"Man can bear the misfortunes that are accidental and that come from outside. But to suffer by own faults, that is the nightmare of life. "

Oscar Wilde 1854-1900


A soft sigh is the only thing that fills the silence of the narrow walls of a place embraced by dirt and dim darkness. The soundless stillness is joined by the dull screeching of the aging gears of a rusty key, and a steady little splash that gradually fades into nothingness.

Leaning on a sink whose white ceramic was painted by the stains of time, a slim figure observes itself through a slightly corroded mirror. The features of the face that were reflected there were indecipherable, darkened by the lack of luminescence of the abandoned place, being able to notice nothing more than the paleness of an olive skin moistened by the water, and long shadows of completely disordered blackish hairs.

The woman lets out another sigh as she turns away from the aged mirror, her gaze lost, her mind immersed in an immense sea of thoughts.

—Anne... Could you really be in this town? —She comes to mutter as walks away from the place where she was, the question in her voice sounds tired and longing, covered by the faint hint of a melancholy hope.

Leaving the small public bathroom, the cold outside is the first to greet her followed closely by the thick layer of thick fog and a completely empty parking lot. Her car is the only one present on the brittle pavement, but the vehicle is ignored as her feet guide her to the edge of a concrete railing, where in front of it rises the ominous landscape of an immense lake, decorated by tall sunken trees by the heavy thickness of the fog. The look in the woman's eyes is lost before the immensity of the forest, but her mind does not allow her to really look at it, blinding her with the constant repetition of the voices of her own thoughts, a grim memory she didn't think to reflect on for years... a memory she thought she'd gotten over.

In my restless dreams, I see that town…

Silent Hill…

You promised we'd go back there one day... You promised me you'd take me there again someday…

But you never did... you never did...

Well, I'm alone there now...

In our 'special place'...

Waiting for you...

The ghostly trail of tiny tears seems to run down the pale edges of her cheeks, but the specure of mist is so thick they are lost in the mix of tiny dew.

—I received a letter... —Her voice returns, so distant and lost, throwing her words into the air, trying to convince herself of something she refused to accept—The name "Anne" appeared on the envelope —The frown of her eyes deepens, the wind kisses her cheeks, gently rocks her hair—My girlfriend's name... It's ridiculous... it's totally impossible —Her soliloquy is flooded with great uncertainty, her words stumbles Deep in her trembling throat—I keep telling myself over and over... the dead can't write letters... A-anne... Anne died of that damn disease three years ago... —She reasons, but any trace of logic I might retain is long gone—T-then why am I looking for her? —Her eyes were allowed to see the immense lake that was lost beyond her own sight, waiting for that distant landscape to answer her questions—Our "special place"... What do she mean? The whole city was our special place... Was she referring to that park on the lake? We spent the whole day there... just the three of us, looking out over the water... —A deep sigh escapes her, the longing blurred into a cold melancholy—Is Anne really there? Is she really alive... Waiting for me?... —One of her hands travels to the pockets of her old jacket, pulling out her phone—...waiting for us? —In the brightness of the screen a number was reflected that she had dialed more than ten times, and from which until now she had received an answer—Why don't you answer my messages Sashy? —She mutters to herself, considering if she should keep trying to contact the one person she needs most right now, yet the raven-haired woman does nothing more than return the device to the shelter of her worn pockets, and without saying or thinking in any other thing, she gives that landscape one last look, and returns her steps to the vehicle very slowly.


The abundant silence of a desolate nature was the only thing that filled the ears of the black-haired woman as she went deeper and deeper into the mist-shrouded forest. The path was steep and narrow, so cloudy that even in the early hours of dawn she could barely see where she was going, seeing nothing more than a long slope towards an unimaginable void that bordered the entire path to her right, and trees and an overwhelming amount of wet weeds rising to her left... Also, there was a certain strangeness filling the air... though she wasn't sure "what" it could be specifically... she could only to think that everything was too... quiet and unsettling.

