CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Word Count: 450
He was waiting, just waiting, for his father to get home. The bubble of excitement had its origins, low in his toes, just at their tips, but now, it had risen, so that his stomach was churning, not with sickness, but with the mere thought that his father was coming home. The only thing that young Conrad really understood, was that fact, that his father was coming home. He understood, he knew, that he was an important man, but he just didn’t quite know why he went away sometimes, for long whiles at a time. He wasn’t bothered enough about such an absence, to seek an answer, because his mother had told him that it was his father’s job, to go away, so he could protect the country, and help other people do exactly the same thing. For a boy who was fascinated with the idea of dragons and knights, this seemed like a very noble thing to do, indeed. To capture the enemy, and subdue them methodically, in a manner that was proper, and that followed the rules. If the enemy had to be killed, then they would be killed, but only if it was absolutely necessary.
He knew what his father did was a respectable thing, but he also knew, that, when he killed, or hurt, someone, of the few times that he did, that Conrad could remember, it weighed on the big man. This big, tall, handsome man, that the little boy looked up to so much, could be so weighed down by this immense guilt, in his own hidden away ways, that only his mother could fix it. He had seen her, after he had been sent to bed, as he crouched, peering through the crack in his barely open door. His mother would sit his father down, put on one of their old, favourite movies, and cuddle up to him with her legs folded underneath her. They would snuggle like that, until the movie had finished, and then head off to bed. His father would be smiling, and so would his mother. When he saw this, the boy would know that the guilt was resolved, and that his father was ok, that, he would be ok. His parents, his great, majestic parents, would always be ok. At times, he could even imagine, that they might be invincible, in some ways. Of course, he wasn’t stupid enough to believe that they were beyond harm, that they really were invincible, but he liked to imagine that they were quite strong, fighting against the injustices that the world, and their collective lives’, tried to throw at them.
Conrad Julius Ecklie, was thankful for hidden wonders, lovely, hidden miracles.