(Authors Note: Umm... Hi guys! This is my first Silent Hill fan fic, and after a few agonizing months in school, and learning new stuff, I decided to match my problems and add a Silent Hill-ish touch to them. It may be somewhat upsetting, and potentially disturbing, but that's all. If you can stomach some not-so-bad stuff, enjoy!)

Dr. William Gerson strode through the alabastor halls of the Evelyn Institute for the Mentally Insane, his footsteps resonating deep down the hallways, his presence acknowledged by the guards. He was in his late thirties, with neatly combed brown hair, with just a few shades of gray, and a clean shaven, handsome face. He was typically dressed as any doctor should be; white pants, white lab coat, even though he was called in late from his slumber for this job. Cell 22B, he thought, my new patient... He stopped short of the security checkpoint, searching on his clip board for his ID card, careful not to knock over the cup of medications resting on it as he walked. The chubby security guard who seemed too distracted by the football game didn't even bother a glance, sliding his fat fingers over the unlocking switch, releasing the door.

Pushing his way through the grated door, Dr. Gerson looked left and right, checking the numbers and letters along the painted concrete barriers that seperated him from the burdens of society. He noticed one inmate constantly sliding his face against the window of his cell door, contorting his face into monstrous and ugly figures, screaming silently behind the glass. Simply shaking his head, Dr. Gerson continued down the hall, until he arrived at his destination. Cell 22B, he peered into the window, and noticed the young man crouching solemnly in his dark corner, his knees brought tight to his chest and his face looking searchingly into the wall in front of him, not for a way out, but for a reason to live, almost.

Nathaniel Einsland was his name. His masculinity nearly ended at his height, just short of six feet. The skin that covered his threadlike figure was pale as the walls that surrounded the hallways. His hair was long, paper white at the bangs and dark red everywhere else. A mix of low fluorescent light and the glow of the moon shown upon his ashen, yet soft features. The eyeliner he once wore stained over from his eyes and onto his dampened sleeves and cheeks. The eyes were noticably irritated, reddened, with bags that sank low underneath them, distressed from the many hours of crying he endured. His arms were crossed, revealing multiple red and pink scars spiderwebbing their way from his wrists to his shoulder, some new and some old. The hands that grabbed onto his elbows were small for a young man of his stature, with blackened fingernails that had been cut dangerously to the flesh to keep him from scraping even more of his own flesh off.

Dr. Gerson pulled out a ring of keys and slid a copperish colored, three toothed key into the lock, slowly turning it counterclockwise until he heard a click in the door, and gently pressed his hand against it, filling the dark room with outside light. Nathaniel drew his legs closer in, burying his head against his knees, groaning helplessly as the bright lights blinded him. Dr. Gerson slid the door closed again, and pulled up a seat, taking a second to let his eyes adjust to the darker setting he was in. "Good evening, Mr. Einsland," breathed the doctor.

Nathaniel glanced up from his knees, and gave a slight nod, retracted but courteous. "Do you have a cigarette?" his cracked voice asked.

"You know I can't give you a cigarette at this time," said Dr. Gerson. Nathaniel just leaned into his knees again, his croaking voice mournful. "Didn't hurt to ask."

Dr. Gerson set his clip board along his lab, pulling out a sheet of Nathaniel's mental ailments as well as his medication. He had quite a list of both...

Nathaniel Einsland---21---Admitted 11/05/06

Mild Psychotic Depression --- 500 mg Desyrel (at 9:00 AM every morning)

Acute Insomnia --- 30 mg Diazepam (at bedtime)

Schizophrenia --- 20 mg Aripiprazole (at 6:00 AM every morning)

Pain Disorder (severe chest pains) --- 800 mg Ibuprofen (every six (6) hours from 12:00 PM) 50 cc Morphine (in case of debilitating pain)

"I'm not crazy," Nathaniel said. "I've seen them..." Dr. Gerson adjusted himself, looking at his patient. "Cigarettes won't help with your chest pains," he said, trying to sidestep Nathaniels interjection. "Coupled with the other symptoms you have, cigarettes would only make things worse, you know that don't you?

"Hmph... it'd be better that way."
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing could be worse than seeing them."
"Please explain."
"No."
"What's the reason?"
"I already hate you."
"Why is that, Mr. Einsland?"
"Two reasons... you called me 'Mr. Einsland' twice and you didn't give me a cigarette."

Dr. Gerson sighed, he realized this was going to be a tougher patient, and he only wanted some more sleep. "Okay, Nathan," the doctor said, with his best effort to hold back his sarcasm, "Where would you like to begin? What happened before you got admitted?"

Nathaniel's exchanged his melancholic face for a brief scoff, before returning to it again. "You'd be just like the others..." Dr. Gerson leaned forward, holding the pills in front of him and Nathaniel. "I have here your---"

"Medication. I know," interrupted Nathaniel "I'm not a fucking retard." Dr. Gerson set the cup of medication down on the ground, and tipped them forward with the end of his shoe. "I won't make you take them," he reasoned ,"if you just tell me what happened." Maybe this will get him to talk...

Nathaniel looked at the cup, then at the doctor, once again back at the cup, and sighed. His arms itched, and he tried to scratch it, but only rubbed on his scarred skin. He had forgotten they cut his nails way short than what he originally had, and what he liked. Just thinking about how he nearly tore an orderly's face off for trying to cut his sharp claws made him ache for them more now than ever. Nathaniel wanted his clothes back, just as much. He hated the issued medical wear they had given him. It felt too... unnatural on him; they were way too loose, rough, and not like the cotton he liked to wear... just unnatural. Yeah! That's real fucking unnatural! his mind screamed at him, compared to what happened to --- "Shut up," Nathaniel muttered.

"I beg your pardon?" Dr. Gerson asked, unable to hear what his patient had just said to him, or even himself. Nathaniel shook his head, and buried his head back into his knees. "Where would you like me to start?" Nathaniel strained his courtesy... he didn't want to go back, again. It haunted his dreams, ones that the drugs made worse. Silently tearing up behind his cover, he kicked the meds. At least he's not making me take 'em, he thought. "From the very beginning," said the doctor, in his most assuring tone of voice.

Nathaniel gave a light "Heh" under his breath, but there was no humor behind it. "Figures..."