A slight echo was outlined from her footsteps, spreading through the air while the tracks of her shoes were printed in the mud as she walked, being able to feel how a small trace of discomfort chilled her bones. For the woman, it would have been better to continue along the established path of the highway until reaching the town, than to walk through a gloomy place that could well be a dead end rather than a shortcut, however, the entrance to the tunnel under the mountain was completely blocked, and although she didn't like it, the map she had brought with her told her that this was the only secondary road that could lead her to her destination.

Either way, it was all too messy and weird already, she'd already made an unwise decision to come to a town like Silent Hill alone and without telling anyone, driving for hours from L.A to Maine, to reconsider her actions just right now. But, no matter how hard she tried, there were still too many things running through her mind not to question herself. So many questions swarmed through her subconscious that it hurt... a thousand unanswered questions that were constantly repeated like the disastrous howls of a wild animal. But of all, bitter and incomprehensible, there was one in particular that clung to the complicated labyrinthine mosaic of her head.

"What the hell are you doing Marcy? "

And she didn't know, she didn't know what was really doing, she just moved on autopilot, guided by the exuberant desire to reach something that she didn't know if it was real or a cruel lie, she loved fantasy and fairy tales more than anything in the world, but she didn't believe they were real or possible, at least not anymore... And yet, a part of her, one that was still a scared and lonely 13-year-old girl, yearned more than anything in the world that that fantasy, that that story that had been delivered to him under the door of his house... was real.

Completely absorbed in the vehement vortices of an agonizing catharsis produced by her own intrusive musings, the woman fails to realize how far her footsteps have carried her to this point, as her journey down the path seemed to lengthen in detours and twists confused inclines, she does not notice the white fences that began to delimit a new part of the path, as well as the small pool of water that is completely ignored... nor the double doors with steel bars against which she eventually ends up crashing.

—Ouch! —And it is thanks to these last ones that Marcy's subconscious manages to free itself from her heavy reverie, returning to reality thanks to a hilarious, but precise method—M-my nose... —She moans in pain, her face buried in the middle of the thin metal bars that make up the door, had it not been for her hands that had instinctively clung to said bars, she would have collapsed on the ground as a result of the impact—W-what is it... —Being again aware of her surroundings, her hands covering her now reddened nose, she is surprised to see the door in front of her, as well as ashamed of her clumsiness for not having seen it.

Concrete and mesh walls stood on the sides, getting lost beyond the fog that covered the entire forest, in the center, an old gate stood stained by the orange of rust, slightly ajar, like a mute invitation from fate that she had been transferred without her consent to proceed. She hesitates for an instant, fast and leaks, the strangeness she had felt before was more palpable now than ever, but her fingers, as well as her feet return their movements on their own, and when she least knew it, she had already opened one of the gate doors and followed forward.

In front of her, fused with the thickness of the prevailing fog like everything else she had seen since she arrived, was a wide field crowded with unkempt grass and dead leaves, on top of which was a row of tombstones, placed in rows of four in the manner of an unfinished half circle facing the magnificence of Toluca Lake. Some headstones were intact, and others were cracked or broken, scattered about the field as if they were of no importance, as if there was no one to complain about their condition. However, the appearance and content of the place were completely ignored by the black-haired woman, her attention fixed on something else, within the nebulous mist that surrounded her, the frame of a distant shadow could be seen resting on one of the tombstones. At first, she came to think that this was nothing more than a mere mirage or a hallucination, more small murmurs and other unintelligible noises told her the opposite, there was another person just a few centimeters from her. And that brought in Marcy a great duality about what she should do next, she was alone, in a place that looked strangely desolate, call her paranoid, and maybe it was because of all the horror movies she had seen in her adolescence and part of her now adulthood, but all that was the perfect salad of an imminent danger to not take it into account... But.

—Hello? Anyone there? —Once again, overthinking things worked against her before she could even go back to look for another way to the town, the stranger from the distance had already seen her.

A screech so low it can barely be heard escapes from deep in Marcy's throat, as the figure in the mist begins to slowly approach her.

—Sorry… I-I… I just… —She starts stammering in panic, closing her eyes whit her trembling hands covering her face.

