None of these characters belong to me; they are the proporty of Thomas Harris
Please review and tell me what you think, it's my first fanfiction...
Reflections
Clarice
From the time I was a little girl I had known what I wanted to be. I wanted to be the "hero". The one who got the "bad guys"- just like my daddy.
Then he was killed on the job.
For some this would make them realize the dangers- turn them off from the job- but not me. It compelled me to continue on with my future as I had planned it. But unlike my father, the night watchman of a small town, I would be above the small town police force. I would be above a state force. I would be part of the federal force, the FBI.
The acronym rolled off my tongue before I was fully able to comprehend what they stood for. As I grew older the Federal Bureau of Investigation became my obsession; I found out everything I could, I read books, collected articles- anything I could get my hands on I got and committed to memory. Perhaps my dream of succeeding and advancement are what paved my work ethic, something I retained despite the hard times I went through.
If only I had known ahead of time the pain and suffering that would come from such a place. If only I had foreseen it, the restless nights I could have prevented. If only.
If only.
There is no purpose to dwelling on the past, no matter how hard I try the pieces will not reconfigure themselves to how they should be. I was supposed to be protecting the innocent- the lambs, but that's not how they see it. It's just some job to them, nothing more, and nothing less, just a job. Our inability to see eye to eye on this matter was the main cause of my rejection- and ultimately my downfall.
Perhaps it was the memories of my father dying or of that night on the ranch, whatever it was my desire to protect others was beyond that of any of my colleagues and that caused a great rift between us making it impossible for us to function as the team we should have been.
My life has been filled with tragedy, more than most people can even begin to imagine. My father's death started the steady decline of my life. Following that my mother worked at a motel to support us. But that is no life for a ten-year old- watching your mother be forced to clean up after the visitors. The people who would leave their used condoms on the bedside table.
That's no life for a ten year old to be exposed to.
So I got to go to Montana. It's not that Montana was bad, there were many animals- including my own horse, Hannah. I should have known the purpose of the farm from the second I saw the "Humane Horse Killer", but no. Something didn't quite register. Until that night. Kind of hard to miss the fact that it was a slaughter farm when you get woken up to the sound of screaming.
I was once asked what my worst memory of childhood was. Without a thought I replied with the death of my father. It wasn't until much later on that I finally accepted that although that was truly devastating- it was not the single most traumatic memory in my past. The night I ran away from the ranch, hearing the cries of the lambs. The innocent, the little children. From that point on I knew it was my purpose to protect the innocent.
No matter what he may say to my face, I know he agrees.
