Author's Note: Here is a short drabble I did. Hope you enjoy...

Another Note: No, I don't own Clarice...but that doesn't mean I haven't kidnapped her and hid her in my closet...shifty eyes

Cold. Hard.

Clarice whispered these words to herself, describing the tile of the bathroom as she lay on the floor, staring up at the yellowing paint of the ceiling. Harsh, florescent light illuminated the small, dingy room, giving the cracking tub and mildewed sink an eerie glowing look.

Tears burned in Clarice's eyes and trailed into her ears. She hummed placidly, the words of the song burning in her mind:

I tried to kill the pain

But only brought more

I lay dying

And I'm pouring crimson regret and betrayal

I'm dying, praying, bleeding, and screaming

Am I too lost to be saved?

Am I too lost?

My God, my tourniquet

Return to me salvation

My God, my tourniquet

Return to me salvation

Do you remember me?

Lost for so long

Will you be on the other side?

Or will you forget me?

I'm dying, praying, bleeding, and screaming

Am I too lost to be saved?

Am I too lost?

My God, my tourniquet

Return to me salvation

My God, my tourniquet

Return to me salvation

My wounds cry for the grave

My soul cries for deliverance

Will I be denied Christ?

Tourniquet

My suicide

Clarice sat up and pulled the elastic from her hair. Crimson locks fell down her shoulders and framed her naked body. Standing, Clarice stared at herself in the mirror. Her hollow eyes filled with an unusual fire.

The silence was shattered as Clarice thrust her fist into the shining mirror. Sparkling glass showered down, the sound of it hitting the sink and floor making Clarice smile. Red, dripping fingers picked up a shard and Clarice traced the cool glass across her cheek.

Two cuts. That is all it took. Clarice stared in a childish wonder at the shining slashes in her wrists. A drop fell into the water-filled sink, then two, then three. Flowers of blood shone on the surface as Clarice slipped her hands below the scalding water.

'It will only take a few minutes.' She thought as her life filled the sink.

Cold. Hard.

Clarice whispered these words to herself, describing the tile of the bathroom as she lay on the floor, staring up at the yellowing paint of the ceiling.

Her breathing echoed around the small, dingy room and the light flashed and danced in front of Clarice's now fading eyes. Lips quivered as she gave her last breath, and slipped into the welcoming embrace of death.

X

"It's a shame. She was so young." The young officer said as he zipped up the body bag. His partner nodded,

"Yea. Did they find out her name?"

"No. Just some nobody."

The rasp voice of the hotel manager interrupted them, "Can you two hurry it up? I'd like to get this cleaned up, I have guests to house."

"Yea, yea. A few minutes won't kill you." The officer grumbled as they wheeled the stretcher from the room and shut the door.

"A few minutes won't kill you..."