'At the End of the Game'
Part Ten: So close. Too far
Sharp twigs assaulted her already tender feet. She couldn't see the ground for the unwelcome salty tears, which welled in her eyes and traced down her flushed cheeks. Surrounding thorny shrubs attacked and tore at her once beautiful silk pyjamas; a delicate pattern of crimson and ivory evolved and expanded from the cuts and abrasions on her legs and arms.
She was running from him.
She was hiding from her.
How quickly the tables can turn. Her position of power had been slaughtered the moment she had decided life was worth no more than drowning in the Chesapeake with him. Dr. Hannibal Lecter.
Now, instead of being the mighty warrior, the hunter, she was indeed the prey. Running from the enemy. Him? Herself? She was disgusted at herself, knowing that she had turned her back on a challenge, cheated her way out of the game. But what else could she have done? Stood and participated in lustful moments of complete passion with one of the Ten Most Wanted? Abandoned every moral her father had encouraged her to stand by and leave behind 30 years of the only life she knew?
Corruption. It sounded foreign on her tongue, a word that wholly existed, yet remained hidden in shadows of denial. He asked of her something far greater than she was able to give, or receive. Yet she asked of herself something considerably justifiable. Time with Dr. Lecter, as minimal as it had been, had constructed apart of her that no other had ever attempted to build. Happiness lived in the heart of torture. She could never have what she needed, only dream, dream it then deny it.
Her sprint had been on going for nearly half and hour before she began to realise that her body had reached its capable climax, and pain overtook thought. She hadn't once stopped to cheek her wounds, or even question her destination. Fear had turned on 'auto-pilot' mode, she was, without being.
Her legs slowed down their maddening pace and began to tremble at the sudden release of strain. She has an undeniable fit woman, many of those who knew her managed to at least praise her loyalty to physical training. But over this past week, her mind had taken more from her body than she thought capable, and she had little energy left. Clarice inhaled deeply, wincing at the cramps in her chest; her throat was dry and itched for water. After a moment of light-headed wandering she fell to the ground in audible exhaustion, her head meeting a sharp log, making a small gash above her right eyebrow.
~ For if this is life, I am forever lost ~
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Choosing whether or not to go after her was not an easy decision to make. He had wanted her to play, from her own side of the table. It would be a discourtesy to her strength had he tried to play her hand for her. He was pleased with her responses up until she had bolted, and cursed himself for allowing such a foolish opportunity to rise.
He had missed her undeniably since their last encounter, and spent many of his days thinking about what she may be doing, whom she might be pursuing. Hannibal Lecter was not a man well aquatinted with duties of obsession, in fact, he's desired very little sentiment from himself or any woman. But there was something indescribable about what Clarice drew out of him, something, much to his surprise, which always left him off balance and vulnerable.
He wondered if she would ever realise just how much power she held and how much damage she could do.
He stood on the veranda and inhaled deeply. He wanted to go after her, he knew he could find her easily; he could trace her scent anywhere. Yet, something was stopping him from racing down the steps and into the bush, something that scared him greatly...Guilt, an emotion, which could destroy a man with a history such as his own.
He had never wanted to force her into realisation; it was never the intent of the game. No, the game was just a fancy name they had to use in order to spend time together, the word that helped Clarice stay sain. In hunting her down, it would likely end in a misrepresentation of both of their characters. She needed time, and he would give her all the time he had. The time between now until death, if freedom couldn't be found in a lifetime...not that he would let her know that.
It was a possibility for him leave the cabin, take the sedan parked in the garage and drive interstate; there were a few places he would like to re-visit before he left the US, forever. If she came back to the house, her gun and keys for the van would be left on the dresser in the hallway. They would both return to life as they knew it, as they despised it; at opposing ends of the spectrum, one lonely in heaven, the other solemn in hell.
He took another deep breath as his chest and nostrils expanded. Choice, as it seemed, was a mockery of the very lives they had built for themselves. But they would both survive, he was patient, she was strong. The only regret he would take with him was his open-ended departure, they had never said goodbye. They both needed that, at least.
No use dwelling now. It was time to move on, time to move away.
And he would have let her go, had he not heard her distance cry of pain.
