"The Bones"
She stares intently at me fingering minute cracks evident on my outer shell. I was stabbed in the spine in a battle but she doesnt know
that yet. That was her job. To make us talk, to uncover our stories. She holds us like one may hold a baby not hard enough to
break us but not loose enough to drop us. I have heard her many conversations. She says she doesn't want children. But I know we, the bones,
are her children. She doesn't want marriage. We are her spouses. She says she doesn't need family. But what are we? We are her life.
We are her family. The lab people are too. Especially that FBI agent. Her hands shook slightly when he called to her from beyond
the pristine platform. I see her brief smile as she sets me down and turns to face him. "We got a case!" he calls to her. I watch
her remove her gloves gingerly and dispose of them. She leaves me there and as I watch them walk away I see her laugh jokingly
pushing him. I see his hand settle on her lower back and they walk away. I eagerly wait for her to return. Let her solve the case. She'll be back,
studying me, identifying me because I was her first love and I could wait.
"The Angleator"
I hear the tap tap tap of the keyboard as she types in the information for the scenario. I see her brown-black hair fall in front
of her face as she leans foward adding a speck of information here and there. She built me from her own ideas. I can tell she is
proud of the cases I have solved, the people I have put away. I remember the christmas when I created the christmas tree. Sure it
was holygraphical but it was magical nevertheless. I had presents underneath me and they all stared at her beautiful creation.
Me. When I'm broken she fixes me, when I'm helpful she smiles at me. But I wish so bad I could help her when she was broken. But
that man, the one with the beard, he comforts her. He kisses her. He does other things too but I allow them their privacy. I've
seen her in her element. When she stares at her pictures, brought back to distant memories. He comes in snapping her out of the
daze. I see a band of gold sparkle on her ring fever from there quick wedding. She plays the scenarios for all to see and
proudly she aknowledges me. I want her to be happy and sure that man loves her but she made me from her hands. So she smiles.
"The Gloves"
I hide his past and what he has done. He has killed a man rhetorically of course. Telling "The Master" was the same thing a shooting
a bullet between his eyes. His burns remind him constantly of how much he lost. He lost his job, his reputation, so many things
to count. I hide the mess he calls hands. He destroyed them to protect his friend from the blast. But he had been weakened. He had
failed to notice the lack of logic he had prepared to debate why he joined sides with Gormogon. He really didn't have a reason
,but it was impractical to chose Gormogon's side. He hoped to be released one day and be able to return to the Jeffersonian. He
would recieve many glares, but just to be back and smell the antibacterial. If only he could hold a bone agian with those burnt
hands. He stares down at the gloves. These hands have solved so many many murders and put so many people away in jail. It was surprising
how much such a little hole in his usually indeniable logic could ruin his life.
"The Poker Chip"
I flip around in the air, spinning in tight circles. He catches me in his hand as he interrogates the suspect. He calls me lucky
for some reason. I guess I was his first poker chip he ever won. He was 10 and he was playing against his uncle. He had a few days
away from his dad and was anxiously waiting to return before his mom and brother got hurt. His uncle showed him his two pairs but
Booth revealed a flush. It was Booth's proudest moment. I was one of his objects he hoarded in his various pockets. He took me
out when he wanted a suspect nailed or someone caught. But sometimes he would take me out and flip me over his knuckles thinking
of that lucky poker hand and the proud look on his uncle's face. His thoughts wandered as she stood at the door staring intently
at him. He was flipping me like a coin in the air his eyes following me not noticing her. "Booth," she whispered. Quick as a flash
he stuffed me in his pocket and turned to face him. They later went to the bar and talked, laughed, even cried a bit. I may be just
memoribilia for him but I hope he get's dealt a good hand in life.
"Platform"
Up here connections are made over decomposing bodies. Weird, I know but it's true. They all move in sync. The type of sync
where you know they have all worked together for years except the interns of course. They're new but they will learn. Laughs,
memories, tears were all hosted on me. First meetings, last farewells, new loves, loves lost I have witnessed all. My pristine
cleanliness radiates formality but you have to know what has happened here. Most people would avoid me but not them. A lot
of them live to work on me. Bones flooded me at many points. Bones from elders to young infants. Stories have been discovered here.
The people with no faces given identities after nature tore there featuresaway. Everyone who has ever worked on on me has discovered
that even though people are stripped of there faces they arestill the same person underneath in the bones. Friendships and romances
have been built and torn down on this platform but they continue to work in sync. As a machine and as one.