CHAPTER 3, THE ARRIVAL
Oblivious to the importance of the events that had just unfolded right in front of him, the nameless man continued his journey to the back street, quiet, peaceful town of Silent Hill. His face was wet with a mixture of tears and sweat, and the leather cover on the steering wheel compressed under his unforgiving grip. Again subconsciously thankful for the long straight ahead of him, he removed one of his hands from the wheel, leaving a sweat-marked grasping print behind as a reminder of his fears. He again grabbed the map beside him and quickly retracted his hand to the mental safety of his personal space, like a child jumping into bed, avoiding the space between the bed and the floor, within which the untold horrors of the innocent mind find refuge. Again he followed the rough red line across the map, before looking back up at the road, hoping to see a sign or landmark any time soon, as a hint as to his location. As he concentrated on the road, he heard a tiny, discreet tapping sound, mixing in with the background noise of the engine of the car. He looked down to see large, red drips covering the bottom of his map, looking down just in time to see another one join in the fray. He pressed his hand against his face, and brought it away stained with a scarlet hue, dripping between his fingers and onto his bleached, worn jeans.
"shit", whispered the man, seemingly afraid of alerting anything else to his presence, even though the car was providing ample noise anyway.
A nose bleed. He often got them when he was nervous or scared, and was in a way expecting this one. Yet however expected it was, as always it wasn't welcome. There was no time to deal with it now, however, so it was left to drip, as more important matters where attended to. He kept his eyes on the road, determined not to stop till he reached his destination. It would all be safe when he reached Silent Hill. Maybe then he could finally get it done. Get. get.
'What?' He thought to himself, 'Why am I coming here again?'
Again, his heart skipped a beat and he felt as though he aged another 10 years. As he stared into the relentless, never-ending blackness of night, it seemed to swallow up any memory he had of why he had gotten into his car that morning with that map. And for that sake, who drew the line on it? He didn't even own a blue biro, let alone the expensive looking deep red used to draw the line.
'maybe when I get there', he thought, 'then I'll know. Yeah, then I'll know why I came, and everything's be okay'.
As he drove, he noticed the black, withered husks beside the road that had formed the seemingly endless forest were dissipating into black void. Strangely enough, he preferred the sea of nothingness that now surrounded him to the dead forest he had left behind. Things can't hide behind nothing, and nothing doesn't cast inhuman shadows. He felt safer now, and he noticed that his grip upon the steering wheel was released, the foam slowly springing back into shape as his knuckles regained there coloring. His foot eased off of the accelerator, and he regained a legal speed, or thereabouts.
As he drove through the nothingness along the long, straight road, his mind was as empty as the scenery surrounding him. Usually, the human mind is defaulted to thinking about trivial things, family, TV, sex etc. But now, there was nothing. All he focused on was reaching Silent Hill. As he drove, his headlights reflected off of a large tin square supported by a huge beam suspended on the side of the road. A few crows perched on top of it took the noise as an undue cue to take flight, flapping there wings noisily as they gained an airborne status, shedding plucked feathers as they rose. The black feathers floated gently to the ground, and brushed the front of the huge metallic sign. The shining steel lettering on the front of the sign could just about be read in the grim moonlight:
Welcome to Silent Hill, Pop. 0 Have a nice stay.
Next to the word population, the word 'Living' was scrawled in red graffiti.
And so, He Arrived.
Oblivious to the importance of the events that had just unfolded right in front of him, the nameless man continued his journey to the back street, quiet, peaceful town of Silent Hill. His face was wet with a mixture of tears and sweat, and the leather cover on the steering wheel compressed under his unforgiving grip. Again subconsciously thankful for the long straight ahead of him, he removed one of his hands from the wheel, leaving a sweat-marked grasping print behind as a reminder of his fears. He again grabbed the map beside him and quickly retracted his hand to the mental safety of his personal space, like a child jumping into bed, avoiding the space between the bed and the floor, within which the untold horrors of the innocent mind find refuge. Again he followed the rough red line across the map, before looking back up at the road, hoping to see a sign or landmark any time soon, as a hint as to his location. As he concentrated on the road, he heard a tiny, discreet tapping sound, mixing in with the background noise of the engine of the car. He looked down to see large, red drips covering the bottom of his map, looking down just in time to see another one join in the fray. He pressed his hand against his face, and brought it away stained with a scarlet hue, dripping between his fingers and onto his bleached, worn jeans.
"shit", whispered the man, seemingly afraid of alerting anything else to his presence, even though the car was providing ample noise anyway.
A nose bleed. He often got them when he was nervous or scared, and was in a way expecting this one. Yet however expected it was, as always it wasn't welcome. There was no time to deal with it now, however, so it was left to drip, as more important matters where attended to. He kept his eyes on the road, determined not to stop till he reached his destination. It would all be safe when he reached Silent Hill. Maybe then he could finally get it done. Get. get.
'What?' He thought to himself, 'Why am I coming here again?'
Again, his heart skipped a beat and he felt as though he aged another 10 years. As he stared into the relentless, never-ending blackness of night, it seemed to swallow up any memory he had of why he had gotten into his car that morning with that map. And for that sake, who drew the line on it? He didn't even own a blue biro, let alone the expensive looking deep red used to draw the line.
'maybe when I get there', he thought, 'then I'll know. Yeah, then I'll know why I came, and everything's be okay'.
As he drove, he noticed the black, withered husks beside the road that had formed the seemingly endless forest were dissipating into black void. Strangely enough, he preferred the sea of nothingness that now surrounded him to the dead forest he had left behind. Things can't hide behind nothing, and nothing doesn't cast inhuman shadows. He felt safer now, and he noticed that his grip upon the steering wheel was released, the foam slowly springing back into shape as his knuckles regained there coloring. His foot eased off of the accelerator, and he regained a legal speed, or thereabouts.
As he drove through the nothingness along the long, straight road, his mind was as empty as the scenery surrounding him. Usually, the human mind is defaulted to thinking about trivial things, family, TV, sex etc. But now, there was nothing. All he focused on was reaching Silent Hill. As he drove, his headlights reflected off of a large tin square supported by a huge beam suspended on the side of the road. A few crows perched on top of it took the noise as an undue cue to take flight, flapping there wings noisily as they gained an airborne status, shedding plucked feathers as they rose. The black feathers floated gently to the ground, and brushed the front of the huge metallic sign. The shining steel lettering on the front of the sign could just about be read in the grim moonlight:
Welcome to Silent Hill, Pop. 0 Have a nice stay.
Next to the word population, the word 'Living' was scrawled in red graffiti.
And so, He Arrived.