(no subject)
Holy Hell, I officially cannot afford to be in solitary again.
Is there any reason why things go to hell around here when I'm not about?
Regardless, if you've got news, fill me in.
((What follows is a previously deleted entry from the patient's time in solitary))
I hate being sick. Constantly uncomfortable, rendered useless, obnoxiously random dreams. Usually I'm not one to even fall ill, but when I do, it comes down hard. I'm banking on the time outside. A kick to the immune system coupled with bacteria in the food or in the air. Something.
I only ever dream when I'm sick. Crazy, fever induced, previously stated obnoxiously random dreams. And I knew it would happen, too. I knew that eventually I'd dream about Silent Hill, Maine. It just had to be the day my imagination was being vindictive. Though, for all intents and purposes, it wasn't exactly Silent Hill. It couldn't have been--I don't know the first thing about the town's layout, or even very extensively the world most from there see. But I knew it was Silent Hill--in the dream. My own twisted version of Silent Hill.
There was the rust I've heard described. The decay and the blood. And many monsters, that later turned human after I'd beaten them to death with my pipe. (I don't remember finding the pipe. It was just there. Once, I think it became a 2 by 4, actually). Eventually, I realized I was there to find Ashe, which, lets face it, is utterly ridiculous. Past the fact the world created for most from the town is just a drug induced fantasy, if anyone could survive that hell, it would be her. My help would not be needed. Not saying I wouldn't give it, It would just wouldn't be needed. It'd be laughed at.
Still...it was very frightening. I blame the cold. Then Aliens came, and I also blame the cold for them, because
This is stupid. Screw it.
((end of entry))
Is there any reason why things go to hell around here when I'm not about?
Regardless, if you've got news, fill me in.
((What follows is a previously deleted entry from the patient's time in solitary))
I hate being sick. Constantly uncomfortable, rendered useless, obnoxiously random dreams. Usually I'm not one to even fall ill, but when I do, it comes down hard. I'm banking on the time outside. A kick to the immune system coupled with bacteria in the food or in the air. Something.
I only ever dream when I'm sick. Crazy, fever induced, previously stated obnoxiously random dreams. And I knew it would happen, too. I knew that eventually I'd dream about Silent Hill, Maine. It just had to be the day my imagination was being vindictive. Though, for all intents and purposes, it wasn't exactly Silent Hill. It couldn't have been--I don't know the first thing about the town's layout, or even very extensively the world most from there see. But I knew it was Silent Hill--in the dream. My own twisted version of Silent Hill.
There was the rust I've heard described. The decay and the blood. And many monsters, that later turned human after I'd beaten them to death with my pipe. (I don't remember finding the pipe. It was just there. Once, I think it became a 2 by 4, actually). Eventually, I realized I was there to find Ashe, which, lets face it, is utterly ridiculous. Past the fact the world created for most from the town is just a drug induced fantasy, if anyone could survive that hell, it would be her. My help would not be needed. Not saying I wouldn't give it, It would just wouldn't be needed. It'd be laughed at.
Still...it was very frightening. I blame the cold. Then Aliens came, and I also blame the cold for them, because
This is stupid. Screw it.
((end of entry))