Here goes...
Apr. 18th, 2003 10:07 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
lmondegreen.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
ds_flashfictionMy first attempt. 614 words.
INVISIBLE MAN
The wind bites at my cheeks and nose, and I hunch my shoulders as much as I can while standing at attention. Which, admittedly, is not much. Not for the first time I wonder just what the point of this is - in the past fifty-seven minutes I haven't seen a soul on the street, no passing cars, not even a squirrel hopping by. On grey, dismal days like this, I have to wonder just how effective this guard duty is, considering that we seem to have very little to guard against, and whether the Inspector is merely using a long-standing Mountie tradition as an effective means to dole out punishment. Not that I don't deserve it, as is normally the case. Although how I could have known that a simple solvent would have such a drastic effect on the Inspector's leather... Well, that was then, and now here I am.
Ah, finally, a sign of life. A young couple pass quickly through my field of vision, what should be a lovely late-afternoon stroll now a brisk walk through the cold November air, with shelter, not romance, as their destination. The man's eyes remain fixed ahead of them as they go by, but the girl's drift this way, taking in the large, stately building behind me. She takes no notice of the man in the red suit standing stiff and proud like a mannequin beside the door. They never do, oddly enough. Oh, perhaps when Fraser is the one in this position they flock to him like fawning admirers, but I never feel more invisible than when I am standing here.
Seventy-two minutes, now. Less than an hour to go. I try to find something to concentrate on, to occupy my mind before it becomes filled with unholy thoughts about my commanding officer, when a distraction presents itself. A large black car has come to a stop directly in front of me. Detective Vecchio's car. Within it sits Constable Fraser in the passenger seat, and I catch a glimpse of Diefenbaker's furry head in the back. I stand up straighter, eyes front and centre, waiting for the Constable to step out of the vehicle and to pass by me without a word, adding to the chill of the day.
After a moment, though, it becomes clear that Fraser is in fact not doing so, and my eyes stray back to the car in concern, checking to see if there is a problem. As I realize what is going on in the vehicle, though, I conclude that no, there is no problem. Fraser seems to have everything well in hand. So to speak.
My eyes linger on the back of Fraser's head, which is all I can clearly see of him, though from the way Detective Vecchio's hands are clutching the Constable's hair I can well imagine what the front of him is doing. And doing well, I would hazard to guess. I can almost see the windows begin to fog up, when from within the car I hear a muffled bark. The two men pull apart, and a brief conversation passes between them before Fraser finally opens his door and steps out onto the sidewalk. His face is flushed, his lanyard shamefully askew. He pulls the seat forward to let a grumbling wolf out, then turns to Ray who gives him a smile and mouths, 'later'. Fraser nods curtly and shuts the door.
As the black car roars away, I resume my formal pose and barely breathe as man and wolf pass by me with nary a glance. Though far from feeling chilled, I am pleasantly warm for the rest of my shift.
INVISIBLE MAN
The wind bites at my cheeks and nose, and I hunch my shoulders as much as I can while standing at attention. Which, admittedly, is not much. Not for the first time I wonder just what the point of this is - in the past fifty-seven minutes I haven't seen a soul on the street, no passing cars, not even a squirrel hopping by. On grey, dismal days like this, I have to wonder just how effective this guard duty is, considering that we seem to have very little to guard against, and whether the Inspector is merely using a long-standing Mountie tradition as an effective means to dole out punishment. Not that I don't deserve it, as is normally the case. Although how I could have known that a simple solvent would have such a drastic effect on the Inspector's leather... Well, that was then, and now here I am.
Ah, finally, a sign of life. A young couple pass quickly through my field of vision, what should be a lovely late-afternoon stroll now a brisk walk through the cold November air, with shelter, not romance, as their destination. The man's eyes remain fixed ahead of them as they go by, but the girl's drift this way, taking in the large, stately building behind me. She takes no notice of the man in the red suit standing stiff and proud like a mannequin beside the door. They never do, oddly enough. Oh, perhaps when Fraser is the one in this position they flock to him like fawning admirers, but I never feel more invisible than when I am standing here.
Seventy-two minutes, now. Less than an hour to go. I try to find something to concentrate on, to occupy my mind before it becomes filled with unholy thoughts about my commanding officer, when a distraction presents itself. A large black car has come to a stop directly in front of me. Detective Vecchio's car. Within it sits Constable Fraser in the passenger seat, and I catch a glimpse of Diefenbaker's furry head in the back. I stand up straighter, eyes front and centre, waiting for the Constable to step out of the vehicle and to pass by me without a word, adding to the chill of the day.
After a moment, though, it becomes clear that Fraser is in fact not doing so, and my eyes stray back to the car in concern, checking to see if there is a problem. As I realize what is going on in the vehicle, though, I conclude that no, there is no problem. Fraser seems to have everything well in hand. So to speak.
My eyes linger on the back of Fraser's head, which is all I can clearly see of him, though from the way Detective Vecchio's hands are clutching the Constable's hair I can well imagine what the front of him is doing. And doing well, I would hazard to guess. I can almost see the windows begin to fog up, when from within the car I hear a muffled bark. The two men pull apart, and a brief conversation passes between them before Fraser finally opens his door and steps out onto the sidewalk. His face is flushed, his lanyard shamefully askew. He pulls the seat forward to let a grumbling wolf out, then turns to Ray who gives him a smile and mouths, 'later'. Fraser nods curtly and shuts the door.
As the black car roars away, I resume my formal pose and barely breathe as man and wolf pass by me with nary a glance. Though far from feeling chilled, I am pleasantly warm for the rest of my shift.
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no subject
Date: 2003-04-18 08:14 am (UTC)Turnbull, what are we going to do with you?
Fraser seems to have everything well in hand. So to speak.
*laughs*
Very nice!
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Date: 2003-04-18 09:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-04-18 09:42 am (UTC)Shay
no subject
Date: 2003-04-18 09:59 am (UTC)I hope he gets his own man someday.
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Date: 2003-04-18 10:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-04-18 02:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-04-18 07:51 pm (UTC)