A/N: This story is going to be a little different from the other wonderful
fics out there! This one is going to be a little musical!:: people throw
things:: Ouch! It won't be that bad. We choose various songs that we think
relate to Dr. Lecter and Clarice or Clarice and the FBI! We hope you enjoy!
The music will be like in the background, not them singing it! So you have
to use your imagination! We would recommend downloading the songs! It will
help with the story and there really good songs too! This ~ ~ indicates
when the song is being played
Disclaimers: Nope, we do NOT own them, its kind of obvious. We also DON'T own any of these songs wonderful songs! Their rightful owners do. Okie dokie, good we got that cleared!
Clarice Starling pushed open the front door and rushed in, throwing all the files and paperwork she held in her arms to the ground with fury. This familiar burn was building up inside her. The FBI had finally pushed her to her limit. Enough with all the damn paperwork and mocking!
"Stupid cocksuckers!" she shouted angrily as she stormed up the stairs.
~(It starts with) One thing / I don't know why
It doesn't even matter how hard you try
Keep that in mind / I designed this rhyme
to explain in due time~
Down the hallway. She kicked open the door to her room, heading straight for the punching bag in the corner.
~ All I know
Time is a valuable thing
Watch it fly by as the pendulum swings
Watch it count down to the end of the day
The clock ticks life away
Its so unreal~
She grabbed her punching gloves off the bed and strapped them on.
~ Didn't look out below
Watch the time go right out the window
Trying to hold on / but didn't even know
I wasted it all just to
Watch you go~
She aimed her right hand and took a hard shot. Then her left. Again and again. Fury. Hatred. She hated them so much!
~I kept everything inside and even though I tried
It all fell apart
What it meant to me / Will eventually / be a memory
Of a time when I tried so hard~
She threw her fists into the hard material over and over again.
~And got so far~
And again. She couldn't stop. Fury. Hatred.
~ But in the end
It doesn't even matter~
Harsh sounds of the punches and Clarice's frustrated screams filled the room and carried down the hallway like wild fire.
~ I had to fall
To loose it all~
Clarice brought her foot up and kicked the bag fiercely with her last ounces of strength.
~ But in the end
It doesn't even matter~
She stopped to take a deep breath and wipe away her sweat. Images of all her days at the FBI were flowing through her head like a wild, gushing river, making her grind her teeth. People like Paul Krendler, Jack Crawford, John Brigham, Hannibal Lecter, Jamie Gumb...it made her sick to her stomach.
~One thing / I don't know why
It doesn't even matter how hard you try
Keep that in mind I designed this rhyme
To remind myself how I tried so hard~
She stood there breathing heavily and staring hard at the punching bag, hot ice in her eyes.
~ In spite of the way you were mocking me
Acting like I was part of your property
Remembering all the times you fought with me
I'm surprised it got so far
Things aren't the way they were before
You wouldn't even recognize me anymore
Not that you knew me back then
But it all comes back to me
In the end~
Why? Why after all her hard, dedicated work do they still treat her like transparent trailer trash? Were they angry that she hadn't caught Hannibal Lecter back at the lake house? Were they confused because Hannibal Lecter had been intrigued by her? Were they afraid of her?
~You kept everything inside and even though I tried
It all fell apart
What it meant to me / will eventually / be a memory
Of a time when I tried so hard~
Finally she snapped. She tore off her boxing gloves furiously, ripping at them with her teeth. She ran to her desk and toppled over it, sending pens, papers and files crashing to the ground. She grabbed a pair of sharp scissors. Running into the bathroom, she looked at her reflection briefly before taking a chunk of her fiery hair in her fist and chopping it off. She let it go, and it fell to the ground in a swift whisper.
~ And got so far
But in the end
It doesn't even matter~
Chop. Locks cascaded to the ground at a rapid pace.
~ I had to fall
To loose it all~
Chop. The scissors sliced through Clarice's hair like a sharp knife, and her muscles tensed with rage.
~But in the end
It doesn't even matter~
Finally she dropped the scissors, letting them fall to the ground with a clink.
~I've put my trust in you
Pushed as far as I can go
And for all this
There's only one thing you should know~
Clarice, head bowed over the sink, slowly lifted her head to stare into the mirror. What stared back was not recognizable to her, but then again, nothing was to her at this point in her life. She understood nothing, she felt like a butterfly fresh out of the cocoon despite her many deep scars and steel nerves. As she stared at her reflection, she watched tears form in her eyes. They were not spilling over, but threatening to.
~ I'VE PUT MY TRUST IN YOU~
Without warning, Clarice threw a raging fist into her mirror. Shards of sharp, fierce glass shattered and flew into the air. The piercing sound rang inside her eardrums like a constant reminder of never- ending pain and frustration.
