CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Word Count: 930
What do you think?
What do I think? It is not any business of anyone in particular to try and grasp what I think. The human race gets great joy out of trying to understand one individual from another, it gets blindingly giddy trying to paint auspicious properties onto parts of the personality, tacking them where they obviously don’t belong. When I do my job, when I perform my duty as a public servant, when I process evidence to aid in the solving of horrendous criminal acts, I think, of course I think, that is quite and clearly obvious. These thoughts, while they may come from within myself, they themselves are the product of years of training, of following rules, of knowing the rules and the processes to the most minute detail possible. Part of my inherent nature or not, part of my preference of order, or divided from it, my thoughts, what I think, in terms of my job, are part of my education, my history, what has developed what I was into what I now am.
To be a CSI, a person needs to possess large amounts of intelligence, and even more copious stores of problem solving abilities. They need to receive the proper training and understand all the facts that they have learned. Good training, however, getting through all the required training even, does not always equate to a person being a good CSI, and if they are not, they generally fail also in areas of their service to the public. In the process of being both a trained CSI and one who is able to use all the particular learned abilities with significant success, I think my way through many problems. I examined and work my way through various scenes and evidence trails, and it is my duty to piece these together in a matter that is both coherent and true. What I think, when working, are thoughts related to my job, to the cases I am working on, the people I control, the various implicit and obvious duties I have to perform on any certain day, at any particular moment. It wouldn’t matter if I thought the sky was purple when the evidence says it is blue. I do not disagree with the story the evidence provides me with, the angle of an entrance wound, the type of bullet used, because there is no point in trying to argue with real, concrete hard facts. While I do not argue with what is true, part of my job is finding out what is true, first, and then assigning to it, a degree of certainty and relevance to the case being moved through.
When I was a small child, I was under the guidance of my parents, they would care for me and direct me towards how I was meant to function in life. They would provide me with the necessary abilities, equipment and knowledge to furnish my future life in splendid increments of maturity and responsibility. But they died, they were murdered, and life, being not all fair, or all forgiving, showed me that I can not have everything. I learned that day, that the concept of not wanting to think certain things, is more reliable an idea than a continual state of being mislead by putrid thoughts and irrelevant fears, or even by other people. Life continued on, as all lives do, and as I learned to think for myself, I gained my own kind of thoughtful independence. Love, the brief touch I had with it however, served to gain my downfall. It weakened me, and then I was reminded once more, that nothing is entirely fair, nothing lasts forever, and I certainly can not have everything or even a glimmer closer to it than I have always had.
What do I think? Of course you want to know what I think. I have shown you what I think. I think that life is not entirely fair, I think that human beings, the entirety of the human race, is made up at large of groups of people, either educated and useless, or uneducated and more useless still. Each person can query their ideas, their thoughts, even their troubles, until the world turns upside down and pigs fly, but in the end, life is still not equal, it is still not all forgiving or all giving. A long time ago, I learnt to think for myself and myself only. I think the thoughts I do, and I am responsible for the actions and consequential ramifications these thoughts lead me to doing or seeing. I am not privy to the blinding emotions of humanity because I killed out my soul, my happiness, my chance at normality, during a very, very distant moment in the past. I continue, however, to think, to breathe and to live, because I am one of the few educated and useful people who know how to think without the influences of emotion, who can be rational and acute with their ideas and their actions. What do I think? I think many things, but most of all, I am alive only because I think as I do. If I were any weaker kind of person, I should have shot myself when I was young and orphaned, and yet to be a future widower.
Are you happy now that you know what I think? How better has this made your life, your own thoughts, your own depths and squalid darkness? If you’re happy, then so be it. If you’re not, let me state this. I, simply, do not care.