CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Word Count: 401
Special Photo Challenge: "Small boats in a harbour on a foggy morning." Write a ficlette inspired by the setting or mood of this photo: Boats in a harbour picture.
He smiled, chuckling as she painted a scene that wasn’t there. A brief flick of the brush brought the start of a bird to view, and another dab brought about the bright orb of the sun.
Looking past her he raised a finger and mumbled sweet nothings in her ear, making her laugh as he detailed the imaginary scene before them.
She smiled, looking up at him with happy eyes, eyes that smiled and laughed just as her mouth did, just as his mouth did.
Strokes downwards brought about the poles that sat in the water of the pretty little painting. Not so little, really, but it was quaint and gentle. Just like her.
A brief smile twitched on Ecklie’s face as he draw the picture frame out of the linen closet and looked at it. It had lain there for so long, so many years, and every now and then he’d take a peek at it. And it hadn’t changed a bit, unlike him it didn’t look like it had aged a day. It was well preserved, that was for sure. He had nearly taken it to his office too, so many times, but had always decided against it, for just some silly little reason.
A smile once more crinkled the man’s face as he took a hammer and placed a nail in his mouth. Sliding the tool into his pocket, he picked up the picture frame, and took a pencil from his pencil pot, carefully marking a tiny dot after he had tried out the painting, holding it on the chosen spot in the wall before removing it and putting it down on the floor.
Tap, tap, tap, went the hammer, Conrad Ecklie concentrating as much as he did when he was working on a case. And that was an immense lot, for, after all, much like examining a crime scene and collecting evidence, it had to be done just right, it had to be just right.
The third smile of the day transformed his face for a flicker of a moment, and was then gone as he looked at his work, looked at the picture of a city that hadn’t really been before the painter or the painter’s husband. But it had, on that day, existed before them all the same, the wind, the bird, the water, the everything, had been there, but, alas, now it was gone.