Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)You won't die. I won't let you. After all, the dead can not suffer like the living can.
Consciousness comes in fits and starts, flashes of memories worn and stained like an old movie reel. Then came sounds, the constant steady lap of water, the soft creaks of tree branches, the howl of wind that rose and fell steadily.
His eyes shot open, head throbbing as memories flooded in, none of which he could grasp before they vanished.
A choking sound escaped his throat. His breath hitched and he rolled over, propping himself up on trembling hands while his entire frame violently shook. After a moment he gaged loudly then heaved, grimacing as foul fluid splattered onto the ground.
Affton pulled in a shallow breath then another, chest throbbing with each weezing gasp. When was the last time he could feel air rushing into his lungs? Or feel much of anything?
His arms began to shake while his stomach writhed, weak hands gripped at the weeds.
He starred in creeping horror at the bony appendages, at the tightly stretched skin covered in dingy yellow gold fur.
Those are not my hands. Those can't be my hands.
He managed to get to his knees, grabbing onto the open rusted door of the van he had been in the back of though he had no memory of entering it. Slowly he rose on unsteady legs. Step by step he made his way to the front of the van. One hand grabbing onto anything in reach for support while the other pressed against his stomach. The cracked tarmac gritty beneath his feet.
William pulled in a deep breath, nearly doubling over from the sudden agony ripped through his chest. Gripping the sink harder he gagged and coughed, thin strings of saliva and foulness dripping from his lips. Once the worst of the pain faded he lifted his head and risked a look into the dirty half open driver's side window.
He recoiled with a hoarse cry, stumbling back.
That's not my face…...that's not my..face.
His shaking hand slowly ran down the side of his face, feeling the aberrant flesh that was stretched over his skull. His lips were dry and cracked, flecked with saliva and vomit.
William couldn't believe what he was seeing. He really didn't want to. He was no longer corpse jerky trapped in an animatronic body.
With sudden fury he slammed his fist into the mirror shattering it. Silvery shards of glass embedded themselves into his hand though he ignored the faint pain. Adrenaline or something like it coursed through his veins like liquid fire, fueled by wrath and disgust.
Not content with destroying the window he seized the side mirror and wrenched it from the door then threw it at the windscreen. The glass exploded into razor sharp shrapnel.
The rearranging of the van didn't stop there. Several dents were added to the side that resulted in several of his fingers being bent into unnatural positions though he hardly noticed the damage over the raging maelstrom of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.
William seized his arm, sharp claws frantically digging into the unfamiliar flesh. Maybe if he ripped it away there would be machinery underneath and he really wasn't stuck like this. Trapped in this wretched form.
He dug deep lacerations into his own arms revealing unfamiliar anatomy instead of simply wires and electronics
After a brief struggle he sank to the ground, his breathing becoming raspy and heavy, arms convulsing and body trembling. Rage spent he curled upon himself, ears pinning back. A raspy sob was ripped from his raw throat, tears making tracks down the right side of his face.
William sat on the ground, wallowing in self pity and anger for what could have been hours or days, not that time held any meaning in this shadowy realm. His mind played the emotions and problems over and over again like a nassating merry-go-round.
One word circled endlessly in his head. Why? Why was he being punished? Why did the fog entity do this to him?
He didn't have the physical or mental strength to answer the question.
His limbs felt like dead weights, chest heaving with each shallow breath. Exhaustion pulled down on him, tearing away what little strength that was left.
Maybe it was sheer stubbornness, waning hope or something that was a combination of the two but he pushed through the self imposed pity party and stood up.
An odd thought drifted through the still swirling emotions. I'm naked. Fuck.
Feeling suddenly self conscious he covered his shame with his hands, tucked his tail against his furry but cheeks and did the walk of shame down Nathan Ave. There was no worries about a person seeing him, just monsters that point and laugh at the fucking deranged Easter Bunny.
The fog hung heavy over the tourist trap of South Vale. Its wispy transparent fingers reached further and further through the worn street. The few buildings he passed had been turned into shady silhouettes that hung over the worn tarmac and concrete pavement. There was no sound other than the wind and heavy tread of his footfalls.
The town was very similar to a grave, the dampened mood, the severtive , mysterious nature of the fog and an anesthetizing side effect of the town's melancholy tranquility.
Every car he passed on the street were rusting hulks. In the distance red and blue flashing lights pierced the gloom of fog. Like a beacon he was drawn to it.
A cop car sat in the overgrown parking lot, doors and trunk open. But there was no sign of the cops.
"Wonder Christian ate them?" He joked lamely. The minutes ticked by and the car waited patiently. Curiosity began to overrule the uncertainty.
He peered into the driver's side door, the interior worn and sun faded. He pulled back upon not seeing any keys in the ignition and made his way to the trunk. Standing to the side and ready for something unpleasant to leap out like a deranged jack in the box he pushed the trunk all the way open. Much to his relief there was nothing horrible inside, just a duffel bag and gun case.
Maybe the fog entity didn't want him running around naked and unarmed.
The bag contained a navy blue shirt and pair of pants, both of which hung off of his thin almost starved frame. "I'm starting to feel a bit like my old self again."
There was even a bullet proof vest that weighed heavily on his boney shoulders. The duffle also contained a shotgun and a handful of shells which he shoved into a pocket with a hiss of pain. Pulling the trigger was going to be difficult with broken fingers but he'd manage somehow.
For now he would follow Nathan Ave into South Vale then to the epicenter of hell itself, Silent Hill.
