I don't own it so hush now.
Author's Note: I can't play video games with shiz-net. I'm a pathetic puzzle solver with little logical reasoning skills. To make up for my inadequacies I watch walk throughs .I felt the need to write something for Silent Hill after finishing the Silent Hill 4 : The Hole walk through. I cried for Harry, you cried for Harry, we all cried. Especially Cheryl.
Blue sky to forever
Green grass blows in the wind, Dancing
It would be much better a sight with you, with me
A hesitant hand reached up toward the knob on the old radio as Cheryl twisted it to the left and silence fell on the room like a smothering pillow. She simply couldn't listen to that song anymore. Not while, the memories of pulling her father up by the arm off of his chair, of dancing like silly children with him to it, lingered, still raw. The world drowned in its own color. Her hand trailed off of its stream of numbers and lay limp. It had been long, so long. Sniffling, she set her mind back to the chore of dividing her money and tried to pretend she had not just been there crying like a lost little girl and wishing for the strongest man in the world back. Not when she'd tried so hard to not cry. Daddy won't have wanted to see me like this. I can be strong. For Dad. Her hand latched back on the pen she had let fall and resumed her calculations.
She couldn't have stayed in that house, those rooms, where blood permeated the floor and easy chair had been found in, having doubtlessly fallen asleep waiting for her to get home. The detectives could only do so much and would only understand so much of what she could tell them. She could tell them everything, the running, the blood, the tears, the cult. None of them would have believed her. All she could do was sit there as overly calm, clammy people with no real expression poked, prodded, and went to pick and remove up that greatest man who ever lived. She had railed at them like the creatures she had destroyed, not a day before. No one could touch him! No one touch him! Harry ended up staying, cross armed, on that bed, until Cheryl took the body under the curtain of night and returned without Harry in tow. She couldn't go back to that apartment, but she couldn't let the place, their home, be given to some people who didn't know and wouldn't care that a man and his daughter had lived there. As numbers filled up the paper she divided her money between rent on the apartment they had shared and the one she couldn't fill all by herself. Her hand quickly brushed away the spots of water that resided on the paper below.
Her stomach yowled at her like a furious cat, demanding to be fed. Cheryl gave half a thought to ignoring it and finishing her foodless day the same way it had started, with a cold misery, empty and sharp. Her innards screeched again, she pushed back her chair and dragged her withering frame over through the kitchen to open the almost assuredly empty refrigerator. No food, guess I'll have to make something. I can't really cook much, just… Her breathing felt constricted and her lids sank like stones over her eyes. Beef and onions, Dad's favorite. Dad always was the better cook between us. Her fingers slipped from the handle, letting the creaky door slowly swing shut, cutting off the flow of cold air like the finishing end of a sigh. She slumped against the wall then on to her knees, ending up balled up on the floor as she exhausted herself of tears.
Cheryl eventually opened her eyes, barely noticing the difference at first. Everything looks…darker. A light tinkling sound was heard coupled with an electric buzzing. A blond head turned sky ward as she saw her apartment had to roof only darkness. Blink. The ceiling was back, as was the rest of the light in the kitchen. Need to change the lights Cheryl noted wearily. The single lit bulb flickered in and out while its companion was solidly dead in its socket. Her legs buckled from so long on the ground as she stood.
A peek into the supply closet revealed a lonely light-bulb and a slip of paper. The light pad of a finger ran across the top of the note before delicately picking it up. A hurried message scrawled on it read
"Hey honey! I'm
at Cybil's. I'll be back
at three. Take care,
Dad"
His last little note to her. Every so often he'd go out and visit his friend Cybil. In those first months the note felt like a blessing. Sometimes she'd hang it on the fridge with the purple Z, her father favorite magnet, and it was like he was just away for a moment. And for that moment He was still the strongest man in the world. Everything would shatter when the ever punctual Harry never did come in at three o clock and she'd be alone again, left to stare straight into the cold grim face of reality. Cheryl clutched it close, hoping to catch the fading scent of her father on it before carefully replacing it and snatching up the light-bulb.
The light that had tenaciously hung on to life had finally breathed its last electric breath and expired by the time she returned to the kitchen. She paused for a moment as the fan circled on the ceiling to the brightly lit room behind her. Whoosh, whoosh, round and round in an endless circle. She had never been afraid of the dark, still wasn't. This wasn't the dark, it was much bigger. This moment felt important, as though she were back in Silent Hill facing a large, bloody and rusted door that only swung one way, had no handle and was locked from the inside with no key; as though she were looking through the gates to hell. She could go in, she could turn around, she couldn't just stand there in fear swarming through her and choking her from the inside out. She had learned that waiting got you no place but into a grave, and she had learned it fast.
Her eyes closed, a breath. She walked through.