Conrad Julius Ecklie (conrad_ecklie) wrote,
Conrad Julius Ecklie

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Theatrical Muse: Week 163: Question 163

Name: Conrad Ecklie

CSI: Crime Scene Investigation

Word Count: 702

Hindsight is always 20/20.

In hindsight, maybe he should have just died. Jumped from a building, a high bridge, pulled a noose around his neck, shot a bullet into his brain. Then again, hindsight wasn’t, always, at a twenty out of twenty level. So, he was, alive, a gift which, at the end of the day, he was grateful for. It was just those times, when his mind, warped in placed because of tragedy, depression, despair and loneliness, became filled with sadness, that he wished pitifully for a sweet and silent, painless death. In short, hindsight had both helped him, and hindered him, during the course of his life. If he had had the hindsight to stay with his wife that day, she might not have died, but, if he had stayed at home on the day that his parents had been killed, then he would have been murdered along with them. Hindsight, the definition of which, was, the perception of the significance and nature of events after they have occurred.

Conrad Ecklie turned on the radio above the kitchen sink, fiddled with it, and made his way into the lounge room when he had it playing a music channel. Taking the remote off the small table next to the couch, he turned on the television, turned it to his channel, and put the volume down, so the noise just sat comfortably in the background, and didn’t crowd out the radio in any way. Replacing the remote in its proper place on the table, the man stretched slightly. He was a few minutes ahead of his strictly kept schedule, so, the extra few minutes he had, before the seven o’clock news, gave him a few minutes in which, he could, dance. Nose cringing, the man’s face turned, arranging itself in a show of suppressed disgust as some sort of modern, pop, creation, filtered its way into the room. He didn’t have time to change it, he could not, waste time.

Raising his arms above his head, and clasping his hands together, the man began to dance. He started off, just swinging his hips, from one side, to the other, for just a couple of seconds, in a style that salsa and tango dancers might do during their performances. This was followed shortly by small, quick, decisive steps, his arms remaining above his head, his whole body singing, and moving continuously in fluid, swift movements. As this suave dance continued, he separated his hands, brought his arms down to his sides, and continued to move them as his hips and feet, continued their own movements. A little stomp of his foot, then another one, and he was moving, faster and faster, until his hand and arm movements started to blur slightly before his face. Today, he was on fire. He was ahead of schedule, and he was on fire. Swifter and swifter he went, until all thoughts of sadness and depravity ebbed away, and he lost himself in the dance. As this happened, he was left with nothing but the dancing consciousness, and the knowledge that his dancing teachers had always told him that he was good at making up perfect, well performed dances on the spot, and looking like he’d been practicing them for months.

The music of a commercial for a new brand of coffee filtered into his ears as the mind and skin infiltrating pop music faded away, and, dashing to the kitchen, Ecklie turned off the radio, and sat down on the couch. He turned up the volume, just in time to hear the starting of the introductory music to the seven o’clock news. A brief smile glimmered onto the man’s face, and he settled back, the rest of his world, his troubles, fading away as he listened to the troubles, and the good fortunes, of others. It was sunny tomorrow. Maybe he could have a picnic, or, maybe, he could be more sensible, and just continue, go to work, and, continue. That’s what he would do, he would continue, for a man such as he, didn’t have time for tomfoolery and distractions. He would continue, because it was the right and proper thing to do, he was sure of it, for sure.

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