~Pushed as far as I can go
And for all this
There's only one thing you should know~
"I hate you, I HATE YOU!," she screamed to herself, staring into the remaining shards of glass that hung in the mirror. A single tear quivered and tumbled down her right cheek. It slid over the small dot of gunpowder called "courage", as if the single tear would wipe out all Clarice had of this.
~I tried so hard
And got so far
But in the end
It doesn't even matter~
As she stared at her pathetic shape in the disfigured mirror, she felt the tears hot in her eyes. She tried to hold back, but one by one, they started to fall against and burn her cheeks. She gritted her teeth hard, and began sobbing.
~ I had to fall
To loose it all
But in the end...~
Clarice put her palm to her forehead and backed slowly up against the wall. She slid down slowly, sobbing, until she crouched on the floor and curled up into a small ball. She clenched her fists that were sliced with the icy mirror, bleeding. Her beautiful auburn locks were everywhere. Still, she was crying. A thousand answerless questions filled her head. White-hot tears still stung her eyes after she had wiped them away. Over and over, she asked herself why. Perhaps it was because the FBI had ruined her life. It was entirely possible that she herself had ruined it. She didn't know, but it felt empty and meaningless.
~ ...It doesn't even matter~
Clarice drifted into an uneasy sleep curled up there in the bathroom, a swirling mass of dark clouds surrounded her.
--- The loud, blaring bite of her alarm clock sounded repeatedly from Clarice's room, making her heavy eyelids flutter. She still felt drowsy. Slowly and with some measure of difficulty, she lifted and cocked her head to peer through the bathroom door, looking into her bedroom. It looked as if a tornado had come and hit during the night; scattered papers and pens everywhere, her boxing gloves and clothes strewn across the floor. She groaned as she attempted to pull herself up, avoiding the broken glass. A distinct pain was shooting in odd parts of her body, and her muscles were stiff and sore. Clarice steadied herself at the sink and looked into the broken mirror once more. She only saw her reflection in pieces through the broken glass, like some abstract Picasso painting. She couldn't see well enough to actually realize the damage she had inflicted upon herself. From the sink drawer on her left she took a small round travel mirror and gazed into it.
'I look like a fucking train wreck', she thought.
Her before long, silky mane was now choppy and scraggly. Her ivory face was covered with smeared red with bloodstains from her battered hands.
Five minutes later, she had pulled herself together and was running the hot water for a shower. The steam clouded on the shattered glass and made the bathroom air moist and warm. She stripped off her clothes and threw them carelessly on the ground. In the shower, she washed away all the dried blood and watched it swirl with the water down the drain. She scrubbed the rest of herself down then turned off the water. Slipping out of the shower, she wrapped a towel around her bare skin.
She grabbed the small mirror off the side of the sink and peered at her reflection again. She turned her face away from the sight, setting the mirror face down back on the tile.
"What the hell was I thinking..." she muttered exasperated. "Oh well, not like it matters. No one cares about me...why would they give a damn about my hair?"
Clarice bent down, took the long discarded scissors in her hand and then rose. With her wet hair she decided she could cut off all the uneven parts. The snipping sound of the scissors now filled the room again, more concentrated this time. After she finished, it didn't look all that bad.
She dressed quickly in some old baggy pants and a fitted white tank top. She felt comfortable, raising her confidence level slightly. She strapped a few Band-Aids on her slashed hands and jumped into her Mustang. She decided to clean the wreck she now called a house when she returned from work.
--- The J. Edgar Hoover building- FBI headquarters in DC ---
The moment Clarice stepped into the quiet offices and closed the door, people were hissing side comments to each other and snickering at her behind their hands. Clarice just snared and proceeded down the hall to her cubicle. She despised everyone in this place so much, with the exception of her one friend Ardelia Mapp. When she stopped at Delia's cubicle to say good morning, her friend looked at her with wide brown eyes.
"Girl, you got a new haircut! What's it been, like five years?" she laughed and smiled one of her great big warm smiles. "It looks fab!"
Clarice was slightly taken aback. She smiled.
"Ohh, yeah." she laughed and ran a hand through her hair. "I thought I would go for a new look, you know. You really think it looks okay?"
"Yeah, you bet! Hey, what happened to your hands?" she added puzzled as she caught sight of Clarice's slashed palms.
Clarice looked down at her hands and rubbed them together. "Oh, yeah...I was doing some housework and you know, they just got beat up. Don't know how it happened."
"Oh, alright..." Delia still looked skeptical and her eyes slowly drifted from Clarice's palms to a file on her desk. She picked it up and handed it to Clarice.
"Anyways, we have a new case."
