I wrote this a few months ago. Probably back when we had all that snow... I never finished it because I couldn't decide what I wanted to happen, and I don't know enough about CSI and all that!
It was only going to be a short story. Do you think it's worth finishing or not?
(I know Boneman hates 'pursed lips' turns out my characters do it a lot...)
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The only footprints in the snow were those of the birds. They broke only the very first few millimetres and were so delicate that for a moment I was transfixed by them, studying the patterns they had made.
I looked up and saw the body in the middle of the park. Splashes of bright red contrasted with the white all around, as did the dark black of the birds who had gathered to feast.
I watched as a crow stabbed its beak into the body and pulled out a thin, shiny pink tendril of what I presumed was intestine.
I was hardened to this but my companion coughed and covered his nose and mouth with a handkerchief though we hadn’t yet taken a step closer.
I looked at him, a young man after my job, and I pursed my lips. “This,” I said, “is nothing.”
My feet fell quickly through the first soft layer of new snowfall as I walked towards the body and the harder snow beneath that squeaked under my boots.
Crows took to the air, cawing raucously, and as I drew nearer I caught the rotten stench of death.
I could hear my companion following me and when I stopped, he stopped, though he stayed back and still pressed his handkerchief to his face. I knew it made no difference. I remembered doing just the same thing many years ago. You never get used to the smell of death, but you learn to deal with it.
The body was that of a young man. He was frozen and partially covered in snow and he was completely naked. His skin was blue, his lips were chapped and his dead eyes stared up at me. He was blond and beautiful, like a prince.
I smiled sadly as I gazed at his face and then stopped myself. I moved my eyes down the body. He had been torn open from his throat to his navel and the crows had pecked at his organs. Intestines glistened wetly in the snow by his side.
“Damned snow,” I said. “Covers everything.”
“Doesn’t cover enough,” my companion muttered, his voice muffled under his hand.
“Covers everything important,” I said. “The clues. Was he dumped here or was he killed here? Was that before the snowfall or during it?”
“Might’ve been after,” my companion said and I rolled my eyes at his stupidity.
“There are no footprints,” I pointed out.
He shrugged and moved the handkerchief away from his face for long enough to say, “He might have been dropped. You know, from a height.”
“Or thrown,” I said thoughtfully. “Although his body looks placed.”
The sun was starting to melt the snow and everything sparkled wetly. Droplets of thawed ice ran over the man’s body to the ground and when I looked at his face again tears fell from his eyes.
“Clear the snow,” I ordered. “I need to see the ground. Don’t touch the body.”
I was his superior, so he had to obey me. He sighed and headed back to our van to fetch a shovel. I moved a short distance away and watched.
“It was probably the creature,” he said. He had his scarf wrapped around his face now as he started to dig snow away from the body.
“Careful!” I said. “Don’t mark the ground with that thing. Try not to disrupt anything!”
“You think it was the creature?” he asked, looking up at me briefly.
It was only going to be a short story. Do you think it's worth finishing or not?
(I know Boneman hates 'pursed lips' turns out my characters do it a lot...)
-----
The only footprints in the snow were those of the birds. They broke only the very first few millimetres and were so delicate that for a moment I was transfixed by them, studying the patterns they had made.
I looked up and saw the body in the middle of the park. Splashes of bright red contrasted with the white all around, as did the dark black of the birds who had gathered to feast.
I watched as a crow stabbed its beak into the body and pulled out a thin, shiny pink tendril of what I presumed was intestine.
I was hardened to this but my companion coughed and covered his nose and mouth with a handkerchief though we hadn’t yet taken a step closer.
I looked at him, a young man after my job, and I pursed my lips. “This,” I said, “is nothing.”
My feet fell quickly through the first soft layer of new snowfall as I walked towards the body and the harder snow beneath that squeaked under my boots.
Crows took to the air, cawing raucously, and as I drew nearer I caught the rotten stench of death.
I could hear my companion following me and when I stopped, he stopped, though he stayed back and still pressed his handkerchief to his face. I knew it made no difference. I remembered doing just the same thing many years ago. You never get used to the smell of death, but you learn to deal with it.
The body was that of a young man. He was frozen and partially covered in snow and he was completely naked. His skin was blue, his lips were chapped and his dead eyes stared up at me. He was blond and beautiful, like a prince.
I smiled sadly as I gazed at his face and then stopped myself. I moved my eyes down the body. He had been torn open from his throat to his navel and the crows had pecked at his organs. Intestines glistened wetly in the snow by his side.
“Damned snow,” I said. “Covers everything.”
“Doesn’t cover enough,” my companion muttered, his voice muffled under his hand.
“Covers everything important,” I said. “The clues. Was he dumped here or was he killed here? Was that before the snowfall or during it?”
“Might’ve been after,” my companion said and I rolled my eyes at his stupidity.
“There are no footprints,” I pointed out.
He shrugged and moved the handkerchief away from his face for long enough to say, “He might have been dropped. You know, from a height.”
“Or thrown,” I said thoughtfully. “Although his body looks placed.”
The sun was starting to melt the snow and everything sparkled wetly. Droplets of thawed ice ran over the man’s body to the ground and when I looked at his face again tears fell from his eyes.
“Clear the snow,” I ordered. “I need to see the ground. Don’t touch the body.”
I was his superior, so he had to obey me. He sighed and headed back to our van to fetch a shovel. I moved a short distance away and watched.
“It was probably the creature,” he said. He had his scarf wrapped around his face now as he started to dig snow away from the body.
“Careful!” I said. “Don’t mark the ground with that thing. Try not to disrupt anything!”
“You think it was the creature?” he asked, looking up at me briefly.
