Maybe my readers will like this one, because it is obvious from the reviews that my writing isn't well liked. Please, no flames!
Red of Love
Dr. Lecter couldn't shake the thought from his mind. What if Clarice were killed. She would have been if he had not been there to save her. What would he do with out her? Without that body. Without that slight southern accent. Without that hair. Oh yes, the hair was his favorite. The soft autumn color of her silken mane. It was red, though not a red of lust, but a red of love. Dr. Lecter knew that his favorite thing about Clarice was her hair. He started going over the details of the night that he saved her life in his head. After she had been shot, he had taken her to his house to mend her wounds, and cleanse her spirit. He had looked lovingly at her while removing the bullet, and sewing up the puncture. The look that he had given her was a look of pride, like a father might give his son after winning a baseball game, but at the same time a look of pure love, like two teenage lovers might give each other after a date. He knew that he would do anything for this girl. The feelings of helplessness always surrounded him when he thought of her. His personal taste was directly based on her preferences. Anything for his darling Clarice. Everything in his life was for her, yet she defied him so. Why must she torture him so. Coming so close to opening up to him, but then backing away ever so slightly. She had done some things for him. Dr. Lecter never forgot the first time that he had laid eyes on Clarice. It was when he was incarcerated. How he hated for her to see him behind the glass protector, but he knew that if it had not been there, he would have supped on her skin. But that was before he had known her. Now, even if he was starved, he would not eat her. For the first time in his life, he realized that he had something to live for. If nothing else, he would live for Clarice. He would live for Clarice and her hair, which was the color of love.
Red of Love
Dr. Lecter couldn't shake the thought from his mind. What if Clarice were killed. She would have been if he had not been there to save her. What would he do with out her? Without that body. Without that slight southern accent. Without that hair. Oh yes, the hair was his favorite. The soft autumn color of her silken mane. It was red, though not a red of lust, but a red of love. Dr. Lecter knew that his favorite thing about Clarice was her hair. He started going over the details of the night that he saved her life in his head. After she had been shot, he had taken her to his house to mend her wounds, and cleanse her spirit. He had looked lovingly at her while removing the bullet, and sewing up the puncture. The look that he had given her was a look of pride, like a father might give his son after winning a baseball game, but at the same time a look of pure love, like two teenage lovers might give each other after a date. He knew that he would do anything for this girl. The feelings of helplessness always surrounded him when he thought of her. His personal taste was directly based on her preferences. Anything for his darling Clarice. Everything in his life was for her, yet she defied him so. Why must she torture him so. Coming so close to opening up to him, but then backing away ever so slightly. She had done some things for him. Dr. Lecter never forgot the first time that he had laid eyes on Clarice. It was when he was incarcerated. How he hated for her to see him behind the glass protector, but he knew that if it had not been there, he would have supped on her skin. But that was before he had known her. Now, even if he was starved, he would not eat her. For the first time in his life, he realized that he had something to live for. If nothing else, he would live for Clarice. He would live for Clarice and her hair, which was the color of love.