Category: Grissom/Sara, alternating perspectives (asterisks denote change
in POV)
Note: This is very dark and a little macabre; you have been warned.
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We are the victims' last voice, but who will speak for us? So that they may rest in peace, we cannot.
I watch her as she works; her movements slow and meticulous as she combs the crime scene. Her body language is stiff and formal, but her expressions give her away. Her mind flashes with dark, potent emotions; and on her face her lips curl and twist, displaying the unspoken anger and disgust. But her eyes remain blank. She feels too much, but she has learned to lock her emotion away in the darkest corner of her mind. I can relate.
If I died, what would the coroner find beneath the folds of skin? A heart is a chambered muscular organ that pumps blood received from the veins into the arteries, but if my chest were cut open would my heart bear more resemblance to a smooth, black pebble?
**********
Dead bodies. I see them every day on the cold steel coroner's slab. I see them elsewhere as well, though; walking these corridors, passing me in the street. They walk, they talk; but they are not alive. I wonder whether I'm the same. I stare for hours at my reflection, hoping to see a part of me that is truly alive. An ordinary-looking woman stares back in the mirror: dark hair matched with darker eyes, pale, almost translucent skin; all cleverly concealing the skeletal dead body inside.
**********
The first night she came to me shaking. I could feel the sharpness of the bones in her arms and ribcage as she clung to me. She was shaking, but her eyes were dry and glassy. It was that blank glassiness which made me kiss her; I didn't want to have to look at her dulled expression any longer. In the darkness I could pretend that the body that arched beneath me was more than just dead skin and bones.
That night, and every night since, we made love like we were drowning. There will be no rest for her glassy eyes or my stony heart, so we must drown in the cavern of darkness in the back of our minds.
Our dead bodies cannot rest in peace, but we can cling to each other and die another death together.
Note: This is very dark and a little macabre; you have been warned.
----------------------
We are the victims' last voice, but who will speak for us? So that they may rest in peace, we cannot.
I watch her as she works; her movements slow and meticulous as she combs the crime scene. Her body language is stiff and formal, but her expressions give her away. Her mind flashes with dark, potent emotions; and on her face her lips curl and twist, displaying the unspoken anger and disgust. But her eyes remain blank. She feels too much, but she has learned to lock her emotion away in the darkest corner of her mind. I can relate.
If I died, what would the coroner find beneath the folds of skin? A heart is a chambered muscular organ that pumps blood received from the veins into the arteries, but if my chest were cut open would my heart bear more resemblance to a smooth, black pebble?
**********
Dead bodies. I see them every day on the cold steel coroner's slab. I see them elsewhere as well, though; walking these corridors, passing me in the street. They walk, they talk; but they are not alive. I wonder whether I'm the same. I stare for hours at my reflection, hoping to see a part of me that is truly alive. An ordinary-looking woman stares back in the mirror: dark hair matched with darker eyes, pale, almost translucent skin; all cleverly concealing the skeletal dead body inside.
**********
The first night she came to me shaking. I could feel the sharpness of the bones in her arms and ribcage as she clung to me. She was shaking, but her eyes were dry and glassy. It was that blank glassiness which made me kiss her; I didn't want to have to look at her dulled expression any longer. In the darkness I could pretend that the body that arched beneath me was more than just dead skin and bones.
That night, and every night since, we made love like we were drowning. There will be no rest for her glassy eyes or my stony heart, so we must drown in the cavern of darkness in the back of our minds.
Our dead bodies cannot rest in peace, but we can cling to each other and die another death together.