—Wow wow, easy lady, it's okay, I didn't mean to scare you —A surprisingly young and kind voice interrupts her, and it's not until her eyes open to see the person in front of her that some of her lost calm begins to creep in her veins again. The person in front of her was nothing more than a teenager between about 14 to 16 years old, a thin young man, a few centimeters much shorter than her. His hair was more or less long, painted a deep orange, mostly covered by a green aviator hat. His look was completed by a jacket a much darker green than the hat he was wearing, a plain and simple pink dress shirt, black shorts with several pockets, and a pair of brown hiking boots. At first glance, he didn't seem like someone dangerous in the slightest, compared to Marcy own current appearance (dirty and haggard from lack of sleep) he looked like the most normal person she'd seen in days... although, he was also the first real person she'd seen in days...

—God, how embarrassing... —She grunted embarrassedly, hiding the growing blush that painted her face with the long strands of her hair—I... I'm sorry about that...

—Okay, don't worry —The young man dismissed her apology immediately, waving his hand in a friendly way—For what it's worth, you scared me too, so we're even. I'm Sprig by the way, Sprig Plantar.

—Marcy... —She said simply, giving a small smile that the young man immediately returned.

—Well Marcy, I must say it's nice to see another person in a place like this. I haven't been here long, and I can say that it radiates a very overwhelming loneliness...

—Yes… —She agreed—Too calm if you ask me… —The still conflicted look in Marcy's eyes focused briefly on the small mausoleum away from the tombstones of the cemetery, she thought deeply—Excuse me, but I think I'm lost... —She comments after a few seconds full of silence and a long contemplation of nothing, her eyes return to the teenager who was looking at her attentively.

—Lost? —He asks.

—Yes, I'm looking for Silent Hill, is this the right way? —Marcy replies, tossing out another question as she points back the way she had come.

—Oh yes —Sprig confirms almost immediately with a strong nod—It's hard to see with all this fog, but there's only one road, you can't miss it.

—I see —And Marcy allows herself to breathe a little more easily thanks to that answer—For a moment I thought I had gotten into a dead end... —But, at the same time another persistent doubt emerges in her head, a stabbing hammering of oblivion that fills her with an inexplicable sense of emptiness, as if her own subconscious was delving into something else she should ask—If he's... is there a chance she?... —As if the presence of that teenager was open to a remote possibility of something important that she also had to worry about —B-by any chance... —A thin line of hope seems to dance on the tip of her lips when she speaks again—You haven't seen someone apart from me passing by here?...

—Nop —The teenager expresses without delay, shaking his head while shrugging his shoulders, completely unaware of the snub his response causes—Like I told you, I haven't been here long, you're the first human being I've seen walking around these parts.

—Oh... okay... —She mutters solemnly, any emotion that remained inside her subconscious vanishes at the words so simple but forceful—Of course she wasn't going to be here, silly, she doesn't know, it doesn't matter how many messages you send she doesn't respond to any of them, she doesn't talk to you anymore, you haven't seen each other in weeks... Sasha doesn't like anymo... —She shakes her head vehemently, pushing her dark thoughts away, now she couldn't bring herself to luxury of thinking about her, drowning in such immense melancholy, Anne was first, she would resolve this conflict when all this mystery was resolved—Thank you... —She sighs deeply—I... I think I should go now —She whispers quickly, returning her movements to the pre-established route with an anxious urgency, she wanted to get to the town as soon as possible, besides Marcy didn't want to bother the teenager anymore with her presence, he had given her directions and that was more than she could ask a complete stranger how very possibly already was busy with his own business.

—Wait… —But nevertheless, the young man stops her before she can continue.

—Yes? —Marcy asks as quickly as she's stopped, turning to meet Sprig once more, who was now frowning.

—I... I don't think you should go there... At least not alone —He seems to hesitate for a moment—That city... there's something strange about it... It's hard to explain, but...

—It is dangerous? —She completed for him, Marcy begins to feel intrigued by the young man's warning, although this was the second time she visited the town, as far as she could remember she had never experienced anything strange in it, it was just the typical tourist place where you could lose you for hours, had anything changed in recent years?

—Maybe? —He murmurs—I'm not really sure… —Sprig frowns as he brings his left hand up to his chin—It's not just the fog, it's…

—Okay, I understand —Marcy interrupts the rest of that line of thought before it could lengthen into a much bigger enigma than had already proposed, she didn't want to be rude, but something in her prompted to leave immediately, she couldn't continue wasting time—I'll be careful.

