good wombs hath born bad sons, open

[Porter Matthews]

The realization of what was happening was lost to the young ginger running rampantly through the streets of . . . well. . . .wherever this was. It was all seeming to run together. The car crash, the pit, the hospital. Porter had originally seen that things were just happening. That he had somehow accidently become stuck in this hellish place and was being forced and tortured to run through the streets of this abysmal place as if he were some rat in a maze. But now. . . things were beginning to clear. Though the fog threatened to choke the small bits of information from him he could clearly see that somehow he was connected tot his place. That somehow through all the lies and deceits he'd given to his mother growing up - the woman clearly had an ulterior motive of her own. And for reasons unknown to Porter - he was somehow connected in more ways than one.

He would be lying if he said he hadn't ran because he was afraid. Because he had been. But he had also found the picture. The frayed old thing documenting his mothers youth. It was tattered around the edges and showed what Porter couldn't believe. But the proof was there before him. And somehow he had been led her. And whether it was by his own mother or not, Porter wanted to know. Another reason for him to flee the safety of the group and set out for his mother. He knew he wasn't much good to them anyway - hell he would even bet James didn't like him, the prick. But Porter really couldn't bring himself to stay with them. Safety in numbers his ass. He was a liability and probably much more of a safety hazard than that girl had been. And then there was also the added fact that for the first time for as long as he could remember he didn't know who he was. No - nothing like the whole straight-camp he was sent to back in freshman year or his fake tryst with Samantha Cooper, but still.

Finding the picture of his mother had been his undoing - he knew this. It would haunt him until his death and for that reason, Porter had to understand just why he was here in this hellish nightmare. He'd taken off after what had looked like his mother. Miraculously making his way from the hospital to the outside world which was encased in a blanket of fog. And it was from there that he caught sliver after sliver of her poppy colored hair. Chasing it and doing his best to keep up. He'd dropped everything he'd had other than the small flashlight dangling from his wrist and he was even considering ditching that - knowing that such a small thing had little impact on his speed.

His footsteps padded to soft slow stop as he finally bent to catch his breath. He'd been doing a lot of running lately and frankly - he had had enough. Besides he'd lost sight of her any way. Had it been his mother? If so why had she ran? Why was she even here? All questions with no answers. Taking the photo from his back pocket he stared at it yet again, only now getting a clear view of it - even with the fog floating about. Because despite the good eyesight he did have, he did little to notice he was standing outside of the building of the photo. A photo with a picture of his very young mother holding his infantile past self. Outside of South Ashfield Heights Apartment.

[Soraya Al Asiri]

How could she have ended up here while she was running for her freedom? Is this what had been her destiny all along? There was no end to running, she would always be a prisoner? Was she led here by forces unknown to her? If this was hell, then Hell was in fact on Earth. This was not the underground, there were no fiery pits, but then again, everything seemed possible here. Everything, and anything horrifying imaginable could have come about. She understood at least a little of it. She knew that this place had endless possibilities. Soraya also knew she wasn't the only one here. There were others here, and they must have been getting the same dish she was: punishment. Or whatever it was, they had a purpose here, too. Well . . . they might have, but she was still unsure if there was a purpose to her being here.

The girl somehow fell asleep at some point in the night. After her run in with Noah and Sacha, she continued on her way, though she wanted to cling. Their horror was following them, and she didn't want it to follow her. She had her own monsters to deal with, literally. Soraya woke up on a room in Ashfield Apartments, she could barely remember how she got there because she'd been so stressed out, and had done so much running. Every noise, every little thing that went bump in the night made her want to run for her life. And so she did. It was isolated for a place people were supposed to live in, but she noticed that unless you looked, you would be isolated in this place, only surrounded by fear and deformed monsters. If there was anything she was hanging on to here, it was her shotgun, the only thing she had to protect herself with. She woke up on the old, creaky bed of one of the apartments holding on to the weapon as if it were a teddy bear that a child would sleep with. And she woke up alive. Seemingly untouched, unharmed by anything that she was afraid to be hurt by. Which was everything.

Getting up from the uncomfortable bed, she stretched out and heard her bones crack. For a second she took the place in, and yes it was as depressing as the rest of the town was. "Silent Hill," she whispered to herself as if she was still trying to figure out if she knew this place. Even if she remembered hearing of it; as usual, there was nothing in her memory that mattered. Walking into the bathroom, she looked into the dirty, cracked mirror and saw that she had circles under her eyes, her make-up smeared under her eyes, and she looked like the saddest little thing. Sighing, she turned on he faucet, and to her delighted surprise, clean water came out. Soraya stared at it for a moment, trying to see if there was anything wrong with it. Putting her finger under the faucet, she felt the warm H2O, and put her gun on top of the toilet (yep, she is still gripping on to it) to splash it on her skin. It felt good against her face, clean. She let drip as she held on to the sides of the sink, and closed her eyes. She could've really gone for a shower right now. Finally she lifted her head, and looked at her face in the mirror again, expecting to see something else. Someone who looked a little more refreshed, a little less terrified. Instead she screamed bloody murder.

