group of people had been doing during the very early morning hours of that day, they had been called upon to provide assistance.

Sid, ever the one to work, and work hard, had been one of the first there. It had been a bus crash, true, that had given them so many of the people on the table, but the fact that almost half of them had signs of foul play beforehand, gave the circumstance an air of oddity about it. It was something that needed to be solved, nonetheless, as was the nature of everything in his line of work almost always having to be solved. As this was such a fact then, as people piled in, as things were cleaned, retrieved and collected together, he went to work himself. His scalpel cut, his hands pulled and tugged and cracked, and slowly, methodically, reports were filled out and victim by victim was examined. Each deceased person was processed and cut apart from the outside, inwards, always inwards, with the various Medical Examiners and other morgue workers doing their jobs as they were meant to, irrelevant of time or want or desire for something else.

Eventually, when the opportunity for a break proclaimed itself to the shady eyed people, wary now, more than ever, of whatever tragedy it was that had all collected them there at such an hour, they took it without question. Sitting around a break table coffee cups were brought out, coffee, tea even, was poured and drunk and so what if it tasted like brown tar or perfumed chemical cleanser, it was sustenance. For them, the day that surged ahead brought no consequence, and there was a shared air or, relief, perhaps, or satisfaction, that occurred when a heavily bleeding and heavily bribed bus driver was found in a hospital nearby the scene of the supposed crime. Then come the next three in the morning period of their lives, that day with the bus crash and all the oddity passing smoothly into the day after, and they were back doing, whatever it was that they did at such a time. Eating, sleeping, reading, loving, whatever it was, the Medical Examiners, the morgue workers did at such an hour, they did it, and life moved on.
 
 
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