SILENT HILL

My Name is Maria

"Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned." - William Congreve

"James." The name tumbled from her lips so unexpectedly, she almost thought it had been spoken by someone else. It stirred an unfamiliar passion within her, burning through her stomach. Her delicate fingers ran across the butterfly tattoo just above her waist, trying to understand this feeling simmering beneath it and why it was incited by a name she'd never spoken before. But deep in those fires burning within her, she felt as though she knew that name.

She'd woken up that day to find everyone gone. She was all alone. She had no memories of herself outside of some vague familiarities, and the only other human face she found was a reflection she didn't recognize. But she knew that image in the mirror belonged to her as they both sat in a chair with a vivid shade of scarlet hidden beneath layers of grime and filth. And she recognized the revolver cradled in that reflection's hands.

The gun soon grew warm in her palm as she looked over it, contemplating that lonely bullet loaded into the chamber. Her mind struggled to find a reason for her to be in that empty town, a purpose for her to fight for. But all she could find was a dread that burrowed deep within her and doused that passion that once burned beneath her skin. The thought of death and suffering chilled across her flesh, but it couldn't rival the ache of loneliness cramping through her body.

Her eyes looked around, discovering that she was in a tiny dressing room. She almost felt as though she was trapped within a womb or a decaying cocoon. The floor was soiled with brown filth and water stains oozed down the walls. A thick gray mist was pressed up against the window from outside. Around that window, she found several dry and cracked posters taped to the peeling wallpaper. And as she looked at those posters, she suddenly knew her name as though it had never left her.

Her name was Maria.

Maria stared at herself in the mirror above the dresser, that face burning into her eyes and deep into her memories until it no longer seemed strange.

"What do I do now?" she asked her reflection. Her hand brought the revolver between them and she rotated it before her eyes, admiring the faint gleam across the metal surface and thinking of that single bullet waiting in the barrel. She aimed in on her reflection, but then the image of her lying dead in that chair consumed her thoughts.

Maria quickly lowered the gun as the thought of being alone in that town forever was overwhelming. She stood up from the stained chair and walked to the window. Her eyes peeked between the bent metal blinds dangling before the glass, but there was nothing to see beyond that dull gray fog.

She knew they were out there. She could feel their pain, their fear, their death, and their loneliness. They wanted to share it with her, but she couldn't accept that. Her face winced and her body cringed in anticipation of that imagined pain. She couldn't stand the thought of it. Maria couldn't die in that town alone. She had to find someone. She wasn't sure who, but she knew someone was out there.

The click of her heels echoed through the alley as that man's voice echoed through her mind. That man who introduced himself as Ernest. That man who wasn't really there.

"You were born in this town."

The fog was thick around her, barely letting Maria's eyes see the ground she was stepping on. That hollow alley seemed to stretch forever and she knew there was no one waiting at the end of it. She was alone.

"Do you believe in fate?"

Her eyes looked down to the pavement, giving up all hope of finding another human in that fog. Her legs grew heavy in her desolation until she could walk no further and stopped in that empty alley.

"He's a bad man."

Maria looked at the revolver in her hand. The grip had grown cold from her sweaty palms. She remembered there was one round still left in the chamber.

"He's looking for the you that isn't you."

The skin across her temple cowered beneath the frigid touch of the barrel. She imagined that lonely bullet burrowing through her brain, joining her flesh. But then she thought about the pain of that unnatural union. She thought of death. She imagined her corpse laying in the midst of that fog, never to be found. Forever alone. Just like Ernest.

The chalk drawings across the wall to her left burrowed into the corner of her eye until she gave them the attention they craved. They were obviously done by a child, and then a name suddenly rose in her thoughts: "Laura".

Maria knew that it wasn't her memory. It didn't belong to her, but there was nothing in her head to call her own. There was nothing of hers to hold on to, so she embraced that false memory of Laura, and then his face started to form in her mind.

The clarity of that man who appeared in her thoughts and the lifetime of emotions he brought took the breath right out of her lungs. She was barely able to keep her knees from buckling and her hand dropped to her side, dragging the revolver away from her head.

Maria took one last look at the gun, then tossed it over the wall with the chalk sketches. She knew she wouldn't need it. She was safe with him here. He would protect her.

His face was so vivid in her mind that she could almost see him across that blank canvas of fog. The sullen loneliness suddenly faded from her body and the warmth returned to her flesh.

The passion ignited within her stomach and spread to her mind. A single thought consumed her and she couldn't concentrate on anything else. She didn't want to. That thought slipped from her lips in a heavy sigh and echoed across the alley walls, "James."

Her legs came to life and followed that longing echo down the alley and deeper into the fog. Maria was in a trance, possessed with thoughts of James, but her body knew where to go. Her legs knew where to find him.

Their special place.