ArchivedLogs:Vignette - Sharpie and Foil

Vignette - Sharpie and Foil
Dramatis Personae Eric
In Absentia	2013-04-18 A late lunch break by the reservior.
Location <NYC> Central Park North
As the afternoon wears into evening and the sun begins to shine its last few rays, the paths of Central Park were beginning to fade to sparseness. A few people still biked along its paths, and a few people still walked, many with dogs and bundled up against the cold. But as the paths turn inwards along the reservior, these few people, too, drop away. Along the fence, one figure steps,the dirt crunching beneath black shoes and heavy steps. Carrying a brown paper bag in one hand and a flashlight in the other, Eric is in his uniform, though his bike is nowhere to be seen. He steps carefully along the path, glancing around him. His step is calm and collected, face neutral. The spot where the police officer turns to climb over the fence seems no different than any other, equally barren and uninteresting, though it is picked with the clear care of someone trying to find a specific item among similar ones. He lands, heavily, on the other side, and walks out to the edge of the water. It is a steep drop down into deep water, but Eric does not seem to be bothered by this. He sits down carefully, using one arm to steady himself, as he finally makes contact with the ground. He lets his legs dangle over the edge of the water as he looks out over the dark liquid. His face frowns, lines marking his expression here, where there is no one around to see. His gaze sweeps from left to right, slowly, crossing the entirety of the water that is visible to him, and his frown deepens. The police officer reaches into his pocket and removes a small swiss army knife. He opens it, pulling a small knife open. He considers it for a moment, turning the blade this way and that under the oranges and reds of the setting sun, before he gently draws the tip of it across the surface of his fingertip with a soft hiss. Blood instantly swells up, a droplet of blood beading to the surface, and he turns this over the edge of the water, eyes watching it as it falls down to the water beneath. Red is swallowed up by blue-black, a drop being quickly followed its partner, and then no more. Eric's eyes watch the fading color for several moments, before the drops can no longer be distinguished from their surroundings. Eric turns with the slowness of someone swimming through molasses as he opens up the brown paper bag and removes a cylindrical shape wrapped in tin foil from the lumpy package. Someone has scrawled his name on it in Sharpie, writing unfamiliar and hurried. Eric unwraps it as he turns to look back over the water. His meal is a quiet one, interrupted only by the sound of the birds, and the occasional quiet squawk of the radio. He eats unhurriedly, chewing through the large meal with a patient look as he stares off over the surface of the water, deep in thought. When he reaches the bottom of his meal and the last grains of rice are through, Eric crumples the foil up and places it in his jacket pocket. He stands smoothly, brushing off his butt with a idle shake of his hand, and stretches out his arms. He shakes one of his legs out several times, a brief flash of a wry smile on his face, then heads for the fence. It is only once on the other side that Eric looks back, briefly, at the surface of the water, smooth and unharried by the wind. A trace of sadness worms into his expression, deepening the lines on his forehead, and his shoulders are just a little heavier as he walks back the way from which he had came. One hand, once more, holds the flashlight, guiding his way through the brambles and rocks that jut into the path, and its partner is tucked securely in a warm pocket. The only sign of his visit to the reservior is the small, brown paper bag left behind, still lumpy and, now, cooling, waiting for the birds to wrend open the paper and sharpie-covered foil to eat the two burritos that remain.