She has my eyes
folder
CSI › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
2,879
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
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Currently Reading:
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Category:
CSI › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
2,879
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own CSI, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
She has my eyes
Just thought that I would pop this in. Relise that you all just are waiting for the next chapter in "A Tale of Sad Woe" but too depressed to write. This story has been gathering dust and decied to post. Went to a job fair at Rogers, heard thats the only time they hire. Anyways hope you all at least like this story if so I'll add more. Halloween is coming!!!! Even though I'm 21 I gong trick-a-treating! Oh yeah me no own anything but this story. CSI: Orignal I do not own.
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The world would never let her forget. Forget that her mother was missing and that her father didn’t give a shit when she was hauled off with social services. But that didn’t matter now. She was on the top of her game. Standing in the middle of a crowded room with a light summer breeze teasing the curtains, she gulped in the excitement. Here is where contacts are made and broken. Where grants are given and taken. Where the magic before the dig began. She smiled, who know that she would get this far? “Mr. Drumhiller, it’s a pleasure to met you.” Hope enthusiastically pumped his hand. This was not by far her first dig, but this was the first time she had a hand in helping fund it. Although she was among the best in what she did, cataloging and description: archaeological housekeeping, she wanted to do field work. Be out there with the dirt between your fingers, carefully scraping away the crust of the earth to reveal a hidden remnent. Maybe not money, but a treasure child’s toy, a piece of cloth, a letter. Something that once was once precious to someone else. Although looking for grant money at a hoity-toity book release party was probably not a good idea, even if it was hers. After making the rounds she felt exhausted, she was never used to people. Instead, preferring to stick with things that were long since buried. She was acutely aware of the eyes on her. She knew how others viewed her. Shoulder length blonde hair that seemed to catch the light, with darker highlights littered through it. Broad shoulders reminiscent of line backer. Large, pillowly breasts. A slight stomach, but cleverly hidden beneath a loose tunic shirt. Long, lean legs with succulent thighs used to long walk through writers block. Large-ish feet tucked in black ballet shoes. Although no matter how they all tried her eyes were never 6 inches below her shoulders, nor answer when someone talked to them. Though babies and friends did like to rest their weary head there. She lets them because it’s the only atypical physical contact she can get. No conditions, no strings, just the sensation that someone liked her and not in a purely sexual way. The screaming brought her out of reverie. Following the crowd to the screaming, conveniently located in the garden, they gazed with perverted, bloody horror. Someone had upturned a body, the gleaming skull rested inches from the screaming woman’s foot.
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The world would never let her forget. Forget that her mother was missing and that her father didn’t give a shit when she was hauled off with social services. But that didn’t matter now. She was on the top of her game. Standing in the middle of a crowded room with a light summer breeze teasing the curtains, she gulped in the excitement. Here is where contacts are made and broken. Where grants are given and taken. Where the magic before the dig began. She smiled, who know that she would get this far? “Mr. Drumhiller, it’s a pleasure to met you.” Hope enthusiastically pumped his hand. This was not by far her first dig, but this was the first time she had a hand in helping fund it. Although she was among the best in what she did, cataloging and description: archaeological housekeeping, she wanted to do field work. Be out there with the dirt between your fingers, carefully scraping away the crust of the earth to reveal a hidden remnent. Maybe not money, but a treasure child’s toy, a piece of cloth, a letter. Something that once was once precious to someone else. Although looking for grant money at a hoity-toity book release party was probably not a good idea, even if it was hers. After making the rounds she felt exhausted, she was never used to people. Instead, preferring to stick with things that were long since buried. She was acutely aware of the eyes on her. She knew how others viewed her. Shoulder length blonde hair that seemed to catch the light, with darker highlights littered through it. Broad shoulders reminiscent of line backer. Large, pillowly breasts. A slight stomach, but cleverly hidden beneath a loose tunic shirt. Long, lean legs with succulent thighs used to long walk through writers block. Large-ish feet tucked in black ballet shoes. Although no matter how they all tried her eyes were never 6 inches below her shoulders, nor answer when someone talked to them. Though babies and friends did like to rest their weary head there. She lets them because it’s the only atypical physical contact she can get. No conditions, no strings, just the sensation that someone liked her and not in a purely sexual way. The screaming brought her out of reverie. Following the crowd to the screaming, conveniently located in the garden, they gazed with perverted, bloody horror. Someone had upturned a body, the gleaming skull rested inches from the screaming woman’s foot.