—I'm not lying —The young man grumbles at her reaction before she can pull away again, drawing Marcy's attention back to him.

—No, no, I believe you... —She hastened to say, half true and half false, taking into consideration the stranger's genuine concern for her person, but she refuses to take her with her, nothing he can say will make her give up on the road she had already chosen—It's just... I guess I really don't care if it's dangerous or not, I'm going to go to the town either way...

—But why? —Sprig quickly questions her accordingly, and that was something Marcy could refuse to answer, she had no reason to quench the curiosity of a nosy teenager, but nevertheless Marcy didn't care, she herself was a curious being and a snooper of secrets, she knew what it was like to ask questions and expect answers.

—I'm looking for someone —Marcy whispers with a certain melancholy, her gaze now lost in the emptiness of nowhere—Someone... very important to me... —Saying such a thing wraps her in raw nostalgia, but it also feeds her of determination—I'd do anything if I could be with her again...

—I understand… —He murmurs softly, the words in Sprig's voice are pronounced with her same feeling of nostalgia—Me too… I'm looking for a friend… It's been so long since I've seen her —The teenager walks away A few steps away from the woman, he seems distant now, even more lost than her—I thought my grandfather and sister would be here, but I can't find them either—His fingertips move gently over one of the gravestones in the cemetery, tracing the lines of the aged cement absentmindedly—Oh S-sorry, I shouldn't bother you with my own problems...

—No… it's fine I… —Marcy intervenes, but she can't think of what else to say, she's never been good with words—I hope you find them.

—Yes... —Sprig gives her a half smile, the hint of a mute sympathy—You too... —and it is at that point that their conversation ends, that is the last thing they say to each other both taking their eyes to different points of the desolate cemetery now absorbed in their own internal conflicts, Marcy being the only one to leave the place seconds later, following the rest of the winding path to the town of Silent Hill without major conflicts, her mind increasingly focused on what that had brought her there.


The path is long and tortuous, a dingy passageway full of raw regrets, an incarnate representation of the muteness of her hopeless soul. She walks on, ignoring the eerie noises of the empty nature that surrounds her, the prying eyes of the invisible shadows of the mist, she only thinks of Anne, the distant memory of her sweet voice and bright smile, her smell of peach and kisses so soft like the petals of a flower, her heart exuberant with kindness and protection... Marcy wondered what she was doing now, why she had only sent a letter, why wait for her here instead of coming into her arms, why she had left her alone... Why had she left her alone?

The minutes pass with the same slowness as the movement of her steps, time translates into a long journey with an ambiguous meaning and a clear but very illusory or utopian objective. Upon reaching the streets of Silent Hill, the black-haired woman was struck by the claws of great bewilderment. After following a second path, much longer and more intricate than the previous one, going through long curves and an abandoned ranch until stopping in a narrow alley, she was greeted by the unexpected surprise of lying-in front of the deplorable portrait of a town very different from the one she remembered. In front of a flower shop, standing in the middle of Sanders Street, in her limited field of vision, Marcy saw nothing but an inhospitable place, deserted, eaten away by the immaculate mists of fog and the infamous carelessness of time.

Marcy wonders if she was really in town and not some vile imitation of it, it looked as if it had been abandoned many years ago, left to its own devices in unspeakable despair, where only gaunt cars and empty dwellings lay silent as the only inhabitants.

—What happened here?... —The woman asks herself, moving to the rhythm of the echo of her footsteps on the sidewalk, the look in her eyes fluttering cautiously in all directions, panting breath, squeezing the altered jumps of her heart with the trembling of her own hands. Something was not right, and Marcy did not need to be a woman with an IQ of more than 300 to realize it, every corner reeked of danger, it was not normal for a place as crowded as Silent Hill to look so empty and filthy, so lacking of bustle and color... as if it were the reflection of a gloomy and soundless abyss, the vestige of something mundane that could only be attributed as if the city itself were... dead, a decomposing corpse whose empty eye sockets watched her like the deluge of hundreds of dark glances that spilled over every corner of her being.

