Theatrical Muse: Week 287: Question 287
Name: Dr. Sid Hammerback
Fandom: CSI: New York
Word Count: 882
Prison.
Weeks before she died, she caught him chained to a tree with a bunch of protestors, mingled amongst which were university students studying ethics, philosophy or environment management. There were professors as well, of those subjects and other similar topics, and various other lecturers and teachers from educational institutions, all attendees somehow relevant to their united particular cause. There were so many people that it hadn’t just been one tree, it was many trees, many chains and locks and badly printed t-shirts. She had caught him pressed between a young female graduate student studying feminist literature, and a professor in something he couldn’t quite remember. The gentle waving of bodies and picket signs hid him until the Detective came upon his face in passing, and smiled a sudden warm, open, grin.
All these people protesting the destruction of the environment, and her, as part of the people drawn out to work, who were meant to keep the peace. Then there was him and her, and they were, for a glance, for a moment, separate people, not co-workers or friends or acquaintances. They weren’t people who knew each other; they were just people leading separate lives, each fulfilling a particular social role within the order of the community. Just him, one protestor, and just her, one Detective smiling at him, before he snapped on his glasses and brushed his hair off his forehead.
“Hello there Detective. Very nice day out is it not?” the Medical Examiner said, waving the hand free of a sign in greeting as the woman looked at him, even more amused yet. She had recognised him the moment their eyes had met, but they didn’t see each other very regularly as co-workers, and even less as people outside of work, although slightly more now she was supposedly involved with Flack. Seeing each other in such an out of proportion situation, the levels of normalcy had skewed their perceptions of each other for brief and quiet moments.
The two people continued to eye each other carefully before she greeted him back, waving and smiling back with equal warmth.
“Sid. You’re out here? I thought it was only...”
The younger girl, younger than him at least, took a look around and raised a conspiratorial eyebrow, head lowering forwards slightly
“Hippies and university students?” the woman whispered near his ear, and he thought how lucky Flack must be, to love her, and so he had heard, been loved back. The woman was beautiful, reminiscent of Marianne in elegance, at the very least, although so many beautiful women reminded him of Marianne.
“No, no.” the man replied.
“They roped in us working intellectuals as well” he went on with a wink.
The Medical Examiner laughed at this, and they fell into conversation as two co-workers did, people who worked in separate area, all for the same cause, really, of solving crimes and protecting society. In different strengths of course, but still, same sort of thing, the same end purpose. She was like Flack, and all the people in the lab and the morgue knew Flack well. Flack was part of the family, and by association, so was Angell.
There was, as with so many peaceful yet shout filled protest to save the trees, one single idiot, neither university student, professor, lecturer or teacher, but someone else. One single idiots who, for some reason that made sense in his head, lit small little smoke bomb fireworks that popped off like the explosion of a gun, and which injured several people.
As the chains fell as a result of magically produced cutting instruments and police officers surged forward, intermingled with other people who were present to protect and serve, of who which Angell was one, the woman caught him by the arm. Like some others, she was there on her day off, and her presence even near him was merely happening circumstance. She cuffed him and dragged him away into a group of trees, pushing him behind a nearby toilet block where she hushed him with quiet words in French and then released his hands from their bonds
Sid was thankful for that day, because several of his academic friends had criminal charges pressed. Even though they were dismissed, several graduate students were punished and several people were charged for disrupting the peace. Yet Angell saved him from a supposed prison, perhaps, some supposed punishment which he knew could have, may have, affected his career in some way.
As he autopsied her, she opened her up and peeked into her insides, Sid was thankful for that, thankful for what she had done for him. As he saw Flack’s face, though, as he saw Flack’s face, he could only remember now, the grief of losing, the grief he felt and that Flack must feel over having the very one that belonged at their individual sides, ripped away like a piece of refuse caught in a sudden wind. And it hurt, it hurt beyond the good memory of escaping prison, because the prison of Jessica Angell’s death, for her, was eternal and permanent and absolutely, absolutely, final. Just like Marianne, just like Christopher and just like Michael, Jessica Angell was lost because the ills in the world had saw fit to cause them all an untimely demise.
