Categories > Games > Silent Hill
Disclaimer: I don't own Silent Hill. It belongs to Konami. Yep. The end.
Title: Congealed
Rating: PG
Game: Silent Hill 3.
Summary: Heather enters the crematorium in Brookhaven...
"His new name is ...Number 7"
Heather Morris' spine quivered in icy horror as the weak, stuttered voice rasped the name. Her name. Her flat belly seemed to flutter and burn with a sort of sting as she stood aside the covered gurney, a dark number '7' smeared onto the filthy cloth in blood, some of it still wet, the edges congealed and quickly crusting.
Someone whisper her name. Someone was still alive. She knew it.
Swallowing down the sick bile that slipped up her throat, Heather slowly reached for the gurney. It was stiff and heavy against her hand, and cracked as she gripped it. Holding her breath, Heather wretched the sheet from the bed.
"H-h..heh..."
The man laying on the gurney was slick with a film of sweat, flesh sallow, wounds bruised into his flesh, his stiff, gnarled hands smudged with ink. Most disturbing of all, upon the bony valley of his pale, hairless chest, were carved the words "I love Heather", seemingly with a four pronged fork.
"Oh my God..." Muttered Heather under her breath.
"He-..heh-..!" The body lurched itself at Heather, who caught him with a startled cry. The small, fail body was surprisingly heavy, and the two tumbled to the cold tile floor below, the man gathered into Heather's sprawled legs.
"S-...Stanley! God, Stanley, what happened to you!" Heather's mottle coloured eyes widened in shock, mind reeling. How did she know this was Stanley, and for that matter, why did she care? He was little more then a creepy stalker. But it was so much more different when sicknesses had faces.
"H-...Heath-..r..." Stanley's hands twitched violently, as did his head, which he tried to nudge against Heather's womb, like a child wishing to be comforted.
"...Shh...Stanley..." Heather found her voice falling soft, and into a tone of sympathy.
"...Fill your heart with hatred."
The young woman's surprisingly strong arms clumsily gathered the weak man deeper into her lap, coaxing his body into a feeble fetal position. "It's ok, Stanley. I'm here." Heather's skin creeped numbly as she whispered the favorable words to the dying man, selflessly trying to dull his fear and pain.
"M..m...g-..glowing...l-...lik-...angel..." Stanley's eyes dulled, and the side of his mouth twitched upward into a smile. "...love...yeh...knew-...I"
"Yes, yes." Heather nodded hastily, gripping one of Stanley's tremoring hands. It was so deathly cold that she cringed. "You know I'd come. You were right. You can rest now."
Stanley's weak smile grew as he watched Heather's eyes brighten with excitement. Quickly, the girl reached into a pocket, pulling out a small bottle. Hurriedly, she pulled off the cap of the health drink, before steadily pouring the contents over the weak patient's lips.
"C'mon Stanley," Urged the young lady. "Drink."
And bless his heart, Stanley Coleman tried to obey the wishes of his lady love, but his body was just too weak, nothing below his neck responded to their commands. The medicine frothed up in the man's throat, causing a violent chorus of coughs.
Then something within snapped, loud enough to reverberate through the dull, chilled room, and Stanley Coleman did not move again.
Heather's eyes, a moment ago so bright to Stanley, now dulled with a sick feeling of failure.
It was a great exertion to right the gurney and replace Stanley's now fully spent body, but Heather forced herself to work through the task.
Once everything was orderly, Heather put pen to sheet, assuring everything was viable. Ruthlessly, the woman scratched her pen across the crude number '7', labeling the cadaver as it should be.
"Stanley Coleman."
Author's Note: I realize the aim of this fic is not very clear. If you don't feel like ruminating on it, here's the answer: I didn't make Heather's motives clear;
The idea was if she just kicked the shit outta Stanley, and iced him, there's more 'hate' in her 'heart', thus making 'God' stronger. She was trying to fight that, Stanley was just a vessel to say "Fuck you Claudia!"
