DISCLAIMER: CSI and its characters are the property of CBS and Jerry Bruckheimer.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I’d like to extend a thank you to the good doc for keeping an eye out for typos and such, since I didn’t want to spoil the fun I had writing by reading.
CHALLENGE: Written as part of the 1001 Nights Challenge.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
A to Z
By L.
A is for a stitch in time
There are two female humans, based together. They're scientists, working with the mystery and decay and despair of death; the science of death.
Suddenly one day the old one says, "you've been with us, what, seven years now?"
"That sounds about right, yeah," the tall one replies.
"And in that time, how long have you been waiting for him?"
"Cath, really, that's none of your -", but she is interrupted.
"No, let me rephrase that: how long have you been doing him?"
"Now, hold on -"
"No, let me rephrase that: how long has he made you happy?"
She seems pleased with the answering silence, because she smiles.
"It's about time then," she takes a few steps back, "wait here, I wanna show you something."
She strides back and turns the blinds down, and then swiftly locks the door. And before the tall one even thinks of asking, she is there with her: her right hand in dark hair, at the nape of her neck. Her left hand on a bony hip, holding her close (her heels giving her the perfect height to) put her mouth on her throat, just under the right ear. Then, very slowly, she moves her lips, using her tongue, to the other's mouth, and she in turn obliges and opens and, "all this would feel even better skin on skin," the old one whispers.
I dare say the dark one has not had a coherent thought since.
B is for Backbone
An older one is standing by the door, with all her clothes on, pulling her hair up in what is called a ponytail.
Another one, younger, is sprawled naked on the bed. Still warm and sweaty and glistening in all kinds of places. The scent of human female is strong in the room and heads and bodies are so full of memories of heat and wet softness, all the airways are buzzing and the bandwidth is clogged.
Human hands remember more than eyes.
The dark, and previously sulky one, is raising her head, cradling it to look at the other.
"Well that was fun," she says by the door. "Maybe we could do it again sometime."
She scoops up the useless item called purse and adds, "But you'll need to forget all about him first".
And as the door slams shut, the no longer sulky one falls back and says out loud: "Forget who?"
C is for Calculation
A human male is sitting by a desk, fondling an eight-legged creature that terrifies most. And he says, even though he is alone in the room (alone as in no other humans around):
"Did you know that most people fear you because of your size, the number of your legs, the hairs? And yet not many take the time to consider you are hollow, empty, essentially a void encircled by a horrific appearance.
If I was to hold you too tight, if I was to squeeze you just a little bit too hard you would pop like a ... I don't know, not a balloon or egg, but it wouldn’t be a flatulent puff either.
You'd simply pop, I guess.
Tarantula is also an experimental novel by Bob Dylan, which he wrote early in his musical career. It employs so called stream of consciousness writing, somewhat in the style of the other beat poets, all of whom he admired at the time.
And just like you, my love, it's all sound and fury, signifying nothing. All illusion, shallow surface, simply air.
One week for every two legs. Yes, that will do."
D is for Damnation
Picture a rattling dark, quite handsome really, no longer that young a woman standing in front of a door. She is clutching a piece of paper in her left hand, and obsessively stares at it at times as if to memorize its contents. It is obvious she's been crying, and quite recently too. But she still exudes some kind of determination, perhaps even strength.
She says: “I try to put it all in, to do it for you.”
But then she shakes her head, as if disgusted. And double-checks her note again. She mutters: Scares me silly, but it gets me going. Like a Romeo. Scares me silly, but it gets me going...
Suddenly she straightens up, you can hear her spine crackling, and she lifts her hand and pounds the door.
"This is for the best," she says, "you will thank me later."
The door is opened and the darker one, no longer quite as young as before, takes a final look at the paper and states with a clear voice:
"This will never work."
E is for Eagerness
If humans could read minds, the following would be heard, repeated in an endless loop: The next sixty seconds could be like an eternity. The next sixty seconds...
If humans were brave enough to say what was on their minds, this would come out:
"I hurt easy, I just don't show it."
And if these things could be planned, the other would reply:
"You can hurt someone and not even know it."
But then again, they are only human, so this is what happens:
"All the truth in the world adds up to one big lie," the dark, yet again broody one stutters.
Which makes the other sigh dramatically, ”I’m in love with a woman who doesn’t even appeal to me. I'm not that eager to make a mistake."
