Overture
Gun in hand, he killed them all.
He had bid his time in the darkness of night, staring dumbfounded at the weapon in his hand. Should he? Would he? Could he? Yes, yes he should. Yes, yes he would. And yes, yes he very well could.
It had begun days before, when he watched as the children recited their readings. They were mindless drones; he had known that from the very beginning. If you told a young child that by leaping off that cliff they would be given candy, they would, providing you had worked long enough with them. These children were much too old, much too prone to pain, but it was the same essentially. If he told them that by leaping off that cliff they would be with God in Paradise, they would.
But he knew something else, oh yes. Children's minds were simple. They split everything into black and white; what makes God happy and what doesn't. If you told them leaping off of that cliff would make God happy, of course they would. If you told them that no, God would never want you to do such a thing, they wouldn't. If you told that same thing to an adult, however, would they leap off of that cliff? No, they wouldn't.
And so, grounding these children in the teachings was the best route to travel. There would be no doubt, no questioning. They would do it, albeit blindly, but they would do it. Yes, it was the best way to go.
Yet, as he watched them that evening, he understood something. They were unstoppable. Their faith was a double-edged sword. Offer them candy and they will gladly take it. Demand it back and they will not comply.
Perhaps he would go to Hell, or perhaps this is what God wanted. He would end it.
At the stroke of midnight, he left his room and went to the children's dormitory. And he began. The first one was dreaming soundly in his bunk, curled up under the sheets. Peaceful. He put a bullet in at his temple, the boy's eyes shot open, although he was already dead. The other children were awoken, and he grimly ended them over their screams and cries. Some tried to run, but they were dead before they reached the door. He reloaded silently, and headed out.
It was deathly quiet, and so all those sleeping bolted up at the sound of the gunshots. He stalked through the corridors of the orphanage, killing any he came across. None escaped.
The moon was full and healthy in the sky, and he walked out and through the forest stony-faced.
When he reached the town, he resumed. Nothing could stop him now, nothing at all. He was fulfilling God's work now, yes, of that he was quite sure.
As he left the police station, taking with him their weaponry, he moved on. Death followed him at a steady pace, for he made no attempt to rush this. His eyes were red. As red as blood.
There were no survivors, and as the night gave way to dawn, he arranged all of their bodies in the sign of God.
He had no regrets. He knew he had sinned, but had it not been for the benefit of the world? The benefit of God?
When all was done, and he was covered with blood and sweat, he shed his coat and folded it before him at the center of the halo and knelt down. He prayed silently, and then, under Her eye, he leapt from the cliff.
end
(DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Silent Hill', nor do I make any profit off of this work.)