Consciousness comes in fits and starts, flashes of memories worn and stained like an old movie reel. Then came sounds, the constant steady lap of water, the soft creaks of tree branches, the howl of wind that rose and fell steadily.
His eyes shot open, head throbbing as memories flooded in, none of which he could grasp before they vanished.
A choking sound escaped his throat. His breath hitched and he rolled over, propping himself up on trembling hands while his entire frame violently shook. After a moment he gaged loudly then heaved, grimacing as foul fluid splattered onto the ground.
Affton pulled in a shallow breath then another, chest throbbing with each weezing gasp. When was the last time he could feel air rushing into his lungs? Or feel much of anything?
His arms began to shake while his stomach writhed, weak hands gripped at the weeds.
He starred in creeping horror at the bony appendages, at the tightly stretched skin covered in dingy yellow gold fur.
Those are not my hands. Those can't be my hands.
He managed to get to his knees, grabbing onto the open rusted door of the van he had been in the back of though he had no memory of entering it. Slowly he rose on unsteady legs. Step by step he made his way to the front of the van. One hand grabbing onto anything in reach for support while the other pressed against his stomach. The cracked tarmac gritty beneath his feet.
William pulled in a deep breath, nearly doubling over from the sudden agony ripped through his chest. Gripping the sink harder he gagged and coughed, thin strings of saliva and foulness dripping from his lips. Once the worst of the pain faded he lifted his head and risked a look into the dirty half open driver's side window.
He recoiled with a hoarse cry, stumbling back.
That's not my face…...that's not my..face.
His shaking hand slowly ran down the side of his face, feeling the aberrant flesh that was stretched over his skull. His lips were dry and cracked, flecked with saliva and vomit.
William couldn't believe what he was seeing. He really didn't want to. He was no longer corpse jerky trapped in an animatronic body.
With sudden fury he slammed his fist into the mirror shattering it. Silvery shards of glass embedded themselves into his hand though he ignored the faint pain. Adrenaline or something like it coursed through his veins like liquid fire, fueled by wrath and disgust.
Not content with destroying the window he seized the side mirror and wrenched it from the door then threw it at the windscreen. The glass exploded into razor sharp shrapnel.
The rearranging of the van didn't stop there. Several dents were added to the side that resulted in several of his fingers being bent into unnatural positions though he hardly noticed the damage over the raging maelstrom of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.
William seized his arm, sharp claws frantically digging into the unfamiliar flesh. Maybe if he ripped it away there would be machinery underneath and he really wasn't stuck like this. Trapped in this wretched form.
He dug deep lacerations into his own arms revealing unfamiliar anatomy instead of simply wires and electronics
After a brief struggle he sank to the ground, his breathing becoming raspy and heavy, arms convulsing and body trembling. Rage spent he curled upon himself, ears pinning back. A raspy sob was ripped from his raw throat, tears making tracks down the right side of his face.
William sat on the ground, wallowing in self pity and anger for what could have been hours or days, not that time held any meaning in this shadowy realm. His mind played the emotions and problems over and over again like a nassating merry-go-round.
One word circled endlessly in his head. Why? Why was he being punished? Why did the fog entity do this to him?
He didn't have the physical or mental strength to answer the question.
His limbs felt like dead weights, chest heaving with each shallow breath. Exhaustion pulled down on him, tearing away what little strength that was left.
Maybe it was sheer stubbornness, waning hope or something that was a combination of the two but he pushed through the self imposed pity party and stood up.
An odd thought drifted through the still swirling emotions. I'm naked. Fuck.
Feeling suddenly self conscious he covered his shame with his hands, tucked his tail against his furry but cheeks and did the walk of shame down Nathan Ave. There was no worries about a person seeing him, just monsters that point and laugh at the fucking deranged Easter Bunny.
The fog hung heavy over the tourist trap of South Vale. Its wispy transparent fingers reached further and further through the worn street. The few buildings he passed had been turned into shady silhouettes that hung over the worn tarmac and concrete pavement. There was no sound other than the wind and heavy tread of his footfalls.
The town was very similar to a grave, the dampened mood, the severtive , mysterious nature of the fog and an anesthetizing side effect of the town's melancholy tranquility.
Every car he passed on the street were rusting hulks. In the distance red and blue flashing lights pierced the gloom of fog. Like a beacon he was drawn to it.
A cop car sat in the overgrown parking lot, doors and trunk open. But there was no sign of the cops.
"Wonder Christian ate them?" He joked lamely. The minutes ticked by and the car waited patiently. Curiosity began to overrule the uncertainty.
He peered into the driver's side door, the interior worn and sun faded. He pulled back upon not seeing any keys in the ignition and made his way to the trunk. Standing to the side and ready for something unpleasant to leap out like a deranged jack in the box he pushed the trunk all the way open. Much to his relief there was nothing horrible inside, just a duffel bag and gun case.
Maybe the fog entity didn't want him running around naked and unarmed.
The bag contained a navy blue shirt and pair of pants, both of which hung off of his thin almost starved frame. "I'm starting to feel a bit like my old self again."
There was even a bullet proof vest that weighed heavily on his boney shoulders. The duffle also contained a shotgun and a handful of shells which he shoved into a pocket with a hiss of pain. Pulling the trigger was going to be difficult with broken fingers but he'd manage somehow.
For now he would follow Nathan Ave into South Vale then to the epicenter of hell itself, Silent Hill.
