CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Word Count: 986
Write page 57 of your 300-page autobiography.
People are tough. If people are tough, talented and resilient, then they have a small chance at becoming famous, if they so desire to go in that direction. I don’t desire fame for fame’s sake, for having excess attention and adoration. The only attention I need is from my superiors, so I can move up the ladder, but that is awarded when hard work is done, and I already, have always, worked hard, so there is no need for me to worry. But real fame, fame with adoring fans and people following each little step, in that case, to be honest, I’d much rather be doing my job, solving crimes, than be a famous personality. Attention doesn’t hurt, especially in my job, when bringing notice to evidence can shed light and information on a certain, previously unsolvable matter, but I don’t seek to have fame, I don’t intend people to be the least bit interested in my life after my death. There is nothing to be interested about after all. The only thing that really stands out in my life is tragedy, and the world is already very adept at putting tragedy in the news without me marking that area one more time with words about my life and my experiences.
Sadness begets sadness and regret spirals out more regret. The past is in the past, and the future has yet to come, but none of this, will ever stop the worst pain you have experienced. There is no cure for loss, there is no removal of regret, no saving grace for the worst thing you have ever seen and been touched by. There’s no cure for you, Conrad Ecklie, because you are cursed, and your fate is sealed and replete with loss in grave and dire situations.
In his sleep, thoughts whirled free around his head. Not as free as they would have been if he were a normal man with normal daily thought processes, but just a little more free than they were when he was awake. Sometimes, this didn’t happen, but, it had been a long day, and he had had three cases going simultaneously, all at once. He had gone to bed, had gone to sleep, and his mind had switched off, just switched off, to save face from a body that simply, wanted to keep going. And now, since he hadn’t exactly bothered to take as long going to sleep as he usually did, the thoughts were a little freer, the nightmares just a little bit more unmanageable and unable to be changed than they usually were. It was not a good mind, or night, for that matter.
They’re evil, Conrad Ecklie, evil people, and they don’t like you, they hate you. Why don’t you just go away for a little while? Once she’s passed on, no one is going to miss you. Come on now, it will all be fine in the end. You won’t be missed, there will be no cake.
The gun sat in his hand, smooth, and cold to the touch, the metal, though, gradually warming to the heat of his hands. It was a simple and sublime thought, as smooth and as sensible as the metal of the gun, the way his hand gripped it with familiar intent. He always lowered it though, never went through with it, because something brought him back, and he remembered that he was a real person after all. And besides, if he was gone, the lab wouldn’t work as efficiently as it did presently. He would be replaced, but his replacement would be inadequate compared to him, and they wouldn’t at all know what was meant to be done when, and how. They’d make mistakes, and it would be his fault, even though he wouldn’t be there to take the blame.
His mind was weird. He was not normal, but he would function, and he would be perfect. He would watch silently over the people who had served to destroy his life, and one by one, he would watch as they died and rotted away. Some may outlive him, but he would see that they never again hurt anyone. He had already seen to that long ago, but it made sense to him still, to check in on them every now and then, because they deserved to be reminded of his presence continually, even if, honestly, they didn’t care what they had done to him, or anyone, anything.
Page 57 of my 300 page autobiography would be nothing worth anything much, because it is, and always will be, nonexistent. I am not famous, I am not interesting or shiny or special to anyone at all noteworthy who might want to write a book about me and put it into publication. My life, is simple, it can be summed up very simply. I, am an orphan. My parents are dead. I am a CSI. I am still a CSI. I am a widower. My wife is dead. Both my parents and my wife were murdered cruelly, and now, save my aunt, I am alone. I am a CSI, it is the only true profession I have ever had. In my spare time, I used to dance, box and do the occasional ballet performance. Nowadays, I make sure I don’t have to go backwards, as I have always done. Eventually, my aunt will die, and I will be alone in the house that has seen three murders, and my life destroyed. Eventually I will die, and until then, I occasionally think of killing myself. I won’t though, because I am Conrad Ecklie, Dayshift Supervisor, and Michelle, believed I was worth more than that. So did my parents.
My name is Conrad Julius Ecklie. I am smarter and make fewer mistakes than many people. I catch criminals for a living. I work to live, I don’t live to work. I am all alone.