"Not again!" Soraya continued to scream and panic as she grabbed on to her face. Her viney, charcoal black face, with those milky white eyes staring back at her in horror. It was her again, she looked like her, that female creature that resembled her. The room felt strange, it began to close in on her, and she began to panic. Anxiety attack. Her heart felt out of control and it seemed like the world would end. "L'ah! L'ah! L'ah!" She exclaimed "no" in Arabic. She then noticed that the water which she has just washed her face with was now thick mix of black and dark red liquid. Another pointless, helpless gasp, one of many, escaped her lips in the middle of all the screams. Without thinking, Soraya grabbed the gun, left the nasty substance running in the faucet, and took off. She had no idea what she was running from at this point, but once again, it felt like it was herself. Always her standing in her own way. She ran through the halls, and into the front door of the complex, opening it and tripping. Her knee hit the asphalt and she yelped like an animal in pain. Tears of mostly fear, wasted tears, ran down her very normal, but tired face. No trace of what she had seen in the mirror was there.

[Porter Matthews]

The feeling of closure that had slowly made its way up and around Porter seemed to have leaked within him. As if a cold clammy hand had snaked its fingers around his heart and was teasing him with the possibility of life or death. Then again it would be welcome within this place. No. It wouldn't. He had a reason now. Something to search for. Everyone he'd encountered up till this point was here for a reason. Jacob had been looking for that woman. James his dead wife...if that made any sense. He hadn't gotten the chance to really talk with the scrawny girl - or the first girl he'd encountered. Heather - had that been her name? He couldn't remember and honestly it no longer mattered. Before he would have honestly told himself it didn't matter whether he survived this place or not. He had lived a rather lackluster life and despite what he claimed he could honestly say he would kill himself if his life tended to get any more boring. Silly thoughts, but that was what they were. Thus his reason for never really worrying about them.

He swallowed the lump that had seemed to make it's way into this throat. His eyes falling over the building as his grip on the old photo tightened. Was this really something he wanted to do. It wasn't every day you got dragged into Hell. And then to learn that you had some prior connection to this horrendous place was enough to cause suspicion - all the more reason for Porter not wanting anyone to see this photo of himself and his mother. He'd never been the one for secret keeping, but he doubted anyone he came across would trust him if they knew he had been here before. Even if he himself didn't remember it. Releasing a breath through his nose, he tucked the picture safely into his back pocket. His hands were filthy and his face had a scar on it, not his usual regime but when you were fighting for life it was what happened.

However, Porter had begun to notice that the longer he was alone the longer he was safe. Strange to him nonetheless, but just a hypothesis he'd garnered on his trek in this horrid fog like world. Placing a foot forward he readied to enter the building - both dreading it and hoping he would find answers at the same time, however a low scream floated down through the air - stilling his steps. He gulped again, so much for the safer alone theory. He hated himself for not having any type of weapon on him. An old flashlight and a photograph with more shadows than this world in it. Releasing a breath again he swallowed. Not wanting to let his fear guide him any longer. He wanted answers and if he was lucky he'd get them by going inside. But before he could move he was met with a young woman. As she fell to the ground he froze, his eyes on her. Was she sinner or saint in this world they were in. Regardless, he knelt, moving to place a hand on her shoulder. "You know if you tied your shoes you probably wouldn't fall as much." he said with a smile.

[Soraya Al Asiri]

She's had nightmares before that she thought were bad, but she'd never woken up quickly like they did in movies; panting and screaming, none of that. She woke up before crying silently in the night from a nightmare that scared her, shook her up. Dreams just seemed so real while you were in them. No matter how ridiculous they were, you believed all of it and didn't question. But somehow, she knew that she couldn't wake up from this, it was too real. Never was she able to feel such fear. It had to be all real, this was a place in the real world, not in her mind. This nightmare was real, it was hell. The only way to explain it was that it was hell. But what had she done to deserve this? Were all those stories about obeying your parents, and being a god Muslim girl true? Was God punishing her for not following her religion as she should have? Soraya never thought that such a thing as sneaking out, and having some fun was so sinful, and punishable by such a nightmare of disfigured, dismembered, fleshy figures. Or she never took her father's stories of sin seriously. As much as she hated to admit it to herself, it seemed that he might have been right all along. Damn him.

