AN: HOLY CRAP, it's not SSBB, PW or Final Fantasy. The bad news - it's Silent Hill 4, the most universally disliked Silent Hill game.
... I liked it a lot. ;;
YES, I ship Henry and Eileen. There's only tiny hints, though, so all you WalterxHenry shippers don't need to lose your lunches over it. ... you know most people aren't even going to be looking for SH4 fics so I don't know why I'm bothering with a warning
ps tomorrow is 8/21. HAPPY SACRAMENT NUMBER DAY MIRIAM LOCANE
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There had been a wildfire just outside of Ashfield several weeks ago.
Usually the news didn't interest Henry Townshend. He was used to only hearing the things Walter Sullivan wanted him to hear, and even then he'd really never been able to force himself to care. It was all just twisted garbage in the long-run, anyway - stories of death, stories of family - nothing that would make the rest of the world fall to pieces. In fact, he was starting to think that nothing would make the world fall to pieces: 18 innocents and one mass-murderer were killed, Ashfield had been shaken, the lives of family and friends turned upside-down, and still the world spun.
The news never affected him personally, so he didn't bother.
Still, Henry Townshend found himself donning his sweatshirt and venturing out of his new apartment, and he walked. He walked past the subway, past the bustling crowds, past the borders of the city, and past the point where he began to smell the remnants of the burnt trees. He walked until ash lay underfoot and naked, charred skeletons of once-proud trees loomed, and he paused there in respectful silence.
This had been a great place, he recalled. He'd shot photographs here frequently in the past. The babbling river, now grey with soot, had run with the colors of the beautiful leaves in the autumn.
It was autumn now, wasn't it? It was a chilly afternoon for the season, granted, but it would've been the perfect day for admiring the color the leaves had turned.
There weren't any leaves to admire anymore, though.
Henry looked the place over incredulously. It was utterly motionless - there was nothing to move with the breeze, nothing but stiff, blackened bark. There had been many deer and squirrels here in the past, as well as an assortment of other wildlife, and he'd always smiled upon seeing a rabbit scamper into the underbrush or a spotting snake curled harmlessly under a low-hanging branch. He couldn't help but wonder where they would go now that the forest was gone - if they'd survived, for he had no way of knowing if there was a body count underneath the thick cinders. Even if they'd fled, there was nothing left for them here.
There was no murderer to blame this on, no horrible cult following or hideous monsters or alternate reality - because this was reality. Burnt trees and a city; that's all it was. There was no beauty in that, just grey, washed out uselessness, and now everything felt so wretched and filthy.
The part that stung the most was that he had been planning on taking Eileen here the moment the leaves had turned.
He'd never really noticed how grey everything was until she mentioned it, in truth. She'd been staring down at the city through the window, her forehead pressed against the glass. "Everything is so grey, Henry," she'd said without looking at him, and he'd heard her voice waver. "Even the sky. Henry, Fall is such a grey season. ... I think I might hate it."
City girl, he'd thought. She has no idea. I'll show her the leaves.
The grey had always felt so safe to him before, but now it hurt. It hurt him because it hurt Eileen, and he cared about it hurting Eileen because he'd forgotten how to care until she came along. Now he couldn't stop.
Henry continued walking, his hands in his pockets as he trailed past the wreckage. Eileen... She'd been so bright and pure, and now she was just ashamed, ashamed and hurt. It was torture to see her hug her arms to her chest in public and look downwards, humiliated, as people stared, pointed, and whispered. News of the attempt made on her life had spread faster than the wildfire had overtaken this old, beautiful forest, and everyone seemed to know their faces now. Her cheeks would burn like those lovely colored leaves had when people knowingly trailed their greedy eyes down her back, searching for those numbers.
Henry hesitated, closing his eyes and listening to the river. Without a visual, the sound could take him back to the times where he wandered through these woods and snapped photographs of the colors and the animals, and he wondered optimistically if he still had them tucked away somewhere. It was doubtful, though, because he brought very little with him when he'd moved to Ashfield Heights, and even less when he moved out. Colors hadn't been very appealing to him during that time, anyway.
He continued on, his vision blurring from the stale, dusty air. He wasn't really sure why he was still here - there was nothing but grey, everything was gone, and... He came to an abrupt stop.
Standing atop a rock a few feet away was a small chipmunk, and in its paws it clutched an unmistakably bright green shoot.
Henry raised a hand and scratched through his hair. He glanced left and right, as if expecting the small animal to be some sort of mirage, then shrugged in defeat.
"Huh. Imagine that."
Maybe some good would come out of taking Eileen here, after all. If anything, she would be able to see that nothing stays grey forever.
He wiped a patch of soot off of his blue sweatshirt, which sent the chipmunk scurrying. It would be back, though, and so would Henry.
He turned and walked, walked over the ash and past the looming trees. He walked past the smell of the burnt remnants and into the borders of the city, past the bustling crowds, and past the subway. He stopped.
There were flowers for sale on the corner of the street... Eileen would like those.
Their room was a bit too grey, anyway.