"That city... there's something strange about it... It's hard to explain, but... "

The words she had interrupted now echoed accusingly in her head, making more sense of the teenager's expressed concerns, but before she could anger herself for ignoring the warnings they tried to provide, everything in her suddenly stopped completely, her movements, breathing, thoughts, her whole being is frozen by a non-existent cold, when the echo of her footsteps was distorted by a wet sound, when her nostrils were invaded by the rise of a nauseating metallic stench.

—W-what… —Marcy manages to utter when she is expelled from her own thoughts, her hands covering the lower half of her face almost by instinct, along with the hazel of her eyes that is thrown to the ground—W-What is... these marks... —On the pavement, painted at the intersections of Sanders Street and Lindsey Street—A-are they blood?! —A long trail of crimson petals lay, smeared across the gravel like a twisted signature, as if something dying had crawled across the floor in monstrous desperation.

The wind howled with delight, the clumps of mist grew inexorably, and the silence seemed to grow ever fatter, everything around her felt distorted and wrong.

Marcy didn't know what to do or how to react to what she saw, her mind unable to form a coherent thought beyond fear as her body remained limp, standing on the trails of blood like a hunched-shouldered statue, embraced by a stabbing chill that she bruised every vertebra in her back mercilessly, her breath reduced to an unsteady wheeze.

Then, within the eerie ocean of a turbulence of conflicting emotions, creaks and shuffling can be heard in the distance, something that could only be described as slow steps, as if someone were walking barefoot; and still frozen with the horror of what she had seen, hesitantly, but without delay, Marcy's eyes turn from the nauseating red to the gray of the mist, being able to watch as a figure drifted in the remote out of the deep opacity, a radiant shadow of uncertainty that didn't seem to be human, just an almost epileptic quivering frame that moved in jerky, unfocused sways, until it gradually faded into the heavy density of the mist.

—That shadow just now… —Is the only coherent thing that her lips barely allow her to pronounce, her sockets stuck in the nebulous void where the shadow had disappeared, with the return of the thick silence piercing her eardrums. Given what she had seen, anyone in her position would have had enough and better opted to turn around and go back the way had come, abandoning the eagerness of desire by putting the preservation of they own sanity first, however, in spite of the fear of the unknown that she could feel right now, Marcy's mind was plunged even more into uncertainty, blurred and blank in the inevitable scruple of her stupid curiosity, a world of hyperfixation from which only two people knew how to free her, without none of them around, there was no living being on earth that could wake her up... the shadow worried her, she wanted to know what it was.

Like a sleepwalker trapped in a dream of dissonant tides, the black-haired woman returns her steps now on the brittle asphalt of Lindsey Street, walking with a halting eagerness, oblivious to the spectral glances thrown at her by buildings, dwellings, and neglected cars. In her head was only the sick desire to satisfy her own curiosity, being the new traces of blood that was found between each batch of ditches the only guides that indicate that she was on the right path.

At the end, and after an indefinite amount of time, her feet stop in front of the long stretch of Vachss Road, a narrow road between two yellow and white buildings respectively. The last trace of dried blood lay beneath Marcy's feet, doubt and visible terror creased the folds of her face, but before her last shred of sense could make her desist from moving forward, the gloom of irrationality rushed forward to pull her forward the recess of the road.

Beyond the entrance, the trail turns away from the narrow paved and rural to a wide, semi-horizontal wooded path lined with thin meshes of rusty metal. As she moved deeper into the path, a strange noise breaks into the gloomy calm of silence, at first, Marcy came to perceive it as meaningless white noise, but with each approach, her ears began to recognize it as static, a voluminous and strident static, the almost perfect imitation of the twisted song of a thousand insects.

