Categories > Games > Silent Hill > Story's End
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Silent Hill, Konami does, the lucky bastards. I own Moroi, and all her schizophrenic delusions. Stan-...something loud just went bang outside...::heart jumped...takes a moment to recover:: Anyways...Stanley Coleman fascinates me...I was driven to write this..and write this I did. Sorry if some details are fudged, it's been a while since I've seen that part played.
The End
A SH fic by Q.
This is the end, beautiful friend. This is the end, my only friend, the end...
Father?
Yes son?
I want to kill you. Mother? I want to fuck you.
- The Doors "The End"
He had been bad again. So bad. It wasn't his intent, everyone knew that. No one here ever meant to be bad. It just happened.
He was locked away, denied the time to fraternize with other patients. It was unfortunate, but something the hospital staff deemed necessary. Moroi, however, was lonely without her friend Mister Coleman.
Yesterday he was quietly writing in his diaries, when a nurse ushered him back to his room. Upon looking up from his writings, he fell into delusion. Mister Coleman had mistaken the nurse for a the woman he loved: Heather. He had jumped up and grabbed her head, screaming with joy 'Oh, Heather! Finally we're together!'. But Mister Coleman was wrong. His psychotic fog cleared from his eyes and he realized the simple, chubby face of Nurse Hallowell. Then he pushed her aside, yelling that the nurse lied, and had taken Heather from him. They had to restrain Mister Coleman. It took five officers, and he had bitten one of them on the arm, ripping out a chunk of flesh.
After they managed to lock Coleman away, he was denied all privileges.
And Moroi missed Stanley Coleman, the man who would tell her stories of Heather. Yet Coleman was a good teacher, the little japanese girl noted, and she had a plan. Moroi would get her stories one way or another...
----
The little japanese teenager giggled at the air to her left. No one saw anything there, yet she spoke to it as if it were a person. The Day Room was dull today. Several of Moroi's 'real' friends were away. Real meaning flesh and blood. Real in no way meant close, or tried and true buddies. All it meant was that they could be seen by the hospital staff.
Warm, honey coloured eyes side-glanced a nurse. Moroi kept on her gaze, even after the nurse met it with her own. The young girl smiled, yet continued the starring contest. Things became timeless and nonexistent.
The nurse felt an unconscious tremble skirt up her spine, and her eyes began to ache from lack of blinking. She inhaled suddenly, and tore her vision from the seemingly sweet girl, an iciness welling in her chest.
Moroi's smile grew brighter when the nurse looked away, and she quickly scurried under one of the room's armchairs. It was Stanley's favorite, and he often kept his journals there while writing in the main room. They remained there still, since Stanley hadn't the chance to collect them since his ...epsiode.
Moroi strained to reach all the books, her toes tapping a rhythm of encouragement out on the cold tile floor. Her fingers pulled a book to her, then another, which she piled on the first. A third, a fourth...five in all.
She gripped the tower of five little hardbound journals, and backed out from under the dusty chair, getting into a kneeling position.
"Mister Coleman will love to have these, Growl!" Moroi chirped as she stood, running out of the room with her gifts clutched tightly to her little chest.
Making her way to S7 was simple enough. It was one of those believe things. If she believed she had every right to be walking down the halls of Brookhaven hospital, with nearly half a dozen books to her chest that didn't belong to her, and an imaginary monster at her side, then that she did!
"Miiiiiiiiiister Cooooolemaaannn...!" Called the girl in a sing-song voice. "I b-..!" She suddenly quieted as a warm, slimy bile grew within her stomach. Something was wrong.
"Listen to me, Stanley! Stop writing and listen to me!" Growled a sickening voice from within Mister Coleman's cell. "You are not to touch a hair on her head! She is the key, and all this has been far too long unattended."
"Oh, that's right." Moroi heard Stanley chortle. "She'll lead you to Paradise. How cute. Do you think she loves you, Leonard? Do you think sh-"
"Do you think she loves you, you insolent mental patient?! You're delusional. Heather would never love a pathetic non-believer."