F is for Failure
There's no entry for this. I just couldn't do it, sorry,
G is for Gall
An older, still more alluring than most, female is sitting waiting, thinking of a surprise meeting with her superior officer right before he went away.
"He looked like a little lost boy," she thinks, "but that man sure takes himself way too seriously".
She seems to be getting more and more agitated as time passes, thinking of what he'd said, almost bragging of his misery. Drumming her fingers, constantly moving, fidgeting in her chair, until she rises and snorts, "Like he'd like to live dangerously!"
She chuckles and shakes her head, but sobers as she remembers his face when bringing her name up, speaking of a farewell kiss.
"To me, god dammit!"
She slams a fist down hard on the desk, leaving all kinds of office paraphernalia scattering to the floor as a knock is heard by her door. Startled, she looks at the mess but just shrugs, picking up only that which she needs for a hasty retreat, muttering, "You got a lot of nerve, to say you are my friend."
H is for Hands
Reaching
Flailing
Grabbing
Soothing
Touching
Taking
Clutching
Removing
Fumbling
Steadying
Hesitating
Moving
Trailing
Stopping
Circling
Pressing
Pushing
Holding
Holding
Holding
I is for Identification
Catherine Willows, the crime lab
Sara Sidle, hers
J is for Jealousy
"How come you never talk of those you’ve loved before?"
"Because I have no desire for you to tell me."
"But that’s easy, I’ve never loved before."
K is for Karma
A woman is standing in an office, overlooking an old friend’s most valued possessions: books, pictures, mementos, and the live creatures she has, in a moment of weakness, promised to feed.
“Maybe,” she mutters, “I should fumigate the lot of it. Perhaps blow it up?”
She shudders, “or conveniently forget it all?”
But she doesn’t, instead she sighs and reaches for cups and jars with other living creatures, some of them alive simply to be fed to others, more prized than them.
L is for Land
Here.
Over here!
I’ve got you.
M is for Madness
A very serious female is dropped down on a so called couch. (A couch is a piece of furniture with the dubious characteristics of losing its quota of esthetics in equal measure to it gaining comfort.) The female is calm, she was so much older then, she’s younger than that now. She is reading, studying.
A door is opened and another female enters. She drops the items of her trade (a shield, perhaps a weapon) on a low table, and proceeds to remove her shell garment.
This garners no response in the one on the couch, so she steps into the room, flicking her shoes off with a practiced twitch. A brow is now raised, which earns her a smile. One might say that buttons pop, when in truth they are flipped, and there is a certain breeze as a flimsy shirt floats to the floor.
As she slides her hands down to the front of her trousers, she moves assuredly towards the sofa and the woman there, now completely focused on her. And when she’s opening her fly, her eyes fixed on the other’s, a cell phone signal cuts in.
“Sidle.”
A sigh and a shrug confirms the unthinkable: “I need to go to the lab. Greg’s got our results back.”
And she does.
N is for Naked
Two human females are resting on a bed, their heads turned towards a TV screen. One is behind the other, tripping her fingers from the soft curve of a shoulder, down the slope to a waist, up circling a round hip, and then all the way back again.
The one in front whispers, “tell me again why we’re watching this movie?”
“Because it’s a modern classic. It’s Mike Leigh.”
“It’s damn depressing if you ask me,”
“Uh-hu.”
“I don’t know whether I want him to hang himself, or if someone should just shoot him...”
“Mm-hm.”
“Waste not, want not.”
”And other clichés.”
”But a cliché is full of truth, otherwise it wouldn't be a cliché.”
”Which is itself a cliché.”
Once the film has come to its end, the one with confidence on her side rolls over on her back, and catches the other’s hand in hers.
“Whaddya say, you wanna mess around or go to sleep?”
“How about both? First mess, then sleep.”
“Perfect.”
“Cool.”
O is for Obedience
Two crime scene investigators are hunched over an evidence table, closely scrutinizing the items there: a young girl’s undergarment, a pair of jeans along with the spilled contents of a ridiculous purse: tampons, cell phone, an array of notes and receipts, a calendar, and some sort of journal. Lastly, a pack of Wrigley’s “Air Waves” and something tiny made of aluminum.
On the table, there is also an assortment of crucibles, bottles, beakers, flasks, and a Bunsen burner.
They slowly shuffle round the table, taking turns with the magnifier, the microspatula, stir rods and funnels, tongs, and pipets.
