Suffer In Silence: A Silent Hill Fan Fiction

By Dudemar

Chapter 1: ROAD WORK AHEAD

I take a long drag on the cigarette I just lit and try like hell to keep my balance while I'm walking. I hold it in and exhale, nearly blowing out all the air in my lungs in the process. My head starts to go light as I taste the smoke and it works its way through my system. To think somebody left a six cigarettes lying on the ground is just beyond me. I've been wandering around for what seems like a whole day, but I only just now really take a look at my surroundings. It's a long stretch of lonely country, just some grassy hills and nothing more.

I hate the country. Nothing but boring farmland and the occasional gas station. The strength in my legs start to regain a little and I pick up my stride. I woke up in a ditch with a pounding headache and since then I've been walking, not giving a shit where I'm going. At least I still have my lighter. The last thing I can remember is putting my clothes on. Blue jeans, black t-shirt, dusty brown work shoes, and my light black coat with an inside pocket.

Those are the best clothes in my whole collection. Whenever I try to think about something else my head just hurts even more. So then I just concentrate on the walk. A dull shade of gray clouds stretch across the horizon and coat the skies, blotting out the sun. It's crappy weather to be sure, probably rain on the way, but I'm used to it.

The wind picks up, feeling like cuts on my face and my coat starts to flap. I take another drag on the cigarette and press on. A veil of mist starts to roll in ahead of me and I can't make out what lies beyond me. What the hell did I do last night? Probably something drunken and nasty, as usual. The wind dies down but it gets colder as I walk through it.

Shuddering from the cold, I pull up my collar and put my hands in my pockets. The ground beneath my feet becomes harder and more level as I take more steps. No more rolling hills, I think to myself. I walk right into the thick of the gray haze of mist and I can hardly see in front of my face. All I do is keep walking and watching the smoke from my cigarette billow in the air and then disappear.

"Shit" I hiss the word out between my gritted teeth. The first thing I did when I woke up was look for my wallet. It was still in my pocket but it had none of my cards, ID, or money. I'm a paranoid man and right now I can feel my guts tie down and my eyes won't shut. Logically, I should be a dead man--who gets robbed of their money, dumped in a ditch and lives? Nobody I know.

You hear about things like that all the time on the news or in the papers. Some poor sap wanders around, goes to the wrong places, and ends up not getting heard from again. I'm still alive though. Lucky, lucky moron. They're usually shot because some junky or would-be street thug wanted what little money they had on them. Most times you don't even hear about it until weeks, months, or years after the fact. Probably been dumped into a river.

Sometimes they're not even found, they just disappear without a trace. You could get mutilated while you were on a midnight stroll and nobody would ever notice or care. It's morbid, but I think it's an interesting subject. Those cards with missing people on them that you get in the mail and always throw into the garbage? I keep those. On the cards its almost always two family members missing at the same time.

I lose myself in that topic for a long time. The mist lifts a little and I can see a highway to the right of me, and across it is a rest stop. My stomach loosens its grip and I jog into the bathroom. It's a little shithole with slimy water all over the place, fractured mirrors, and a thick stench of fresh urine hangs in the air. I take what seems to be the world's longest piss and go to wash my hands. The only thing that comes out of the faucet is a stream of black goo.

I step outside and look at the empty parking lot. The mist turned into a heavy fog and I can barely see in the distance. The only thing I can make out is a large, orange sign that reads "ROAD WORK AHEAD, 1MILE." The only choice seems to be keep walking. I can't find a phone anyway. Normally I'd worry about oncoming traffic, but I can't hear a thing and the entire place looks desolate. Good, I like having places all to myself anyway.

The muscles in my legs have loosened up and stretched out. That tense, painful feeling my legs had a while back were gone and I picked up my walking stride even faster. I could see the orange cones and barrels up ahead. A large, shapeless figure comes into view beyond the cones. It hums mechanically and spits smoke into the air. It's at least ten to fifteen feet, I'd say. I know exactly what do to. I make a quick run up to it and hop on. Somebody forgot to turn the damn thing off when they left work.

It's a small bulldozer, used for everyday construction jobs like building roads or tearing down a one-story home. The yellow coloring is rusted into a dark red color scheme and some of it's so scratched up that you can see the gleaming metal underneath. I'm used to much larger ones, but it's basically the same variety. Not a whole lot new to know. The only items left in the bulldozer is a picture of a portly, bearded man holding a baby and a spilt Styrofoam cup of coffee.

I take a deep breath and a small jump to the ground, feeling my feet absorb the shock and my knees bend. It only takes a few seconds for my feet to go numb as I straighten up and arch my back into its normal, sagging walking position. The road's rough, unfinished, and uneven. I kick loose gravel around with every step I take. Ash falls from my cigarette and I try to piece things together. The roads to and from Brahms aren't exactly swarming with activity, but they have at least a few cars buzzing by.

My head might be screwed up, but I still think it's a week day. Wednesday, maybe? No, that was yesterday. I remember checking my alarm in the middle of the night. A town ought to be nearby, at least something. Something can't be far away. I'm a fast walker, so the mile doesn't last long. Another orange sign comes up, "END OF ROAD CONSTRUCTION." Behind it is another sign, a large green one that reads "WELCOME TO SILENT HILL POP:" The population number is obscured by unreadable graffiti written in dark red spray paint.

The blood rushes to my head and I can hardly think anymore. My legs go wobbly and I stumble onward.