~*~ :: pops up from a blanket, shielding her self from thrown objects:: Okay, so what do you wonderful readers think? Should we continue or just stop and prevent the embarrassment now? Reviews would be nice; they help determine if we should you know, go on and stuff. Hope you guys do like the story so far, we would like to continue! ~*~
Disclaimers: Nope, we do NOT own them, its kind of obvious. We also DON'T own any of these songs wonderful songs! Their rightful owners do. Okie dokie, good we got that cleared!
Clarice Starling pushed open the front door and rushed in, throwing all the files and paperwork she held in her arms to the ground with fury. This familiar burn was building up inside her. The FBI had finally pushed her to her limit. Enough with all the damn paperwork and mocking!
"Stupid cocksuckers!" she shouted angrily as she stormed up the stairs.
~(It starts with) One thing / I don't know why
It doesn't even matter how hard you try
Keep that in mind / I designed this rhyme
to explain in due time~
Down the hallway. She kicked open the door to her room, heading straight for the punching bag in the corner.
~ All I know
Time is a valuable thing
Watch it fly by as the pendulum swings
Watch it count down to the end of the day
The clock ticks life away
Its so unreal~
She grabbed her punching gloves off the bed and strapped them on.
~ Didn't look out below
Watch the time go right out the window
Trying to hold on / but didn't even know
I wasted it all just to
Watch you go~
She aimed her right hand and took a hard shot. Then her left. Again and again. Fury. Hatred. She hated them so much!
~I kept everything inside and even though I tried
It all fell apart
What it meant to me / Will eventually / be a memory
Of a time when I tried so hard~
She threw her fists into the hard material over and over again.
~And got so far~
And again. She couldn't stop. Fury. Hatred.
~ But in the end
It doesn't even matter~
Harsh sounds of the punches and Clarice's frustrated screams filled the room and carried down the hallway like wild fire.
~ I had to fall
To loose it all~
Clarice brought her foot up and kicked the bag fiercely with her last ounces of strength.
~ But in the end
It doesn't even matter~
She stopped to take a deep breath and wipe away her sweat. Images of all her days at the FBI were flowing through her head like a wild, gushing river, making her grind her teeth. People like Paul Krendler, Jack Crawford, John Brigham, Hannibal Lecter, Jamie Gumb...it made her sick to her stomach.
~One thing / I don't know why
It doesn't even matter how hard you try
Keep that in mind I designed this rhyme
To remind myself how I tried so hard~
She stood there breathing heavily and staring hard at the punching bag, hot ice in her eyes.
~ In spite of the way you were mocking me
Acting like I was part of your property
Remembering all the times you fought with me
I'm surprised it got so far
Things aren't the way they were before
You wouldn't even recognize me anymore
Not that you knew me back then
But it all comes back to me
In the end~
Why? Why after all her hard, dedicated work do they still treat her like transparent trailer trash? Were they angry that she hadn't caught Hannibal Lecter back at the lake house? Were they confused because Hannibal Lecter had been intrigued by her? Were they afraid of her?
~You kept everything inside and even though I tried
It all fell apart
What it meant to me / will eventually / be a memory
Of a time when I tried so hard~
Finally she snapped. She tore off her boxing gloves furiously, ripping at them with her teeth. She ran to her desk and toppled over it, sending pens, papers and files crashing to the ground. She grabbed a pair of sharp scissors. Running into the bathroom, she looked at her reflection briefly before taking a chunk of her fiery hair in her fist and chopping it off. She let it go, and it fell to the ground in a swift whisper.
~ And got so far
But in the end
It doesn't even matter~
Chop. Locks cascaded to the ground at a rapid pace.
~ I had to fall
To loose it all~
Chop. The scissors sliced through Clarice's hair like a sharp knife, and her muscles tensed with rage.
~But in the end
It doesn't even matter~
Finally she dropped the scissors, letting them fall to the ground with a clink.
~I've put my trust in you
Pushed as far as I can go
And for all this
There's only one thing you should know~
Clarice, head bowed over the sink, slowly lifted her head to stare into the mirror. What stared back was not recognizable to her, but then again, nothing was to her at this point in her life. She understood nothing, she felt like a butterfly fresh out of the cocoon despite her many deep scars and steel nerves. As she stared at her reflection, she watched tears form in her eyes. They were not spilling over, but threatening to.
~ I'VE PUT MY TRUST IN YOU~
Without warning, Clarice threw a raging fist into her mirror. Shards of sharp, fierce glass shattered and flew into the air. The piercing sound rang inside her eardrums like a constant reminder of never- ending pain and frustration.
~Pushed as far as I can go
And for all this
There's only one thing you should know~
"I hate you, I HATE YOU!," she screamed to herself, staring into the remaining shards of glass that hung in the mirror. A single tear quivered and tumbled down her right cheek. It slid over the small dot of gunpowder called "courage", as if the single tear would wipe out all Clarice had of this.