The static grows even more intense, and before Marcy's eyes, a considerable thinning of the mist allows her to gaze toward a new structure appearing at what she might think of as the end of the road, a tunnel under a bridge. The place was devoid of luminescence, so small that only an average-sized vehicle or a limited group of people could cross it, it was partially blocked off, most of its entrance lay boarded up by what could be described as a makeshift fence of thick and thin bars or metal pipes, they were rusty, held together by the knots of old ropes and supported by some fuel containers, it seemed like whoever put it together did so in a strange rush. The static buzzing lingers, hypnotic and alluring, and from the way the sound seems enclosed now rather than heightened outdoors as it was when it was approaching, Marcy quickly realizes it's coming from inside the tunnel. The raven-haired woman carries her body into the cavern, one foot at a time, ducking through an opening just big enough that with a little effort she would fit all the way in. Covered in darkness, cobwebs, and dust, once inside, Marcy's eyes dart to the source of the static, coming upon a small portable radio, which looks plain and somewhat old-fashioned, as soon as her hands cup the object between her fingers it begins to spit increasingly shrill static noises.

—Is it broken? —She wonders, the tingling noises building to in crescendo, rippling and dancing as if the radio is desperately trying to tell her something.

—Mar... —Then, from the sea of incomprehensible noises of static, a voice persists—Yo... Mar... mus... t... fi... d... ha... — it was too distorted for me to understand, the interference of static overriding the dominance of the voice, reducing it to nothing more than a thousand jumbled letters—Sh... d... me... u... st... Come... I... ng... or... ou... Mar... —The transmission stops abruptly, leaving the insistent static to run on its own.

—What the hell...? —Marcy wanted to express her bewilderment, but the words stopped being pronounced on her lips, dying in the depths of her vocal cords when next to the sharp dissonance of the radio, another equally repetitive sound is mixed "Grush, Grush, Grumpf, Grumpf, Glup " Her dive breaks as easily as it had come, she goes speechless with her breath hitched, her heart the only one to speak, pounding and bouncing against the ribs of her ribcage; she feels how the hairs on her neck stand on end, how her body trembles even when the cold is imperceptible.

Unfortunately, it is already too late when the woman comes to realize that, during all this time, she was not the only living creature inside such a dim tunnel, since, from only two feet away, she could see as a horrifying creature lay on the lap of a man's corpse, swaying hips up and down vehemently as chewed on it face and neck with the libidinity of insatiable hunger.

The color drains from Marcy's face as the realization of what she was watching overtakes her, her stomach acid painfully escaping her intestines, she's always been good at processing any kind of information, but one like this, it was something she I wasn't prepared at all. Desperate and astonished, she backs away her steps still without looking away from such horrendous debauchery, only to end up colliding backwards against the solid surface of the steel fenced mass that fear had made her forget. To her horror however, such meager movements seem to upset the creature of her presence, leading to the cessation of its depraved carnage in favor of the new victim that had been handed to him on a silver platter.

—No...

The monster lets out a chorus of strange moans as it rises from its seat of flaccid and tattered flesh, its back along with its legs contorting in a physically impossible way, rearing up from above as if its erratic movements were commanded by the strings of an invisible puppeteer. Standing facing the dim luminescence outside, the creature lurching slowly toward Marcy appeared to be female, or at least the attempt at what might be considered a female appearance, its body completely naked and malnourished, its extremities superiors intertwined with each other, fused only in the part of their wrists as if they were wearing handcuffs or some kind of non-existent restriction. What remained of its skin or flesh was reduced to rotten and moldy folds of brown or dark shades covered in all kinds of scars and scratches. The top half of its head was missing on its neck lay nothing but an open jaw devoid of tongue or teeth. That thing walk was clumsy and slow, as if doing so caused a great suffering, for Marcy, the creature she saw seemed to be taken from a nightmare, the effigy of the indescribable terror of a disturbed mind, the synonym of a morbid perversion.

—Go away! —She forces her voice through the cascading static, her back trying to melt into the spot she's cornered as if she can magically go through it. Lost now with only a primal thought of survival, Marcy right hand moves with unconscious desperation pulling at one of the metal tubes with all her might, tugging and tugging at her firm grip as the creature draws ever closer, the echo of their twisted wanderings swirling alongside static buzzes and slashing gasps. The woman's heart is pounding so fast it could stop at any moment, her mind caught up in a storm of animal screams that demanded she pull harder on the bar, of whirling insults at how stupid she had been to come here, of wails and cries because she was going to die and no one was going to find her, no one was going to help her, she was alone just like that poor devil with his guts and genitals scattered on the floor, Anne was dead, Sasha hated her, no one cared, it was just the dumb dumb Marcy Wu, someone insignificant whose existence was nothing more than a vile mistake, a bad joke for two horrible adults who never wanted a daughter.

