Loving Lecter Archive Index Header

Recent Acquisitions

All Stories by Theme

All Stories by Author

All Stories by Title - A - F

All Stories by Title - G - L

All Stories by Title - M - S

All Stories by Title - T - Z

Appetizers - Short Works

Challenge Section

Crossover Stories

Works in Verse

Other Lecterfic Sites

Fanfic on the Web

Author's Resources

Submission Guide

Browse Main Index


copyright 2001, by Diana Lecter

Disclaimer:    The characters Dr. Hannibal Lecter, Clarice Starling, Jack Crawford, Barney, Frederick Chilton, Paul Krendler, Senator Ruth Martin, Catherine Martin, Sgts Pembery & Boyle and Jame Gumb were created by Thomas Harris.  They are used herein without permission, but in the spirit of admiration and respect.  No infringement of copyright is intended, and no profit, of any kind, is made by the creator, maintainer or contributors to this site.

Send Feedback to Author

1 of 5 | 2 of 5 | 3 of 5 | 4 of 5 | 5 of 5



I do not believe in omens.

Out of the many things I do, however blindly, place faith in, I suppose it strikes a tad odd not to believe in something so tangible. For I am, as declared by my rivals outside this dead box they dare call justification, the top notch of all omens. I am the meter stick they measure the really BAD people to, because you know you're evil if you surpass my permanent mark. There aren't many worse than I.

Now ask yourself, do I care?

Hmm, perhaps a bit more before I answer that.

The incessant diagnoses on my so-called ailment concedes those suits who linger outside this cell to make radical statements on what they believe may or may not break through this barrier I have placed between us. I have learned that while many methods have proven quite popular in the past, as well as adequate, silence is the best torture. So I remain silent, and they, acting prematurely to gain a name for themselves in a world too busy to glance at the role-book, dare deem me a monster.

I do unspeakable things. Unspeakable to whom? Them, perhaps, but their consensus views remain inspired by values taught within a tampered system of ethics. They dare not speak against it. To do so would be treason, exploring unfamiliar territory. Bright minds and those to act uninfluenced by others' tedious morality are generally the first they subject to this world of bars and solitude.

Perhaps if they were to put up with this, they'd be 'clinically insane' as well.

So, while cast in this dreary being, I return to the original hypothesis. Do I care that I am labeled a monster, an omen, a spectacle for the public to shun while inwardly denying their own morbid interest?

No, because I do not believe in omens, nor monsters molded into their current state because of the cruel hand of society.

You must ask yourself, who is the true monster?

I find it terribly capricious that while wartime killing is permissible, personal matters dealt with accordingly is 'taking the law into your own hands.' Dare I ask, if by those standards, will you cower when the voice of whatever deity it is you worship demands why you took the liberty of defining that fine line of right from wrong?

It is easy to be evil when there is no God to answer.

I never ask why I am here. I know why. When you live in a world of clones, those built on identical morals and ethics, no one is capable of comprehending a voice in an alien accent, one that does not equal or even resemble their own.

Let's elaborate, perhaps even state the obvious. I kill people. What kind? All kind. For convenience, annoyance, to live, to survive, to improve the quality of society. Albeit, sometimes, perhaps on a whimsical note, I killed because that person looked rather scrumptious.

I ask you, when did values change so? Am I any worse than the ancient Romans who controlled death for sport, as though it was their own personal playground?

I am unacceptable because I am different.

Here now, placed in a cage like a prized, untamable animal they wish to display to their undying legion of supporting fans, they torment me by stealing my books, reading my mail, confiscating my drawings, removing the convenience of a toilet seat, and leaving me to endure the rantings of a television minister, drunk on the sound of his own voice. And why do they do it?

Because they can. Because it's fun. I am the insufferable Hannibal the Cannibal, and they would like to believe they have me right where they want me.

I ask again, who is the real monster?

They shall not have me forever. Such fortitude spends years gaining confidence before coming to trust its own durability, and ultimately suffering a breach in pattern and letting down its guard. Someday, their guard will fall, but mine won't. I have uncanny patience, and a terrible intuition that never lies. Someday they will miss a loop. Someday when Barney is on leave.

I do not believe in omens - I am an omen.

I am a monster.

I am a menace.

And someday, I will be free.


Part 1 of 5

copyright 2001, by Diana

Send Feedback to Author

1 of 5 | 2 of 5 | 3 of 5 | 4 of 5 | 5 of 5


Site Copyright 2001 by Loving Lecter - The Fan Fiction Site.

This fan fiction site exists to honor characters created by Thomas Harris.
No infringement of rights is intended and no profit, of any kind, is made.