"SHUT UP!" Stanley screamed out, and sounds of struggle seeped into the trembling Moroi's ears. She gripped the front of her shirt between her teeth and chewed, trying to muffle any noise she may make. Compulsively, she folded the two middle fingers of each hand down, and stuck out the pointer and pinkies. Her gestures resembled a snail, and she shut her eyes. The Snail would protect Stanley and her, it had to!
"Leonard-..Leonard!?"
"Look at these pathetic toys, Coleman! DOLLS?! Do you really think that Heather still played with dolls?! You're sick, and you insult our intelligence and our faith!"
"No!" Stanley crooned in a voice teeming with sorry and despair. "My gifts!!"
Moroi curled in a ball, knees to her face, hands still snail-y.
"You will not..." Sneered Leonard's voice. "bring it all to ruin."
A sickening crack emitted from the room, followed by a dull, heavy thump. Soon after was sounded the squeak of a window opening. Moroi could guess what was happening inside the room.
As the single set of footsteps neared the hall, Moroi tightened her hold on herself and wished.
Don't see me. You don't see me. I'm a snail in it's shell.
Shakily, the young mental patient began to lift her head, just enough that a single, honey coloured eye peeked past a cotton clad knee, and to the murderer.
But they do see you.
As if on command brought by some divine rule, staff ran into the halls, clogging it up at either ends. Leonard was cornered.
Moroi, however, did not concern herself with that. Instead, she uncurled from her protective shell, and stood quietly, before purposely padding toward room S7. This was where Stanley Coleman had lived during the time she knew him. It was, too where he died. Her ears were numb to the charismatic words of Leonard as he tried to coerce the staff into letting him his freedom. Her eyes took in the book on his bed, which was stained with blood. Her delicate, harmless hands gently opened the cover, and she flipped through it numbly, finally stopping on a certain page. The ink was still wet, and tickled her nose. The final pen-marks were smudged by interruption. Near it, lay a shattered, dismembered doll; one Stanley had carefully crafted out of love.
Moroi turned her head, dully heading toward the window. She leaned against the wall, looking down onto the yard, watching as they carried Stanley's body away. To the burning room it would go, no doubt.
Moroi starred, her body pricking like pins and needles watching the world outside do nothing except excrete that repetitive, teeming fog of it's own doing.
June 26th 11:30pm 2004
The End
A SH fic by Q.
This is the end, beautiful friend. This is the end, my only friend, the end...
Father?
Yes son?
I want to kill you. Mother? I want to fuck you.
- The Doors "The End"
He had been bad again. So bad. It wasn't his intent, everyone knew that. No one here ever meant to be bad. It just happened.
He was locked away, denied the time to fraternize with other patients. It was unfortunate, but something the hospital staff deemed necessary. Moroi, however, was lonely without her friend Mister Coleman.
Yesterday he was quietly writing in his diaries, when a nurse ushered him back to his room. Upon looking up from his writings, he fell into delusion. Mister Coleman had mistaken the nurse for a the woman he loved: Heather. He had jumped up and grabbed her head, screaming with joy 'Oh, Heather! Finally we're together!'. But Mister Coleman was wrong. His psychotic fog cleared from his eyes and he realized the simple, chubby face of Nurse Hallowell. Then he pushed her aside, yelling that the nurse lied, and had taken Heather from him. They had to restrain Mister Coleman. It took five officers, and he had bitten one of them on the arm, ripping out a chunk of flesh.
After they managed to lock Coleman away, he was denied all privileges.
And Moroi missed Stanley Coleman, the man who would tell her stories of Heather. Yet Coleman was a good teacher, the little japanese girl noted, and she had a plan. Moroi would get her stories one way or another...
----
The little japanese teenager giggled at the air to her left. No one saw anything there, yet she spoke to it as if it were a person. The Day Room was dull today. Several of Moroi's 'real' friends were away. Real meaning flesh and blood. Real in no way meant close, or tried and true buddies. All it meant was that they could be seen by the hospital staff.
Warm, honey coloured eyes side-glanced a nurse. Moroi kept on her gaze, even after the nurse met it with her own. The young girl smiled, yet continued the starring contest. Things became timeless and nonexistent.
