Conrad Julius Ecklie (conrad_ecklie) wrote,
Conrad Julius Ecklie

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Theatrical Muse: Week 147: Question 147

Name: Conrad Ecklie

CSI: Crime Scene Investigation

Word Count: 569

Write about a memory of summer.

It was warm, it was messy, and it smelled to high fucking heaven.

Standing on the bank of Lake Mead, Ecklie looked unfazed, into the open trunk of the car that jutted, at a certain angle, out of the water. The dirt, or the sand, or, whatever the hell was underneath him, moved slightly underneath his feet, as he shifted his eight onto his left foot and continued to stare, and wait, for the rest of his team, and the truck, that would eventually retrieve the dumped car for them.

It was summer, it was hot, and people, naturally, came to the lake to swim. When two college freshmen had come down for a swim, they’d ignored the slightly putrid smell, and jimmied the lock, hoping, in some stupid way, for a prize inside. The only reward they had gotten, was the dramatic increase of the smell of a decaying body, and the loss of their lunches. What he saw before him, as he stood by his kit, was the bloated, rotted corpse of someone unknown, by name, my appearance, and, possibly, even by gender. Ecklie, saw a dead person, and each time he inhaled the wretched smell of death, his stomach pulled at his abdomen, which tugged at his brain, which begged him to turn away, to get away from the horrid site, the horrible smell. The water had seeped into the trunk, and, what he saw before him, was truly horrible, was truly despicable. It was sad and unfair, that’s what it was.

Whoever it was, didn’t deserve such an end, in a car half buried in the depths of Lake Mead. They didn’t deserve to be killed, to be boiled, and half baked, in the trunk of a car. No one, not any person, deserved to be murdered, and hidden away, left to have their flesh to rot, to decay and provide such a blinding smell.

It was a show of strength that he had stood there for so long. Every, single, person, whether it be cop, or CSI, looked upon that scene and wrinkled their nose. Many, lost their lunches, their past meals, and had to cautiously sip water so that they did not faint. Being sick in the summer time, was a dangerous thing. Having enemies in the summer time, left him with things like the body, in the car, in Lake Mead. He had long ago, grown used to sights and smells such as that one, and, so, he continued. He would work, he would care, he would solve and finish that case, and, when the day was done, he would retire to his home or hiss office, or, wherever he could find that was solitary and silent. However, the one thing that would remain when that particular day had come to an end, was the fact, the very fact, that the poor soul in that car trunk, would not do any of that, ever, again. The fatality of such a moment, when a CSI remembered that the person before them, was indeed a person, and a dead one at that, depended on what type of person, they were. The weaker, got distressed during their first few days on the job, and soon left to pursue, other, new, fresher, goals. The stronger, however, the people, like him, remained, and, just, continued. Summer, winter, spring, autumn, rotting, bloated, decapitated, eaten away, they, just, continued.

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