Title: Congealed
Rating: PG
Game: Silent Hill 3.
Summary: Heather enters the crematorium in Brookhaven...
"His new name is ...Number 7"
Heather Morris' spine quivered in icy horror as the weak, stuttered voice rasped the name. Her name. Her flat belly seemed to flutter and burn with a sort of sting as she stood aside the covered gurney, a dark number '7' smeared onto the filthy cloth in blood, some of it still wet, the edges congealed and quickly crusting.
Someone whisper her name. Someone was still alive. She knew it.
Swallowing down the sick bile that slipped up her throat, Heather slowly reached for the gurney. It was stiff and heavy against her hand, and cracked as she gripped it. Holding her breath, Heather wretched the sheet from the bed.
"H-h..heh..."
The man laying on the gurney was slick with a film of sweat, flesh sallow, wounds bruised into his flesh, his stiff, gnarled hands smudged with ink. Most disturbing of all, upon the bony valley of his pale, hairless chest, were carved the words "I love Heather", seemingly with a four pronged fork.
"Oh my God..." Muttered Heather under her breath.
"He-..heh-..!" The body lurched itself at Heather, who caught him with a startled cry. The small, fail body was surprisingly heavy, and the two tumbled to the cold tile floor below, the man gathered into Heather's sprawled legs.
"S-...Stanley! God, Stanley, what happened to you!" Heather's mottle coloured eyes widened in shock, mind reeling. How did she know this was Stanley, and for that matter, why did she care? He was little more then a creepy stalker. But it was so much more different when sicknesses had faces.
"H-...Heath-..r..." Stanley's hands twitched violently, as did his head, which he tried to nudge against Heather's womb, like a child wishing to be comforted.
"...Shh...Stanley..." Heather found her voice falling soft, and into a tone of sympathy.
"...Fill your heart with hatred."
The young woman's surprisingly strong arms clumsily gathered the weak man deeper into her lap, coaxing his body into a feeble fetal position. "It's ok, Stanley. I'm here." Heather's skin creeped numbly as she whispered the favorable words to the dying man, selflessly trying to dull his fear and pain.
"M..m...g-..glowing...l-...lik-...angel..." Stanley's eyes dulled, and the side of his mouth twitched upward into a smile. "...love...yeh...knew-...I"
"Yes, yes." Heather nodded hastily, gripping one of Stanley's tremoring hands. It was so deathly cold that she cringed. "You know I'd come. You were right. You can rest now."
Stanley's weak smile grew as he watched Heather's eyes brighten with excitement. Quickly, the girl reached into a pocket, pulling out a small bottle. Hurriedly, she pulled off the cap of the health drink, before steadily pouring the contents over the weak patient's lips.
"C'mon Stanley," Urged the young lady. "Drink."
And bless his heart, Stanley Coleman tried to obey the wishes of his lady love, but his body was just too weak, nothing below his neck responded to their commands. The medicine frothed up in the man's throat, causing a violent chorus of coughs.
Then something within snapped, loud enough to reverberate through the dull, chilled room, and Stanley Coleman did not move again.
Heather's eyes, a moment ago so bright to Stanley, now dulled with a sick feeling of failure.
It was a great exertion to right the gurney and replace Stanley's now fully spent body, but Heather forced herself to work through the task.
Once everything was orderly, Heather put pen to sheet, assuring everything was viable. Ruthlessly, the woman scratched her pen across the crude number '7', labeling the cadaver as it should be.
"Stanley Coleman."
Author's Note: I realize the aim of this fic is not very clear. If you don't feel like ruminating on it, here's the answer: I didn't make Heather's motives clear;
The idea was if she just kicked the shit outta Stanley, and iced him, there's more 'hate' in her 'heart', thus making 'God' stronger. She was trying to fight that, Stanley was just a vessel to say "Fuck you Claudia!"
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