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16 March 2009 @ 07:00 am
Theatrical Muse: Week 273: Question 273  
Name: Dr. Sid Hammerback

Fandom: CSI: New York

Word Count: 927


"Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?" (Who watches the watchmen?)


Opening up his eyes, Sid stretched his hands up in the air, watching his fingers as they bent and unfurled themselves over and over in an attempt to shake his upper extremities out of fuzzy edged sleepiness. His eyes were similarly clouded with tiredness, and his mind, as it started to slug itself into action, made a vague attempt to remember why his very own body was being so uncooperative. Something reproachful tapped at the back of his mind, a tsk tsking caution against whatever he may have done the night before, whatever might have been enacted upon himself that had wrapped him so soundly in the land of dreams.

Looking out the bedroom window he was able to discern the edges of the parted curtains and the windows beyond them, not lit as he would have expected, with daylight, but like his mind, similarly clouded with darkness. A grumble rose in the man’s throat, an unwitting protest of unhappiness and confusion and he pushed himself out of bed to what he could only assume was a standing position. His feet, directing themselves of their own free will, started to carry him to the bathroom, where he had the vaguest recollection that he might find his glasses somewhere beneath a pile of towels. Finding them and placing them befittingly upon his face, Sid glared at himself in the mirror and repeated the whining growl, the sound permitting itself only because he had nothing else to say.

Awake now in what the clock showed to be some of the most early morning hours of the day, the Medical Examiner found himself unable to go back to sleep. He was awake, not enough to run a marathon, but sufficiently so to be unable to deny the fact that he could not return back to the dream land of pure, unadulterated exhaustion. Enough rest had been had to curb the thirsting need for temporary unconsciousness that the previous work day had brought about, and he wasn’t about to return to bed. As rational thoughts entered themselves into his head like the fractured light off a disco ball, the man concluded that he needed coffee, a large amount of coffee, and maybe a bagel.

Wrapping himself against the night cum early morning chill, he found clean jeans, a shirt, a striped scarf, a nice hat. Things that normally resided in a backpack or a briefcase, wallet, keys, mobile phone, were shifted into a satchel bag, something more befitting of someone who intended to wonder the streets of New York City when the sun still wasn’t up, in search of caffeine, of all things. As he walked, pavement passing onto road and then pavement once more, the man made his way to a destination his mind could not bring forth the name of, but his feet knew nonetheless. Brushing through the door of a local coffee house, he ordered a coffee, eyes lighting up in false brilliance as he laughed in pretence at some joke the barista made.

The coffee shop denizens themselves made no such attempt at amusement, and continued about their business, constructing things on their laptops and frowning at the stocks in the newspaper. One group were crowded around a table that was too small for them, all holding the same book, all edging themselves to finish their novels, the coffee driving them towards an ending that, in the grander scheme of things, would not make much difference to their lives to come. Gingerly cringing as he saw and recognised the cover, Sid collected his coffee and left the place, gut writhing guiltily. There was something about novels that portrayed his business that he could not bear to contend the thought of at such a moment, his mind too clouded with the real evil of the world. The real worldly evil that surely, no author, no matter how talented or acclaimed for their art, would ever be able to put into words, that would ever be absolutely accurate enough to convey the depravity that they were meant to imagine forward.

Walking further still, sipping occasionally at his cup, the man wound his way around the streets towards another unnamed destination, his free hand already anxious in his pocket, playing with the note that would become his bribe. This payoff was pushed into the palm of a doorman to an expensive set of towering apartments who in turn gave him his all access pass to where he wanted to go, the card to the lift that would allow him up to the roof. The man who watched the security camera in the life would not notice either, because he knew the appearance of Sid would ensure that he received fresh doughnuts at the end of his shift. It was simple knowledge that no one watched the man who simply wanted to sit on the roof and have one of the best views of the sunrise in the city.

The Medical Examiner leant against the wall next to the lift, facing the rising the sun, listening to the stirring chirruping of the city, the early morning commuters and late night delivery trucks, the birds and the rise of voices from everywhere below. The city, that morning, made an attempt at music, but it fell on dull ears. Sid Hammerback was, on that particular day, concerned with watching and watching only, although the thought of how many other unwatched watchmen were out there did tickle at the base of his mind as the city bloomed into the life of a new day.
 
 
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