Fandom: CSI: New York
Word Count: 882
Prison.
Weeks before she died, she caught him chained to a tree with a bunch of protestors, mingled amongst which were university students studying ethics, philosophy or environment management. There were professors as well, of those subjects and other similar topics, and various other lecturers and teachers from educational institutions, all attendees somehow relevant to their united particular cause. There were so many people that it hadn’t just been one tree, it was many trees, many chains and locks and badly printed t-shirts. She had caught him pressed between a young female graduate student studying feminist literature, and a professor in something he couldn’t quite remember. The gentle waving of bodies and picket signs hid him until the Detective came upon his face in passing, and smiled a sudden warm, open, grin.
All these people protesting the destruction of the environment, and her, as part of the people drawn out to work, who were meant to keep the peace. Then there was him and her, and they were, for a glance, for a moment, separate people, not co-workers or friends or acquaintances. They weren’t people who knew each other; they were just people leading separate lives, each fulfilling a particular social role within the order of the community. Just him, one protestor, and just her, one Detective smiling at him, before he snapped on his glasses and brushed his hair off his forehead.
“Hello there Detective. Very nice day out is it not?” the Medical Examiner said, waving the hand free of a sign in greeting as the woman looked at him, even more amused yet. She had recognised him the moment their eyes had met, but they didn’t see each other very regularly as co-workers, and even less as people outside of work, although slightly more now she was supposedly involved with Flack. Seeing each other in such an out of proportion situation, the levels of normalcy had skewed their perceptions of each other for brief and quiet moments.
The two people continued to eye each other carefully before she greeted him back, waving and smiling back with equal warmth.
“Sid. You’re out here? I thought it was only...”
The younger girl, younger than him at least, took a look around and raised a conspiratorial eyebrow, head lowering forwards slightly
“Hippies and university students?” the woman whispered near his ear, and he thought how lucky Flack must be, to love her, and so he had heard, been loved back. The woman was beautiful, reminiscent of Marianne in elegance, at the very least, although so many beautiful women reminded him of Marianne.
“No, no.” the man replied.
“They roped in us working intellectuals as well” he went on with a wink.
The Medical Examiner laughed at this, and they fell into conversation as two co-workers did, people who worked in separate area, all for the same cause, really, of solving crimes and protecting society. In different strengths of course, but still, same sort of thing, the same end purpose. She was like Flack, and all the people in the lab and the morgue knew Flack well. Flack was part of the family, and by association, so was Angell.
There was, as with so many peaceful yet shout filled protest to save the trees, one single idiot, neither university student, professor, lecturer or teacher, but someone else. One single idiots who, for some reason that made sense in his head, lit small little smoke bomb fireworks that popped off like the explosion of a gun, and which injured several people.
As the chains fell as a result of magically produced cutting instruments and police officers surged forward, intermingled with other people who were present to protect and serve, of who which Angell was one, the woman caught him by the arm. Like some others, she was there on her day off, and her presence even near him was merely happening circumstance. She cuffed him and dragged him away into a group of trees, pushing him behind a nearby toilet block where she hushed him with quiet words in French and then released his hands from their bonds
Sid was thankful for that day, because several of his academic friends had criminal charges pressed. Even though they were dismissed, several graduate students were punished and several people were charged for disrupting the peace. Yet Angell saved him from a supposed prison, perhaps, some supposed punishment which he knew could have, may have, affected his career in some way.
As he autopsied her, she opened her up and peeked into her insides, Sid was thankful for that, thankful for what she had done for him. As he saw Flack’s face, though, as he saw Flack’s face, he could only remember now, the grief of losing, the grief he felt and that Flack must feel over having the very one that belonged at their individual sides, ripped away like a piece of refuse caught in a sudden wind. And it hurt, it hurt beyond the good memory of escaping prison, because the prison of Jessica Angell’s death, for her, was eternal and permanent and absolutely, absolutely, final. Just like Marianne, just like Christopher and just like Michael, Jessica Angell was lost because the ills in the world had saw fit to cause them all an untimely demise.