CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Word Count: 355
What do you think when you look in the mirror?
He was staring at himself in the mirror of the closed wardrobe door. There was sun shining in the bathroom window on that beautiful Saturday morning, but he did not see or otherwise notice it.
The same mantra ran through the man’s head, just at the back of his thoughts.
Thin, pale, balding. Thin, pale, balding. Thin, pale, balding, greying? Greying? Greying? No, he checked, not greying, no, not yet. Just thin, pale and balding, thin, pale and balding. Thin, pale balding. Thin, pale, balding.
Stripped down to his boxers, which were a dull grey colour with lighter grey lines that divided the darker colour into squares, he was standing before the mirror. He was standing there before the mirror, watching himself, lost in a daze. And somewhere in that daze he was studying himself, eagerly taking in the signs of strength on his aging body, and rejecting any sign of weakness. He was not weak, he was never weak. No, never weak, not ever, no, never.
The Dayshift raised his left arm, watching his reflection moved in response. Slightly muscled, quite strong, not as bulked up as Stokes, but he could still lay down a fair hand of cards in a fight. He worked out, and he danced as well, both activities made him strong. He could definitely fight Grissom, whereas Gil was weighted down with information and knowledge, he knew how to move quickly and smoothly, and how to pre-empt the next attack of his opposition. It was part of why he was always one or more steps ahead of that other foolish man.
Yes, he was stronger, faster, Grissom lay secluded with his bugs and his journals, but he, he fought and always, always grew stronger. Raising his head Ecklie stared at himself, locking eyes with his own eyes, and yet, soon his head dropped a little downwards. There was a brief glimpse, a brief rush of hatred, and his right hand curled into a fist. He resisted smashing the mirror before him and instead glowered into it. Letting his body relax, he was, in the next moment opening the wardrobe door.