Disclaimer: I don't own Silent Hill, SO STOP STALKING ME ALREADY!!!
Something's Not Right
People always expect so much out of you. Many think maybe you're the hero of the town, star athlete, Prom King/Queen. It's just, when you fail you feel this ridicules amount of guilt of knowing you let everybody down. I ain't like that; I've never tried to make a big scene of myself, nor tried to make something of someone else. Let me start off with my name, I'm Vince, Vince Mason, and I've what you call, a strange child. I live in a middle class home, with my single mother, and four-year-old sister.
Where I live, it didn't actually mean very many good things. Many of the men that did try to ask mom out, were faced with rejection. It didn't exactly make her the most popular person around. Mom's job though, was a fairly strange. She's not only the curator of the local museum, but she also was a researcher of the occult. For some strange reason she held not only fascination, but fear as well. Somehow I thought she was afraid some of this stuff was true. I never knew how right I was.
I myself found my first job as a pizza man, insider at least. I think this all started on my way to work.
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"Damn Bus Driver's late again!" I mumbled to myself. I had the felling he likes to be late. Just to annoy me. Fifteen minutes late is no way to drive the bus. I was forced to squint from the blazing hot summer sunset. Most kids my age wasted their summer partying, sleeping, and sometimes drinking. I actually had responsibility; I've never shown respect for those who waste their existence in the bottle. Anyway, I helped mom with the bills during the summer so she could take a real vacation. Believe me, she needs it.
I began to think it would be better to find a ride there when I saw that familiar blue hued bus coming. The thing that always got to me was always the screech of the tires. To me, it's just like scraping your nails across the board. FWWIIIPP. The doors on the folded and crimpled itself across the doorway. "Hey Sally, how come your runn… you're not Sally."
Instead of the small, sweet face of my favorite driver, it was a fat, scar faced convict-like bodybuilder guy. Kinda creepy, so I paid my fee and sat down quiet. It was bothering me though, Sally never takes a vacation. Not even when her mother died, so I just had to ask, "What happenede to Sally?"
"Sick." and that was all that was said. His voice was coarse and deep, like someone grinding their molars. It's the kind of voice that puts a shiver down your back. I don't know how I was able to do it, but I did the worst cthing possible. I took a nap.