The exercise:
I think it's time to have another go at the random CD prompt.
So go ahead and randomly (however you want to manage it) pick a song and use its first line as your own (giving credit where it's due, of course). Then carry on from there however you like, in poetry or prose.
Got the rest of the tomato plants out in the garden while dodging raindrops today. Also got some much needed weeding done, as well as some work in the yard. On the hockey front, Tampa Bay won tonight, so they're going to game seven against Boston.
I'm sure the Canucks won't mind the extra rest.
Mine:
John Legend, The Roots - Hard Times
Cold, cold eyes upon me they stare. Everywhere I look, they are watching me. Accusing me. As though their fates are my doing.
But I didn't pull that trigger, never held that knife. My only goal is to help find the men and women who are responsible for these pale, lifeless bodies. To bring them justice? I don't know about that. Maybe just to help me sleep at night.
The door swings open behind me and I turn to find another body being wheeled in. My assistant doesn't say a word, doesn't even look at me. He just makes his delivery and walks out again, off to finish some test or another.
I look at the sheet covering this latest victim, the way it conforms around the nose and toes. I wonder what his story is - I can already tell it's a man. Maybe I've been at this job for too long.
But I can't call it quits now. I owe these lost souls answers. They need me.
3 comments:
I like this pathologist you've created here! There's something very calm about them, but with an understated current of passion. I kind of hope they turn up now and then with a little more story to them :) (Which reminds me, how's Henri these days?)
Mine:The Mission, Carved in Sand, Hungry as the hunter
Dressed as seduction curious and cruel Miss Sapphire pauses at the water's edge. Her evening gown, like a cluster of diamonds caught in a spider's web, hugs her body and scatters moonlight to the eyes of hungry suitors. Which is everyone at the party tonight.
The only one who dares approach her is McArthur, his comical, limping gait belying the danger of his presence. He wheezes; he gave up smoking five years ago and still regrets it every day, as bitter as Starbucks coffee.
"Mac," says Miss Sapphire, her eyes glinting like quartz fragments embedded in the skull of someone who got on the wrong side of Mad Frankie. That someone is floating face-down in the water, slowly being drawn out across the broken levees to the main current of the river.
"You said you had news for me." Mac's voice is gravelly, reflecting both the years spent smoking and a couple of attempts to gargle with sand.
"The man you've been looking for, the man your... informer... said might know something about the missing child." Miss Sapphire doesn't bother to complete the sentence, but looks down instead. Mac grunts, and kicks the corpse in the water. It rolls over lazily, like a crocodile basking, and Mac eyeballs what's left of its face. Then he spits, a black-and-yellow glob of sticky mucus that just misses Miss Sapphire's dress.
"You just had to, didn't you?" he growls, but there is a tenderness in his voice, for Miss Sapphire is still seduction incarnate, and he's never been able to say no to a beautiful dame.
Greg - yeah, I liked how that came out. I'll have to come back to him sometime. And I've been thinking about Henri... I'm sure he'll make an appearance relatively soon.
Great scene. The gargle with sand was a nice touch, as was the crocodile basking comparison.
Kinda reminded me of your Puss in Boots, if I'm thinking of the right story.
Hehe, you're exactly right, they're both characters from there! Though McArthur turns up wherever he feels like it for the most part.
I am looking forward to finding out why Henri's been so quiet :)
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