Letter from The Lost Days
Chell had been banging his head against the desk that sat in front of him for the last five minutes, the last bang almost knocking out his hearing aids. He had been faced with a dilemma. Just a few minutes ago, he had agreed with his friends to go to Silent Hill. Silent Hill. Not only was this a bad idea, it could get them(him) killed. But despite all the cons of the idea, the (lack of) pros were somewhat beneficial. They could figure out how the town became such a hellhole on earth. And maybe they could (not) stop it! It was quite the risk, but it was exciting all the while.
The deaf teen sighed, rubbing his eyes with his cold hands, figuring out what to do. First of all, he couldn't just go there empty-handed. Pushing the chair from under the desk, he slid over to his night-stand, picking up a bag. Sliding back, he opened the drawer in the desk, looking through the mess of papers, he finally found what he was looking for. His father had been a protective man, and an active hunter. He had kept guns all over the house, and had taught Chell all about them, even giving him one of his pistols when he had left.
It was a shiny gray, scratches lining the metal from use, though Chell never did. He felt no need, so he just kept it in there just in case. His mother only came into his room whenever she needed to clean or to do laundry, so she left the desk alone, never finding the pistol.
Chell reached into the drawer, picking out the revolver and shoving it into the bag, in the outside pocket. He then slid on the chair to the closet, digging out a small red box. He set the box onto the bed, opening it and revealing the contents. Inside the box were smaller boxes of bullets and mags, all lined perfectly. His dad had always been orderly. Taking out the pistol and loading it with a new mag, he stuffed all of the stuff in the box into his bag, zipping it.
A silvery light caught his eye when he rolled back to the desk, the drawer still open. It was a silver-colored envelope.
A letter to my future self.
'Am I still happy?' I began,
Have I grown up 'pretty'?
Is Daddy still a good man?
Am I still friends with Cauleen?
I'm sure that I'm still laughing.
Aren't I?
Aren't I...?
Scribbled hand-writing was on the front of the envelope drawn with crayon.
'To me'
Intrigued, Chell slowly ripped the envelope, looking at the yellow paper. The hand-writing was crude, made by a child. It was a letter from ten years ago, when he was six years old. He remembered now. He had wrote a letter to himself and vowed not to read it until ten years had passed.
'deer Shell,
how am i? i hope u r well. is daddy still nice? i wnder wat i luk like. R we still hapy? i wnder wat ill b like.
if u r not doin well, i wanna sey to u.. that itll git better. i kno it will. i hope ure still smilin.'
Chell smiled lightly, running a hand through his hair. He had been a really bad speller back then, he noted with a laugh.
Hey there to my future self,
If you forget how to smile,
I have this to tell you,
Remember it once in a while.
Ten years ago your past self,
Prayed for your happiness.
Please...don't lose hope.
Chell knew even if he went through with this letter, it wouldn't matter, since little him was never going to see it. But either way, it would feel good. Finding closure from a reply to his own letter, written by him. He laughed, going through the drawer to find a blank piece of paper.
Oh, oh what a pair, me and you.
Put here.. to feel joy, not be blue.
Sad times, and bad times-see them through.
Soon we will know, if it's for real...
What we...both feel.
'Dear Chell,
I finally got your letter, after all this time. I know it's weird, sending a letter to yourself, but we weren't the most normal children, were we?
16 yr. ol' you isn't very special looking. You aren't popular, or pretty, or really talented. You do have three good friends, and doing good in school. You will take up photography and writing. Oh, and you'll make the mistake of going to Silent Hill with your friends. Can't forget that.
Anyway, mom is nice. She's always baking when she's not reading or sewing. Dad... Dad isn't here anymore. But I'm sure he'd be proud of you...
Of us.
Though I can't know for sure how things worked out for us..
No matter how hard it gets, you have to realize,
We weren't put on this earth to suffer-and cry.
We were made for being happy.
So be happy-for me, for you.
Please.
Chell... don't do anything you'll regret. Never lose hope... We weren't put here to cry, or mope. Don't worry. Just be a kid. You'll see. Everything will be fine.'
Hopefully.
Oh, oh what a pair, me and you.
Put here to feel joy, not be blue.
Sad times, and bad times-see them through.
Soon we will know, if it's for real...
What we...both feel.
Chell sighed heavily, looking over the letter almost a million times before slamming his fist down on the table. Why did he have to write the letter? Why did his dad have to die? Why why why...
Tears streamed down his face. He was doing the exact opposite of what he had just told himself to do. Taking a long breath in, he ran his hands through his lavender hair, strands covering his eyes as he wiped away the salty liquid. Chell re-adjusted his hearing aids, making sure they were on, before walking to the closet once again and pulling out a black cloak, wrapping it around him and tying it around his neck, pulling the hood over his head.
We were put here on this earth,
put here to feel joy.
We were put here on this earth,
put here to feel joy.
We were put here on this earth,
put here to feel joy.
We were put on this earth,
put here..
Chell picked grabbed the bag, walking out of his room. Out of his house. And probably just about to get himself killed.
Put here to feel joy...