Silent Hill 2: Unplugged
A/N: Because I like to add 'Unplugged' to everything.
Inspired by several different things, mainly 'Aisle 4A' by me and 'How it Started' by obscurestyle. Here's hoping this goes well!
Probably won't, but dammit, I can DREAM.
In a dank and dirty bathroom somewhere, trouble was brewing.
The bathroom was very poorly kept, to say the least. Pieces of broken glass lay on the floor, rats could be heard scurrying about the dirty tiles, and 4 a gud tyme call catlyn 766-445-5555 was crawled in black marker on the wall, next to a man hunched over an equally dirty sink.
James Sunderland looked at his reflection in the mirror, which was marred by places where the glass was missing, a smear of some sort of brown fluid, blood, and a piece of what was probably spearmint bubblegum.
"I am so wasted right now."
He blinked once, twice, and looked around him. How exactly he'd gotten into the bathroom he hadn't the faintest clue. There seemed to be a blur in his memory between the party at Chuck's place on Friday and waking up here. Meth sure was one hell of a drug.
After approximately 58 minutes and 30 seconds of deliberating as to whether he preferred Shrimp flavored Mr. Noodles over Mushroom flavored, James finally decided it was high time he got out of the bathroom and figured out just where the hell he was exactly.
Outside was a pier of some sort overlooking a forest. James's car was parked in a lot, there were no other cars in sight. Leaning against the railing of the pier, James suddenly remembered about the letter he'd received the eve of Chuck's party:
"Mr. James Sunderland,
You have outstanding fees at our library. Please return the following books: How To Cook a Turkey With a Toothpick and an Empty Juice Box by Edith Walburg, and Top Ten Ways to Procrastinate by A. Melon with your fee of 59.70."
And then he remembered about the letter he'd been holding in his hand on the way back to his house when the wind picked it from his grasp and sent it down the road, where James had run for 5 miles trying to get it back and had done a spot on job of holding up traffic. After retrieving the letter from the tire of a moving car, he had folded it carefully into his pocket. And now, James pulled the letter from his pocket and read:
In my restless dreams, I see that town.
You promised you'd take me there again someday.
But you never did.
Well, I'm alone there now... In our 'special place'...
Waiting for you...
P.S.: Out of jam. Bring me more jam. And not that blackberry crap, the GOOD kind. You know, with the chunks of strawberry in it?
"Well that's kind of stupid," James had said to himself, "Mary's dead. You'd think dead people wouldn't really be in to flashy vacation spots considering they're dead and all."
And then, while thinking of this letter in the dark and dreary town of Silent Hill, it occurred to James that dead people weren't interested in flashy vacation spots primarily because they couldn't read travel pamphlets, and this was because of their lack of eyes, and this was in turn caused by the maggots eating away at them, and the maggots came from the ground that the dead people were buried in, and if there were maggots in their eyes then surely there were maggots in their hands and that would mean...
"OHMYFLYINGJESUS," James exclaimed aloud, "DEAD PEOPLE CAN'T WRITE LETTERS!"
And with this startling revelation, he took off into the thick fog yonder.
After quite a bit of repetitive walking down an irritatingly spooky path, James came across a young woman standing in a graveyard. She was hunched over a gravestone sobbing uncontrollably, muttering something about a dog, a clown, and a tire iron.
"Oh look," James moaned sarcastically, "that's not disturbing in the slightest."
The figure, hearing him, turned around and stared at James with wild, crazy eyes. "M...Mama?" she stuttered, ignoring the fact that James was quite visibly a man.
Stunned, he wasn't quite sure what to say. "...yes?"
"Are you my mama?" the figure asked him again.
"Well," James mused, twiddling his thumbs and avoiding her gaze, "are you remotely attractive?"
Quietly, the figure in the mist stepped out of said mist to reveal her full form. James was beginning to wish she'd stayed in the mist. He sighed in a disappointed manner.
"Awwww.. No, sorry, I haven't seen your mother."
"Oh..." the girl looked the the ground sorrowfully.
Suddenly, her head snapped back up to James's eye level.
"I'm Angela!" she said in a disturbingly eager manner.
"That's great," James said as if he was actually interested in knowing. He wasn't.
"My mother is dead. I'm looking for her."
"Yeah, I couldn't tell- wait, what?"
Angela's eyelid twitched.
"Em... am I on the right path to Silent Hill?" James asked her.
Angela grinned at him like a child who'd just seen something awesome but horrifying at the same time, perhaps a bear being shot in the head.
"Yes!" she exclaimed. "But you'd best be careful. There's something... weird about the town." She stopped and gazed thoughtfully into the thick fog. "It smells like burnt Pop Tarts."
James looked at her stunned, his mouth hanging open. "YOU NOTICED THAT TOO?!?"
Angela nodded carefully.
Gleefully, James waved goodbye and made his merry way to Silent Hill.
Entering the town which was as equally foggy as the surrounding area, James spent about two hours or so wandering down random streets, only stopping when he noticed some interesting artwork on the road.
"LOOK!" James exclaimed as he pointed to the street, "BLOOD SMEARS!"
Sufficiently entertained for the day, he continued to skip along merrily in the opposite direction.
About an hour and a half and three miles of skipping later, James stopped at the sound of some sort of static, akin to a broken radio.
"That's weird," he mused, "sounds like a broken radio."
He followed the sound, and stopped at what seemed to be an abandoned construction site. He looked to his right at the ground.
"Hey, look!" He bent down and picked up something. "A broken radio!"
The static coming from the radio was loud and extremely annoying, so James set it down. Just then, a loud snarling noise emitted from some sort of rather depressing looking wooden barricade.
Stepping through it, James saw some sort of faceless man wrapped in a straight jacket like material of sorts. It writhed in some sort of pain and flopped about, quite literally, like a fish out of water.
Panicking, James stepped back and examined the area for something to defend himself with. To his left was a chainsaw, to his right a pistol, and directly behind him, a plank of wood.
"A PLANK OF WOOD! THAT'S IT!"
He picked up the plank and began to beat the creature mercilessly.
About fifteen minutes later, the creature's head now reassembling a squished tomato, James stepped back, panting.
"I think it's dead," he confirmed. But he kicked it anyhow, just for good measure.
Stepping outside the barricade, the radio had stopped emitting static, but was now emitting a kind of raspy, female sounding whisper. He picked up the radio curiously and listened to what it had to say:
"Huh," James said, placing the radio into his hilariously over-sized pockets, "I guess someone is in dire need of jam."
He gazed into the horizon thoughtfully, at where the rest of the town lay.
"Don't worry," he said somewhat importantly, "I will find you. I will find you and I will find you jam."
And with this heroic declaration, he ran off down another random alleyway.
A/N: Did you know is out to get me? Yeah. Half of this was deleted before I could save the document. xD It's not even a ScriptFic. (coughliketheotheronecough) /kidding