~I tried so hard
And got so far
But in the end
It doesn't even matter~
As she stared at her pathetic shape in the disfigured mirror, she felt the tears hot in her eyes. She tried to hold back, but one by one, they started to fall against and burn her cheeks. She gritted her teeth hard, and began sobbing.
~ I had to fall
To loose it all
But in the end...~
Clarice put her palm to her forehead and backed slowly up against the wall. She slid down slowly, sobbing, until she crouched on the floor and curled up into a small ball. She clenched her fists that were sliced with the icy mirror, bleeding. Her beautiful auburn locks were everywhere. Still, she was crying. A thousand answerless questions filled her head. White-hot tears still stung her eyes after she had wiped them away. Over and over, she asked herself why. Perhaps it was because the FBI had ruined her life. It was entirely possible that she herself had ruined it. She didn't know, but it felt empty and meaningless.
~ ...It doesn't even matter~
Clarice drifted into an uneasy sleep curled up there in the bathroom, a swirling mass of dark clouds surrounded her.
--- The loud, blaring bite of her alarm clock sounded repeatedly from Clarice's room, making her heavy eyelids flutter. She still felt drowsy. Slowly and with some measure of difficulty, she lifted and cocked her head to peer through the bathroom door, looking into her bedroom. It looked as if a tornado had come and hit during the night; scattered papers and pens everywhere, her boxing gloves and clothes strewn across the floor. She groaned as she attempted to pull herself up, avoiding the broken glass. A distinct pain was shooting in odd parts of her body, and her muscles were stiff and sore. Clarice steadied herself at the sink and looked into the broken mirror once more. She only saw her reflection in pieces through the broken glass, like some abstract Picasso painting. She couldn't see well enough to actually realize the damage she had inflicted upon herself. From the sink drawer on her left she took a small round travel mirror and gazed into it.
'I look like a fucking train wreck', she thought.
Her before long, silky mane was now choppy and scraggly. Her ivory face was covered with smeared red with bloodstains from her battered hands.
Five minutes later, she had pulled herself together and was running the hot water for a shower. The steam clouded on the shattered glass and made the bathroom air moist and warm. She stripped off her clothes and threw them carelessly on the ground. In the shower, she washed away all the dried blood and watched it swirl with the water down the drain. She scrubbed the rest of herself down then turned off the water. Slipping out of the shower, she wrapped a towel around her bare skin.
She grabbed the small mirror off the side of the sink and peered at her reflection again. She turned her face away from the sight, setting the mirror face down back on the tile.
"What the hell was I thinking..." she muttered exasperated. "Oh well, not like it matters. No one cares about me...why would they give a damn about my hair?"
Clarice bent down, took the long discarded scissors in her hand and then rose. With her wet hair she decided she could cut off all the uneven parts. The snipping sound of the scissors now filled the room again, more concentrated this time. After she finished, it didn't look all that bad.
She dressed quickly in some old baggy pants and a fitted white tank top. She felt comfortable, raising her confidence level slightly. She strapped a few Band-Aids on her slashed hands and jumped into her Mustang. She decided to clean the wreck she now called a house when she returned from work.
--- The J. Edgar Hoover building- FBI headquarters in DC ---
The moment Clarice stepped into the quiet offices and closed the door, people were hissing side comments to each other and snickering at her behind their hands. Clarice just snared and proceeded down the hall to her cubicle. She despised everyone in this place so much, with the exception of her one friend Ardelia Mapp. When she stopped at Delia's cubicle to say good morning, her friend looked at her with wide brown eyes.
"Girl, you got a new haircut! What's it been, like five years?" she laughed and smiled one of her great big warm smiles. "It looks fab!"
Clarice was slightly taken aback. She smiled.
"Ohh, yeah." she laughed and ran a hand through her hair. "I thought I would go for a new look, you know. You really think it looks okay?"
"Yeah, you bet! Hey, what happened to your hands?" she added puzzled as she caught sight of Clarice's slashed palms.
Clarice looked down at her hands and rubbed them together. "Oh, yeah...I was doing some housework and you know, they just got beat up. Don't know how it happened."
"Oh, alright..." Delia still looked skeptical and her eyes slowly drifted from Clarice's palms to a file on her desk. She picked it up and handed it to Clarice.
"Anyways, we have a new case."
~*~ :: pops up from a blanket, shielding her self from thrown objects:: Okay, so what do you wonderful readers think? Should we continue or just stop and prevent the embarrassment now? Reviews would be nice; they help determine if we should you know, go on and stuff. Hope you guys do like the story so far, we would like to continue! ~*~