Then, like a miracle from the sickly deities that rule the darkened skies below this pestilential world, the poor black-haired woman manages to rip the metal bar off with a mighty click that ricochet off the narrow walls in a reverberation that momentarily overrides the sounds of static and moans of the beast, and just a few seconds before the latter could pounce on her, Marcy smashes her metal weapon on the side of the creature with all her might, consequently, both, the monster and the woman, they let out a deafening scream. Another hit, two and three like a noon train, metal swaying from side to side, impacting haphazardly on emaciated flesh, painting the walls and floor with blood, the beast hurtles to the ground, staggering viciously, writhing in a sea of terrifying screeches, but the blows to its body never stop, impact after impact, their pleas falling on the deaf ears of a woman who continues to attack even when her enemy has already lost.

—Die! —The radio static finally stops, but the silence of the tunnel is still disturbed by other lingering sounds—Die! —The nauseating crunch of flesh and bone against metal, and the gasp of forced breathing is all that can be heard—Die! —Marcy keeps hitting the remains of the now motionless creature over and over again, the totally disfigured remains pulsing spasmodically at each blow with no signs of wanting to move—Die! —The putrefied blood of the monster splashes on her face and part of her black hair, anointing the tears that run from her closed eyes—Die! —Shoulders and arms move up and down blow after blow, rhythmically with a superhuman strength product of fear and adrenaline still latent, however, it does not take long until these extremities give a total cessation to an overexertion that they were not accustomed—DIE!

Marcy falls to her knees on the bloodied floor, arms lowered with her head hanging in the air, the metal bar bouncing into oblivion to land next to the monster's crushed corpse. Her emotions spill from her eyes in a silent cry, her voice muffled by so many screams, but even so, she opens and closes her mouth trying to express her regrets verbally, but the only thing she achieves from her voice is an inaudible moan that soon it turns into gurgling, and from gurgling to vomit, the acid flees cowardly from her stomach between sporadic pulsations until the tears lie mixed with blood and disgusting viscosities. She moans, gasps, and gasps, Marcy's little world reduced to buzzing and pounding, shaking from the top of her head to her toes, she wanted to stop breathing, for her heart to stop beating so much... she wanted it all to stopped; her gaze becomes blurry after so many tears, and her body begins to go numb in a great heaviness, she does not fight or persist, in the end she simply embraces unconsciousness, she lets her mind wander through the space of a needed dream, the rumbling sound of a siren is the last thing that catches with her ears, the appearance of a beautiful blonde-haired woman, brave and powerful, becomes the last thing that catches with her mind.

End of the first part


Uff Yes, it's been a while, hasn't it? Well, friends, here is my new project "Letter From Silent Heaven", an adaptation of one of my favorite horror video games, Silent Hill 2, with Amphibia. This has been a project I have been working on since July, and I am very happy to finally be able to publish it and show it to you, it has been a long investigation and months of Replayability to be able to make this project something possible. I have always considered that this fandom is very limited in terms of fanficitions, there are many ideas with crossovers and AU that could be used in an incredible way without having to scratch the monotony of AU swaps, fantasy and a long etc, I apologize for my crude frankness, but I really like this fandom and the series, and it saddens me how they don't take advantage of their potential, coming from such a fandom creative as MLP is, it's impossible not to want to see the same thing here. It fills me with pride to be the first to write a crossover fanfic of Amphibia with Silent Hill, it may not be so good, and it has many things to improve in the next chapters, but I hope it contributes a grain of sand for more things like this in the future.

I am very sorry that after months this will not be a new chapter of The Dark Age or Amphibia Stories, but I can promise you that those stories will receive their due attention very soon, I already have some half-finished Oneshots and chapter 12 of The Dark Age is going on the right track (if everything goes well I could have a double chapter "wink") I only ask for a little more patience.

Well for my part that's all, thank you very much and see you in another story, comment what you like and don't like, you have no idea how much comments help me improve my work, take care lots of hugs with everyone :D