Writers Of The Future, Volume 29 (2013) - Plot & Excerpts
I clean and sort. Eddie approves for archival. We are cogs, endlessly pinching, prodding, and polishing homicide victims’ last memories on aging holodesks in a dark room. My desk lines up against a wall, so I don’t see people’s faces when they walk in the door. While the computer renders the siphons, I like to stare at the tranquil beige ceiling paint, or trace the perfect symmetry of police station floor tiles. I busy my hands by sharpening individual frames and tracing potential patterns. Most of the files can’t be used as evidence because the images can’t be sharpened and no useful patterns emerge. I clean up what I can, tag and sequence the patterns, boost the contrast. Sometimes I find a clear pattern, like a face. Old man like me catching the bad guy—makes me feel important. The next-case icon cube floats above my desk and blinks red, luring me like a siren’s song. “Stop blinking, stop blinking, stop blinking,”
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