But no, she was damned instead. Stuck in a twisted, disgusting place. Of course she did other things besides have innocent, teenage fun. Her thoughts were always clustered . . . clustered with sex. Maybe this was was punishment for her sinful, tempting thoughts. How many times had she snuck on to the the computer and googled things that she knew damn well she wasn't allowed to? How many times did they send her body to a state where she felt sexual desire was pressing on her from every corner of the room? But they were just thoughts! She never acted on them! She had close encounters at parties. She pounced on boys like a puma, nothing but heavy petting ever happened. Soraya couldn't believe that all the bullshit that her father talked about, trying to make her a good, obedient girl was true! It couldn't have been! She was afraid, but at the same time so angry. This was so unfair!

Her knee hurt like a sonofabitch, and the skin got scraped pretty good, too. She felt like a little kid crying about hurting her knee, but it wasn't really about that. The pain she felt came mostly from fear, and it was greater than any pain she had ever felt before. On a scale of one to ten, she was right about at the breaking point of going past ten and walking into eleven. His touch made her flinch, she didn't even notice him until he made contact with her shoulder, so absorbed in her own self pity. Soraya shifted her weight back as her arms supported her from hitting the ground. Not that crawling away backwards from an enemy did much, it was an automatic reaction. Realizing it was a human being, she relaxed a little, but she was still very freaked out. And the fact that he touched her, at this point, made her uneasy. "I'm uh . . . I'm ---," she couldn't make out one word, Soraya had no idea what to say. She knew that he was trying to be light hearted in this situation. but she didn't feel like smiling.

"Oh!" she gasped, and grabbed on to her face again, still on the ground. The memory of her reflection in the mirror faded away from the stun of running into another person, but it came back quick. "My face," she cried through a broken voice, tears on her face again, "it's . . ." But then, why didn't he back away from her? Was it back to normal again? Was this another cruel attempt at giving her a heart attack? "Duh --- does my face look normal?" Through the sob, and the river of salty water, she looked up at him again. Finally, she began to get up, realizing how pathetic she must have looked there on the ground. For God's sake she was nineteen, way past the age when it was okay to sob uncontrollably!

[Porter Matthews]

Had he been in any other spot he would not look as he did now. His hair was stuck in different directions and looked like something that crawled out of the sewer and placed itself on his head. The clothes he had originally changed into - during his car ride to Silent Hill - were nothing less than rags. He still had the combat boots he'd been forced into. The camo pants were wet and muddy near the bottom however. They were ripped from his knee to his inner thigh and his sleeve had been completely removed from his shirt. His face was muddy and scarred and there was still a bit of blood on his right cheek - from where he wasn't entirely sure, not that it mattered. He was thankful just to even still be alive at this point. He hadn't really seen much though. Compared to what everyone else talked about. That sepulcher thingy from the school had been creepy enough. And then the run in he'd had at the hospital. He wondered if they were alright. If they had gotten away from whatever had been in the belly of that hospital. If Jacob had even survived that room that they had all met in.

It was saddening to think about people dying. But at the same time at least he was still alive. Did that make him a selfish person? Was it selfish for him to want to live? If it was - did it make the rest of the human race selfish? Were they selfish in the fact that they only wanted the good that life had to offer? To steer away from all the horrid and hatred that the world seemed to spill forth - and it seemed that this place happened to be the focal point. The start of the disease that was unhappiness that spread throughout the world. As if the founders of the town had opened Pandora's box in the center. Perhaps that was why this place too seemed to be affected. He knew for a fact that he was no longer in Silent Hill. However the status of this place was still the same. The same of the other. The hospital had seemed to be swallowed by hate, and Porter had been swallowed along with it. And then thrown up to wander the streets of Ashfield. That was where he was now. In Ashfield - searching for the building that had been this photo. South Ashfield Apartments. The name sounded innocent enough. But here, the simplest raindrop could spread like fire, creating horror upon horror.

He smiled awkwardly at the young woman who was on the ground before him. Obviously having had scared here. Not that he wasn't thankful for finding someone else - he wouldn't have argued if it had been a cute guy. But no he seemed to find crazy chick after crazy chick. "Yeah I'm not some crazed rapist though my attire would suggest otherwise." He said raising both hands in a sign of friendship. He smiled, hoping that she wouldn't attack him through her tears. Bending he spoke again and offered a hand to help her to her feet. "And your face looks lovely. Albeit a bit scuffed, but lovely nonetheless."