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27 August 2006 @ 08:08 pm
Theatrical Muse: Week 140: Question 140  
Name: Dr. Sid Hammerback

Fandom: CSI: New York

Word Count: 936


Look out! Select the word(s) of your choice and complete the scene. You're walking/strolling/wandering/running/ducking past a window/door/tent flap/cave opening/car/alleyway and a bullet/rock/arrow/book/knife whistles past your head. You immediately...


You’re walking past a cave opening and a knife whistles past your head. You immediately...

Turn and look. He turned and stared at the woman, smiling at her, appreciating her nakedness, yet, at the same time, troubled by the fact that she seemed so distant, so fuzzy, so far away. She had a beautiful body, though, from what he could see. Perfectly sculpted, rounded hips, sumptuous breasts, skin like a cream coloured, porcelain, doll. She was beautiful, oh, so, very, beautiful, but everything about the situation, filled him with uneasiness. He wanted her, but, he didn’t want the feeling, the horrible feeling of dread, that would come with going to her, and having her, as his lover.

The Medical Examiner awoke, his bed covers twisted and tangled, his body soaked with sweat. He turned on his side, taking his glasses from the bedside table and clipping them around his face. Looking at the alarm clock on the table, next to the lamp, he viewed the softly illuminated green numbers, and sighed.

The dream, the nightmare, whatever he wanted to call it, was reminiscent of the first summer he had spent with his wife, as young newlyweds. They had hired out an old two bedroom, one bathroom log cabin with a kitchen overlooking the woods, and had gone hiking and picnicking, and found a lovely, small, but very much there, cave, in the forest. He remembered laying out the sheepskin rug for her, from his backpack, on the cave floor and going off to get water from a nearby stream they had seen on their way over. He remembered coming back, and finding her naked, after midday, as the sun began it’s slow but steady dip in the sky, turning it a blazing array of beautiful summer like colours. She had thrown a knife, which was, more of a small dagger, that they had been given as a wedding present, at him, while laughing, in order to get his attention, and had purposely missed. He had brought it back to her in his teeth. He hadn’t felt scared then, no, no, he had felt excited, jubilant, loved and treasured, but not frightened. In the nightmare though, replaying the situation, was truly terrible, because, in the nightmare, he feared it. He feared having the love, the excitement, the jubilance, the being treasured, because he knew that, now, it wasn’t real. Now, it was just a figment of his wrecked imagination, because, now, she was dead. He spent empty nights replaying love scenes in his nightmares, the only place they ever scared him, and, he hated it, hated himself, for it, when he could not even help it, could not even help, doing such a thing. It was the fault of his subconscious, yet he blamed himself.

Sighing, the man gave the alarm clock one last glance, and got out of bed. Once it was made, he trotted downstairs into the kitchen near the front of his house, and began making himself some toast. Wrapping it in a kitchen towel, he brushed his hair with his fingers, slipped on a pair of socks and sneakers, a dressing gown, and a backpack, and shoved his wallet into his pyjama pants. Walking out of the front door, the man locked it behind him, and went for a walk down to his local deli. It was five o’clock on a Wednesday morning, he knew Raji would be there. Raji was always there, for no apparent reason, and the deli, was always open, at that time of the early morning. He just, always was.

“Hey girl’s name.” the Medical Examiner said quietly, as he slipped through the open door, cringing at the melodious ring of the little chiming bell that hung above it.

“Not a girl’s name!” the man at the counter retorted, as he began to gather an already memorised assortment of items. One iced coffee, a fresh water bottle, two carrots, a tomato, a lettuce, and a packet of tiny chocolate drops. He was Sid’s friend, and had been, for so long, that he knew, kind of, what he was thinking. That, and it was a Wednesday morning at five o’clock, it was simple, logical, maths, really.

Leaning over the counter and giving him a peck on a cheek, the Indian man added up the numbers, and a four digit number, separated, in the middle, by a decimal point, flashed up onto the cash register screen, and Sid handed over the money to him. The greying haired man then left the deli, after nodding, and saying, “thanks”, and returned to his house. Making himself a salad, he poured half of the carton of iced coffee into a cup, and finished of the half piece of toast he had left, wrapped in a kitchen towel, which he threw into a barely empty, wastepaper basket.

“Shh.” he rubbed his temples with his fingers, muttering to himself as he sat down on the couch, switched on the television, and closed his eyes. Having half finished his bowel of salad, he wondered back upstairs again, took two weak powered sleeping tablets, and fell back asleep. He awoke, an hour later, feeling groggy, and went back to sleep for another hour, waking up, and feeling, marginally, better. Rousing himself, he brushed his teeth, got dressed, gathered his things, made his lunch, cleaned everything up, and headed off to work, humming Times Like These, by the Foo Fighters.

Life in life, continuing life. He continued, and was scarred, but was always the better for it, because he was still living. Always, always, still living, just, always, always.
 
 
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