The two do not speak at all, in fact they can’t, there is a large CD player booming out something vicious and aggressive, presumably to clear their minds and further sharpen the concentration.
They have been doing this for six hours and 47 seconds when the door is opened.
“Sara?”
“I’ve got to go.”
And she does.
P is for Pain
A man coming home realizing the woman on his mind hasn’t left a message. In fact, she hasn’t called at all.
Q is for Quest
"He’s back."
"Don’t worry."
"I don’t."
R is for Race
A slightly chubby, somewhat grey man is sitting by his desk. The surroundings suggest he has some kind of authority, but his manner and actions states differently. Opposite, the woman who used to love him is seated, waiting for him to speak.
“The Japanese have a long tradition of enjoying the calls of various orthoptera, both in the wild and as caged pets. These customs have been popular with both the Japanese Court, which probably introduced some of the customs from China, and with the common people. Although many of these customs have been lost or simplified with Japan's modernization, there remains a fondness for the "cries" of certain species of crickets (the gryllidae) and long-horned grasshoppers (the tettigonidae).
I’ve been reading this book, "How to raise singing insects", which contains natural history, rearing information, and even poetry on five of the most favored cricket species and one katydid, and briefer sections on fourteen other crickets and katydids. Raising singing insects was, and still is, a popular past-time in Japan.”
A knock is heard, and a woman peeks in and says, “Sara?”
The woman who used to love him looks at him and shrugs.
“I’ve got to go.”
And she does.
S is for Sacred
A tall, dark woman, who used to be sulky, who used to be broody, who is younger now than ever before, and who used to love a man, but not anymore, is woken up by a kiss between her shoulder blades.
The woman behind her is perfectly still, simply putting her lips to that one place.
They both smile, and then return to sleep.
T is for Taking
She didn’t have to. I let her. I gave it to her freely.
U is for Ugly
A female police officer, all sharp angles, creases, crisp and clear, is interrogating a suspect. By her side is a CSI agent, also female but this one all attitude.
“All our evidence is telling us, scumbag,” she frowns, “that you did it. So why not save us all some time and tell us everything?”
The suspect laughs, and throws a glance at his attorney who resolutely shakes her head.
“Alright, then I’ll tell you what happened, and you can tell me if I’ve got something wrong, OK?”
The suspect shrugs.
“The girl begged you to let her go, but you dragged her to your car. You tied her hands behind her before pushing her into the backseat and forcing her to lie down on the floor. She was terrified, and did as she was told, and once she was inside, you bound her ankles, as well. As you drove away from Vegas into the desert, she continued to plead for her freedom, and you replied that you weren’t going to hurt her. You drove for about 20 minutes into the high desert, and once you reached your chosen spot, you raped her. And I won’t give you the sick pleasure of repeating the details of it you twisted fuck. After the assault, you asked her for money, and she gave you the four dollars she had in her purse. You then ordered the violated girl back into the car, threw your jacket over her head and drove back into town. About a half-mile from her home, you changed your mind and shot her twice in the head. Why?”
He meets her eyes coolly.
“She wasn’t pretty enough to keep.”
V is for Vacuum
“Baby, you did the whole house just yesterday...”
“Yeah, well, I wanted to do it again.”
W is for Wandering
“Sidle.”
“You coming home soon, baby?”
“Don’t know. Don’t wait up.”
X is for Xmas
“I hate Christmas,” a brooding, ordered on leave, female says. “The forced getting togetherness of it all, the faked happiness, the too much money spent on useless things.”
“Yeah...” her companion says from the kitchen, “The days off to spend with your family, the time to unwind and eat lots of great food, the opportunity to tell the one that matters that they do.”
“I am a vegetarian, you know.”
“Yes, and I am telling you you’re family.”
Y is for Yearning
Picture if you will, three offices and three humans. Hearts burning, still yearning.
“Some day you'll be glad to have me around.”
And
“Got to get you out of my miserable brain.”
And
“There'll be no mercy for you once you've lost”
Z is for Zen
An old woman once asked her lovers why they loved her. One said he did because she was beautiful. Another loved her for she made her observe the world. A third said because she blew his mind away, and a fourth said loving her put him in balance, it was just right. The woman was pleased, but when the fifth, the tall and dark one replied, "I love you because I can," the woman sat at her lover's feet and said, "I am yours."
The End