~ Carpe diem - Seize the day ~
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It worked out to be a little shorter than I had hoped, but I wanted to be hasty with my posting. I have been a little slack lately. Thank you to all my reviewers, I'll be more specific in the epilogue, I appreciate all of your comments. I still have a few more chapter up my sleeve, stay tuned.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Part Ten: So close. Too far
Sharp twigs assaulted her already tender feet. She couldn't see the ground for the unwelcome salty tears, which welled in her eyes and traced down her flushed cheeks. Surrounding thorny shrubs attacked and tore at her once beautiful silk pyjamas; a delicate pattern of crimson and ivory evolved and expanded from the cuts and abrasions on her legs and arms.
She was running from him.
She was hiding from her.
How quickly the tables can turn. Her position of power had been slaughtered the moment she had decided life was worth no more than drowning in the Chesapeake with him. Dr. Hannibal Lecter.
Now, instead of being the mighty warrior, the hunter, she was indeed the prey. Running from the enemy. Him? Herself? She was disgusted at herself, knowing that she had turned her back on a challenge, cheated her way out of the game. But what else could she have done? Stood and participated in lustful moments of complete passion with one of the Ten Most Wanted? Abandoned every moral her father had encouraged her to stand by and leave behind 30 years of the only life she knew?
Corruption. It sounded foreign on her tongue, a word that wholly existed, yet remained hidden in shadows of denial. He asked of her something far greater than she was able to give, or receive. Yet she asked of herself something considerably justifiable. Time with Dr. Lecter, as minimal as it had been, had constructed apart of her that no other had ever attempted to build. Happiness lived in the heart of torture. She could never have what she needed, only dream, dream it then deny it.
Her sprint had been on going for nearly half and hour before she began to realise that her body had reached its capable climax, and pain overtook thought. She hadn't once stopped to cheek her wounds, or even question her destination. Fear had turned on 'auto-pilot' mode, she was, without being.
Her legs slowed down their maddening pace and began to tremble at the sudden release of strain. She has an undeniable fit woman, many of those who knew her managed to at least praise her loyalty to physical training. But over this past week, her mind had taken more from her body than she thought capable, and she had little energy left. Clarice inhaled deeply, wincing at the cramps in her chest; her throat was dry and itched for water. After a moment of light-headed wandering she fell to the ground in audible exhaustion, her head meeting a sharp log, making a small gash above her right eyebrow.
~ For if this is life, I am forever lost ~
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Choosing whether or not to go after her was not an easy decision to make. He had wanted her to play, from her own side of the table. It would be a discourtesy to her strength had he tried to play her hand for her. He was pleased with her responses up until she had bolted, and cursed himself for allowing such a foolish opportunity to rise.
He had missed her undeniably since their last encounter, and spent many of his days thinking about what she may be doing, whom she might be pursuing. Hannibal Lecter was not a man well aquatinted with duties of obsession, in fact, he's desired very little sentiment from himself or any woman. But there was something indescribable about what Clarice drew out of him, something, much to his surprise, which always left him off balance and vulnerable.
He wondered if she would ever realise just how much power she held and how much damage she could do.
He stood on the veranda and inhaled deeply. He wanted to go after her, he knew he could find her easily; he could trace her scent anywhere. Yet, something was stopping him from racing down the steps and into the bush, something that scared him greatly...Guilt, an emotion, which could destroy a man with a history such as his own.
He had never wanted to force her into realisation; it was never the intent of the game. No, the game was just a fancy name they had to use in order to spend time together, the word that helped Clarice stay sain. In hunting her down, it would likely end in a misrepresentation of both of their characters. She needed time, and he would give her all the time he had. The time between now until death, if freedom couldn't be found in a lifetime...not that he would let her know that.
It was a possibility for him leave the cabin, take the sedan parked in the garage and drive interstate; there were a few places he would like to re-visit before he left the US, forever. If she came back to the house, her gun and keys for the van would be left on the dresser in the hallway. They would both return to life as they knew it, as they despised it; at opposing ends of the spectrum, one lonely in heaven, the other solemn in hell.
He took another deep breath as his chest and nostrils expanded. Choice, as it seemed, was a mockery of the very lives they had built for themselves. But they would both survive, he was patient, she was strong. The only regret he would take with him was his open-ended departure, they had never said goodbye. They both needed that, at least.
No use dwelling now. It was time to move on, time to move away.
And he would have let her go, had he not heard her distance cry of pain.
~ Carpe diem - Seize the day ~
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It worked out to be a little shorter than I had hoped, but I wanted to be hasty with my posting. I have been a little slack lately. Thank you to all my reviewers, I'll be more specific in the epilogue, I appreciate all of your comments. I still have a few more chapter up my sleeve, stay tuned.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*