CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Word Count: 896
"Never pray for justice, because you might get some."
People pray for justice every day. They pray that they won’t get robbed, raped, executed, assaulted. People all around the world pray for justice so they can sleep easier at night, hoping that their prayers might be answered and they will remain safe. Perhaps, people in poorer countries, rough with strife and lawlessness, pray more for these things, I am not sure, but I do know that people in Las Vegas pray for justice all the same. I see it in the eyes of mothers, husbands, wives, fathers, daughters, sons, who see their loved ones dead on a slab of cold metal, eyes closed, chest stitched up, body parts missing. They pray, for a reprieve, for, forgiveness, for it all to be over and done with. I know some of them pray for time to turn back, for the world to fix itself, for their lives to resemble complete once more. The thing is, only some of these prayers are answered. A killer is caught, justice is served, and then they are forced out, back into the world of the living, without, whoever they lost. Turned out into the cold, desolate wasteland that their lives will be for some time to come, they are left alone, with only the rest of their world to console them.
I prayed for justice when my wife was killed. I prayed, and worked, pushed and shoved, my way onto the case, in days when I wasn’t mean to, but nothing could prevent me. I found and caught her killer, in a period when I was meant to be as far removed from the case as possible. It couldn’t be helped then, really, I mean, we had so little resources, so little, everything.
I know Grissom prays for justice. I know that he’s not a big God believer, but, I can see it in his eyes too. He is pained, because of all that he has seen, all that he has done, and experiences. Nobody gets away with seeing the horrors he and I have seen, without being marked, without being tainted, by death itself. It’s like a physical stain on our being, almost, except that it’s cruel, and invisible, and lurks just out of the corner of our eyes, waiting for when our guard is down, waiting for when we will let it get to us. The thing about me, though, I don’t let my guard down, ever, and, I think it is safe to assume, that in some form or another, Grissom doesn’t either. He is not as hard as me, he is not, as severely damaged, but he is careful, all the same, and, yet, his guard slips sometimes, just sometimes. When he’s around Sara, it doesn’t matter how much death he’s seen, how many horrors he has witnessed, he is, so, absorbed in being with her, having her in his company. I was like that when I had Michelle, but, now I don’t, so, here I am, alone.
The human race prays for justice because it needs to, because, so long ago, it became an imperfect collection of living beings. When the first sin was sowed, the first person killed, people, in whatever meagre form they were at that period, began to pray for justice, in whatever meagre way they had. We have prayed, for thousands, for millions, of years, for deliverance from evil. Never again will we be perfect, will we have any form of utopia, because we are human. It is, a simple and decisive fact, that, because we are human, we are imperfect beings, subject to our own will, our own choices. We make bad choices, and because people make bad choices, or have made them, then others are then subject to the punishment that is consequently brought along with whatever situation has been created.
Trust me, I say this from more a personal view than a religious one. We pray for justice, because wrongs have been wrought, because misgivings have been given. If there was no killing, no bad acts, then, maybe, people would pray for justice less. Bad things would still happen though, if the human race stopped killing, stopped abusing, stopped hating. Floods would still happen, people would still die, and people would still mourn and pray, for justice to happen. Not thinking about it, can not stop it happening. I am reminded of this, because on so many of the days I have spent at my job, I have seen the need to pray for justice in their eyes. I have seen them silently asking unanswerable questions, and all I can do is stand there, and try and answer the questions they do pose, than can try to be answered. Otherwise, I can do nothing. So, you see why I sometimes pray for justice, because, at some of those times, it is all I have left in the world. After all, I don’t see that I have much left in my life anyway, aside from my aunt and my job. As such, I am left alone, to myself, to answer my own questions that have no answers, and to imagine, briefly, what my life might have been like, had it not been filled with the consequent justice that comes after disaster. I live my life, I continue to live my life, I have my regrets, and, I pray, for justice.