Just thought I'd finally give it a shot. I know it's short, but my mind only works in spurts. lol… Hope it's not too bad.
Thanks to Chameleon, who inspired the title.
The usual applies; I own no one or nothing pertaining to this story.
Ramblings-
The power had gone out, again.
This was the third time this week due to the construction going on just down the street from Special Agent Starling's new residence. Another mini mall, 'just what we need' she thought. 'Everyone should have a 24 hour nail salon within walking distance of their home.'
Clarice had been listening to the radio, just relaxing after a rather boring day at work. The Bureau no longer held her interest, and had not, ever since that night a year ago on the Chesapeake, but for now, it did pay the bills.
As Clarice sat in her dark living room, she finally decided to light some candles. She grabbed a flashlight and began to rummage through her desk for some matches when she came across the letters. She just stared at them for a moment before picking them up. There were at least a dozen, and a few of them were six or seven pages long. They were just ramblings really, something she did to pass the time, or that's what she had told herself. She hadn't written any new ones for about six months now and had all but forgotten about the ones she now held in her hand.
About a month after the incident at Krendlers lake house, Clarice had felt a strong need to speak with someone about the events of that fateful night. Knowing that doing so would have probably ended her so called "employment" with the Bureau, she no longer viewed it as a career, she decided to start writing as if she were writing to a good friend.
Clarice had put everything into those letters. Pouring out her soul, as it were, to try and relieve some of the turmoil and loss that she felt. Knowing she could never send the letters to anyone, she had briefly considered Ardelia, but believing her friend would never understand, she tossed that notion aside. The only person that would truly understand, the one that had been the cause of her pain and suffering didn't exactly have a stable address, so that was out of the question. So she had bundled up the letters and shoved them into the back of her desk, where they were gratefully hidden from sight and mind, until now.
Clarice stood holding the letters, trying to decide whether to shred them or burn them. She made her way to the fireplace and had just lit a match when the power to her home was restored. When the radio came back on, there was a song playing that until that moment, held no special meaning for her.
Nights in white satin
Never reaching the end
Letters I've written
Never meaning to send
Beauty I'd always missed
With these eyes before
Just what the truth is
I can't say anymore
As Clarice listened to the lyrics of the Moody Blues song, her lips pulled into a slight grin. She blew out the match, then placed the letters back into her desk and closed the drawer as she said to herself, "Not today."
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Thank you to all the Authors here who have done such a great job writing all these wonderful stories. Your originality and imagination just boggles my mind.