LONER
Allow me to ask you to leave your quiet little homes and beds for a small while, as we look in upon a nameless home in a nameless town. Allow me to show you a boy who currently dwells in this house in a state of solitude. Allow me to tell you a story about this boy, one which has yet come to pass.
--------------------------------------
The boy's name was Douglas Grayson, simply called Gray by all who knew him. This wasn't because his friends nicknamed him for it or any similar reason; all of his school papers simply bore the name "Gray" and so he was therefore called that by his teachers and referred to it by the few students who occasionally wished to talk to him.
Those who did, however, usually found it futile. All they were met with was a blank stare or, at the very best, a low mumble that could be turned into words only by the very smallest chance. Before long, it was established that talking to him was a hopeless waste of effort. Making friends with him was an absurd notion in itself.
He was fifteen years old, and despite his odd personality, he did extremely well in school. His memorization of speeches and figures was nearly flawless, his knowledge of history and the principles of science amazing for a boy his age. The one class that his teachers regretted having with him was English - his essays were always brutal and short in their opinions, ad his stories were indescribable in their portrayal of people and the world they lived in. Reading them, his teachers may have noticed that he observed humanity coldly, as if looking through a cold glass, and marked them as quickly as they could. And when they handed them back to Gray, his cold stare met them as he took the paper. At that, the teacher in question would think that he or she almost got a glimpse of the secret workings of that boy's mind, and that though followed to the prayer that if he had a diary it was well hidden and that if found it would immediately be thrown into a hole and the hole would be filled with cement and that the ground would never be disturbed, ever.
And right now he was in his small room, sitting on his bed with his head bowed down. In his hands was a video game case depicting a two simple but somehow chilling words: Silent Hill. He stared at it intently, looking as if he wanted to find something within its name.
Suddenly, his head darted up as his eyes narrowed. He noticed something - it was dark. Midnight dark. But it was only the late afternoon. Something was wrong. Gray got up and looked out .is window. He couldn't even see outside, it was so dark.
Without a moment's hesitation, Gray turned around and walked out of the room, letting the game slip out of his hand. It hit the floor with a small, unassuming thud as Gray shut the door behind him. He made his way through the pitch-black house to the kitchen and tried the light. To his relief, it still worked. He slid open a drawer and removed a butcher knife, hefting it in his hand. He then went to a closet, took a backpack, slipped the knife inside, and put it on. Gray opened the front door and walked out of his house.
He was not at all surprised to notice that his house had vanished behind him, or that he was nowhere near his town. He stood at the opening of a wide street, while to his side, a decrepit wooden sign bore two words. Gray noticed the sign and then disregarded it. He knew what those words were.
He tapped his foot and heard the harsh clunk of metal underneath. He then spoke into the dark air.
"In my restless dreams, I see that town. "Silent Hill."
Allow me to ask you to leave your quiet little homes and beds for a small while, as we look in upon a nameless home in a nameless town. Allow me to show you a boy who currently dwells in this house in a state of solitude. Allow me to tell you a story about this boy, one which has yet come to pass.
--------------------------------------
The boy's name was Douglas Grayson, simply called Gray by all who knew him. This wasn't because his friends nicknamed him for it or any similar reason; all of his school papers simply bore the name "Gray" and so he was therefore called that by his teachers and referred to it by the few students who occasionally wished to talk to him.
Those who did, however, usually found it futile. All they were met with was a blank stare or, at the very best, a low mumble that could be turned into words only by the very smallest chance. Before long, it was established that talking to him was a hopeless waste of effort. Making friends with him was an absurd notion in itself.
He was fifteen years old, and despite his odd personality, he did extremely well in school. His memorization of speeches and figures was nearly flawless, his knowledge of history and the principles of science amazing for a boy his age. The one class that his teachers regretted having with him was English - his essays were always brutal and short in their opinions, ad his stories were indescribable in their portrayal of people and the world they lived in. Reading them, his teachers may have noticed that he observed humanity coldly, as if looking through a cold glass, and marked them as quickly as they could. And when they handed them back to Gray, his cold stare met them as he took the paper. At that, the teacher in question would think that he or she almost got a glimpse of the secret workings of that boy's mind, and that though followed to the prayer that if he had a diary it was well hidden and that if found it would immediately be thrown into a hole and the hole would be filled with cement and that the ground would never be disturbed, ever.
And right now he was in his small room, sitting on his bed with his head bowed down. In his hands was a video game case depicting a two simple but somehow chilling words: Silent Hill. He stared at it intently, looking as if he wanted to find something within its name.
Suddenly, his head darted up as his eyes narrowed. He noticed something - it was dark. Midnight dark. But it was only the late afternoon. Something was wrong. Gray got up and looked out .is window. He couldn't even see outside, it was so dark.
Without a moment's hesitation, Gray turned around and walked out of the room, letting the game slip out of his hand. It hit the floor with a small, unassuming thud as Gray shut the door behind him. He made his way through the pitch-black house to the kitchen and tried the light. To his relief, it still worked. He slid open a drawer and removed a butcher knife, hefting it in his hand. He then went to a closet, took a backpack, slipped the knife inside, and put it on. Gray opened the front door and walked out of his house.
He was not at all surprised to notice that his house had vanished behind him, or that he was nowhere near his town. He stood at the opening of a wide street, while to his side, a decrepit wooden sign bore two words. Gray noticed the sign and then disregarded it. He knew what those words were.
He tapped his foot and heard the harsh clunk of metal underneath. He then spoke into the dark air.
"In my restless dreams, I see that town. "Silent Hill."