The nurse felt an unconscious tremble skirt up her spine, and her eyes began to ache from lack of blinking. She inhaled suddenly, and tore her vision from the seemingly sweet girl, an iciness welling in her chest.
Moroi's smile grew brighter when the nurse looked away, and she quickly scurried under one of the room's armchairs. It was Stanley's favorite, and he often kept his journals there while writing in the main room. They remained there still, since Stanley hadn't the chance to collect them since his ...epsiode.
Moroi strained to reach all the books, her toes tapping a rhythm of encouragement out on the cold tile floor. Her fingers pulled a book to her, then another, which she piled on the first. A third, a fourth...five in all.
She gripped the tower of five little hardbound journals, and backed out from under the dusty chair, getting into a kneeling position.
"Mister Coleman will love to have these, Growl!" Moroi chirped as she stood, running out of the room with her gifts clutched tightly to her little chest.
Making her way to S7 was simple enough. It was one of those believe things. If she believed she had every right to be walking down the halls of Brookhaven hospital, with nearly half a dozen books to her chest that didn't belong to her, and an imaginary monster at her side, then that she did!
"Miiiiiiiiiister Cooooolemaaannn...!" Called the girl in a sing-song voice. "I b-..!" She suddenly quieted as a warm, slimy bile grew within her stomach. Something was wrong.
"Listen to me, Stanley! Stop writing and listen to me!" Growled a sickening voice from within Mister Coleman's cell. "You are not to touch a hair on her head! She is the key, and all this has been far too long unattended."
"Oh, that's right." Moroi heard Stanley chortle. "She'll lead you to Paradise. How cute. Do you think she loves you, Leonard? Do you think sh-"
"Do you think she loves you, you insolent mental patient?! You're delusional. Heather would never love a pathetic non-believer."
"SHUT UP!" Stanley screamed out, and sounds of struggle seeped into the trembling Moroi's ears. She gripped the front of her shirt between her teeth and chewed, trying to muffle any noise she may make. Compulsively, she folded the two middle fingers of each hand down, and stuck out the pointer and pinkies. Her gestures resembled a snail, and she shut her eyes. The Snail would protect Stanley and her, it had to!
"Leonard-..Leonard!?"
"Look at these pathetic toys, Coleman! DOLLS?! Do you really think that Heather still played with dolls?! You're sick, and you insult our intelligence and our faith!"
"No!" Stanley crooned in a voice teeming with sorry and despair. "My gifts!!"
Moroi curled in a ball, knees to her face, hands still snail-y.
"You will not..." Sneered Leonard's voice. "bring it all to ruin."
A sickening crack emitted from the room, followed by a dull, heavy thump. Soon after was sounded the squeak of a window opening. Moroi could guess what was happening inside the room.
As the single set of footsteps neared the hall, Moroi tightened her hold on herself and wished.
Don't see me. You don't see me. I'm a snail in it's shell.
Shakily, the young mental patient began to lift her head, just enough that a single, honey coloured eye peeked past a cotton clad knee, and to the murderer.
But they do see you.
As if on command brought by some divine rule, staff ran into the halls, clogging it up at either ends. Leonard was cornered.
Moroi, however, did not concern herself with that. Instead, she uncurled from her protective shell, and stood quietly, before purposely padding toward room S7. This was where Stanley Coleman had lived during the time she knew him. It was, too where he died. Her ears were numb to the charismatic words of Leonard as he tried to coerce the staff into letting him his freedom. Her eyes took in the book on his bed, which was stained with blood. Her delicate, harmless hands gently opened the cover, and she flipped through it numbly, finally stopping on a certain page. The ink was still wet, and tickled her nose. The final pen-marks were smudged by interruption. Near it, lay a shattered, dismembered doll; one Stanley had carefully crafted out of love.
Moroi turned her head, dully heading toward the window. She leaned against the wall, looking down onto the yard, watching as they carried Stanley's body away. To the burning room it would go, no doubt.
Moroi starred, her body pricking like pins and needles watching the world outside do nothing except excrete that repetitive, teeming fog of it's own doing.
June 26th 11:30pm 2004
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