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23 August 2008 @ 07:30 am
Theatrical Muse: Week 245: Question 245  
Name: Dr. Sid Hammerback

Fandom: CSI: New York

Word Count: 574


What's the first thing you remember?


When he opened his eyes he scanned the horizons of the room through sleep coated shutters, trying to discern any familiarity within his surroundings, and found none. The wallpaper was peeling off the wall in some sections; the dresser in the corner was old and neglected. The sheets, yes he was mostly clothing absent, were yellowing with age, and smelled dusty. In fact, the whole room smelled stale and absent of care, seeming only mildly cleaner in the areas the two lovers had been. He almost remembered falling onto the bed the night before, causing a large plume of dust to sail freely into the air, determined to, when it settled once again, to land wherever possible. Wait, two lovers, fall, bed, night before? It all came back to him in a rush of adrenaline, hormones, pheromones, in predilections and favouritisms, absences and remembrances. Sid smiled, turning to look at the woman next to him.

It was early morning, it must have been, because the sunlight shining through the dusty window, through the pale, partially drawn, lacy curtains, was pale and bright. It was shimmering and unadulterated by the inevitable heaviness that the passing of time would cause upon the sun, and it fell upon her red hair as a matchstick did upon a smouldering but promising fire. It lit it and caused the already present colour to bloom and undulate in waves of sight that seemed previously impossible. Marianne’s hair was out, and as she slept, back to the ceiling, face pressed into the dusty, off coloured pillow beneath her head, the hair struck by sunlight waved against her back, the most perfect of waterfalls, the most idyllic of happenings, and he loved her.

For people like them, excitement was around any and every corner. Where some people with their excitements and joys were static, clingy and always the same, they were erratic, they explored gargantuan possibilities, and in the end, they still loved each other, wanted each other, needed each other. When an offer came, come join in a murder mystery party, when the whisper came, come sleep in an old hotel bedroom, it’s dusty and mysterious and exciting, they had jumped at it. Yet still, the first thing he remembered of the night before was how she had looked, and the first thing he remembered now, was how she slept.

In life, the first thing he remembered was his mother and father, them holding him, loving him, adoring him. Now, as he lived, all he thirsted for when she was there, was her. When she was there, she was the first thing he remembered. He thought of other things, continued with other things, oh yes, how he did continue and think and be brilliant. When she was around though, when he came up out of a sea of passion, of thought, of concentration, it was her he remembered. It was Marianne he felt strongly about, and he was so sure, so confident of the fact that for as long as she was around, he would never stop remembering her, loving her, any less, ever. Even when she was gone, one day when that happened, in the long and distant future, this thought captured him suddenly as he continued to stare at her hair, if he was still around he would love her just as much still, for he felt, he remembered, he felt, that he could never love her any less.
 
 
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