Silent Hill: White-Noise

A Story by Abishai100

Man narrated his dream-sleep vision/labyrinth of 'Silent Hill' test-rooms for metaphysics-shine and draws link to Earthling world chores for uncertainty.

Silent Hill adaptation. Happy Holidays!

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How the Hell did I find myself inside a Silent Hill video-game environment, negotiating incomplete-distances readings to the leviathan/uncertainty of social space constructions for sanity, survival, and simplicity? Well, I'd become an avid-fan of the cyber-series and thought (deeply-now) of games and contest views for enduring challenges of the high-order and wondered perhaps too much about seeking out trumpets or trophies for getting past the darkness of labyrinths of mortal-thoughts designed purely for Job (Selfie-like).

After all, I lived in a modest studio/townhouse in Echelon/America and made my desktop and computer-mouse station a special base-station for incomplete-distances readings to the leviathan/mythos of sportsmanship windows linked Earthling rhetoric for competition 'consciousness' cleats and social network/media/activity 'linked' Western creativity. However, Silent Hill drew in me that special raspy voice of gritty survivalism, perhaps past those court lines of sports and athletics, even in my home (Facebook-like).

Inside my contest-view wrought Silent Hill nightmare-zone(s) dream-sleep vision, I found myself drawn by a guide to 3 completely unique rooms of metaphysics-challenge; and each room offered its own cleats/variables for value and self-composure requirements (wow). The 1st room was some king of brain-language test ordeal during which I had to enunciate out-lout why the letters (consonants), 'C' and 'T' and 'D' (respectively), all caught that pronunciation wind of linguistic muscle structure for the processing of vowel-placement conveniences for simplified self-organized intelligent creases grasp (hmmm). Had I failed, I'd be accused/persecuted as a Silent Hill town wandered without means of self-reflection for either IQ goals or social space sensitivity for communicating simple limits (damn).

What was it about the nature of my sports-writer's brain that drew me inside that Silent Hill ghost-town for envisioned metaphysics/muscle challenge of the Earthling variety (now)? Was it because I thought the 1991 Wimbledon men's title-game, between German rivals Stich and Becker was the right-wind for mod-Western 'consciousness' concerning incomplete-distances readings to the shoes/nets/nerves of competitive beauty for vanity's thrift? Maybe I'd simply played too many video-games and found myself teleported inside Silent Hill as a pseudo-priest 'witness' of why Earthlings (simply!) craved imagery for jewelry (ok).

I yearned to break-out of this nightmare-zone(s) vision of Silent Hill immediately. However, I still had 2 unique rooms to endure, and I passed that linguistics/composure 'examination' of that Room-1; I felt myself yearning to return to the daylight hours of Earth-life, in my Echelon-town (home) and finding myself at a cool gas-station like Royal Farms in sunglasses for Summer (Facebook-like).

ROOM-2

GUIDE: You're to find the perfect aim of numbers/theory to time punch in code.

ME: You're like the River-Styx man (guide) and this is my examination/precision.

GUIDE: Should you fail, the ghost-town marks you as vanity/consumer.

ME: I guess I'll invoke my special TV-gameshow love of poles (wow).

GUIDE: Don't fail, fool.

I didn't fail (wow); and I was ushered by my ghost-town guide to the 3rd (final) room inside Silent Hill, where I had to make a cool casting of getting through a hallway and ducking or jumping past a series of obstacles involving things flying out of rooms, post-opening of doors, either at my feet or at my head! Seems like a simple description, but in fact, I had to muster all the courage/valor of my sports-writer's intuition to (figuratively!) feel like I was sensitized to environment (or domain) thickness for the Ego. This was Hell.

I made it out (alright). I found myself at a gas-station in shades later (Summer) and thought (deeply-now) why sports-writing and intuition made me some kind of acrobatics/consciousness 'diplomat' of surviving those 3 rooms of that eerie Silent Hill ghost-town for incomplete-distances readings of the leviathan/uncertainty of Earthling spaces for self controls of willed human/alien sensations (Selfie-like). Was I suddenly primed for Earth/American citizenry-change (ok)?