Waiting
By Emerald Embers
Louise_cmi_vc@hotmail.com
Rated PG-12 for sheer and utter grossness.
Fandom: Silent Hill 2 (major spoilers)
Character: Pyramid Head
Non-profit fanfiction, please don’t sue.
Warnings: Silly fic, necrophilia, dark themes
Once upon a time there lived a man/creature (it was debatable) named Pyramid Head.
His life had been a lonely one for some time now, mostly because James - the man whose tortured psyche he was supposed to represent when stabbing and molesting other inhabitants of Silent Hill - had thrown himself into a river with his dead wife.
Given this inconvenient state of affairs, Pyramid Head had been forced to look for a hobby while he waited for discorporation. The gloves caused problems immediately; knitting was out of the question, and as for cooking, he hadn’t really been able to get that hole in his throat to stop bleeding all over the place and it just wasn’t hygienic. He could not recall for the life/death/(again debatable force) of him what he and his twin had been drinking when they decided throat piercing would be more fun than tormenting James and wasn’t about to ask. Eternity wasn’t long enough to find the exact words needed upon waking up partially immersed in one end of a very dead mannequin, your twin in the other end, and about twelve pints of blood and sambuca soaking the sheets around you. For Samael’s sake, they had soaked the floor enough that the room beneath them rained alcoholic blood from the ceiling. The screeching cockroaches had a field day with it all, the last thing he needed with the accompanying week-long hangover.
So, yes. All in all hand and/or leaning activities were pretty much out of the question, which was a pity given how handy he was with any pointy implement available. The helmet made playing darts difficult and besides, with the one person to hand for him to play against stunned to grim silence by the possible double-stuffing of a corpse incident, there wasn’t much competition about. It just felt like cheating when all the other opponents lacked hands or eyes, occasionally both.
He could kick puppies mighty hard, but after deciding beating up females was more representative of James’ mindset than recalling the man’s treatment of Mary’s pet dog, he had given up that particular highlight of his malevolent career. Besides, puppies were mighty hard to come by in Silent Hill these days.
All in all, he’d been rather put out by the difficulty of finding a temporary career, when inspiration finally dawned courtesy of a spitter who gave him good chase into a garden only to fall upon an open pair of secateurs. That in itself wasn’t the source of the inspiration, although it had been mighty good fun; inspiration came when he was walking past the area some time later and found that the area said spitter had died upon was sprouting some decidedly healthy looking plant life.
Raiding the Silent Hill library (although given the fact no one was about to use the library anytime soon meant ‘raiding’ was a bit of a misnomer) quickly revealed the properties of blood mulch, and Pyramid Head felt something close to divine light dawning. Blood, gloves, sharp objects and visible productivity? Perfect.
When Samael finally stopped being defeated by the various residents of Silent Hill long enough to get something done, he was mighty perplexed to discover Pyramid Head in the middle of a particularly complex tangle of weeds, sounds coming from his helmet that sounded distinctly like whistling.
DISCORPORATION?
Pyramid Head looked up and stroked the neck of a particularly long and wooden stem, shaking his head.
MAYBE NEXT YEAR?
Pyramid Head nodded and returned to tending his garden, uprooting the last of the damned rose cuttings.
The End