Found Text
The following is an extract from a diary found in Room 103 in the ‘Wood Side Apartments’ locaton in the game Silent Hill 2: [Page One] Nov 3 Where to start? I’ve tried, you’ve seen me in here, trying to form letters about what’s going on, what happens, and how it’s affecting me. [Page Two] But it’s all useless. Melodrama. [Page Three] I can’t even speak about it. I tried yesterday with Walter, the dead neighbor, but instead of my dialogue all that came out of my mouth was: “It’s hard to accept trauma as suitable subject matter for a video game, especially one where the solution to the main character’s issues is to shoot the macabre floating image of his dead wife with a high-powered rifle.” [Page Four] I felt like Walter understood at least some of what I was trying to convey, but all he said in reply was: “Polygonal shadows become solid like nothing else when focused on-screen by your own wire-framed lenses.” [Page Five] Then I couldn’t help myself, I went on something of a rant: “Poor Angela. Put in the same category as two murderers then left in what was supposed to be ambiguity-- we wade through some bad translation every time for the little thrill.” [Page Six] Walter: “Find adventure in the meeting of a metal pipe rusted and looping round and round some fragile, physical anagram lashing out antagonistic.” [Page Seven] My response: “The Orosco’s seems like a narracve better suited to a sensationalist Netlix series. This was subject matter the medium wasn’t equipped for in 2001. It has since grown more sophisticated: We embrace the First Person. But everyone makes plans for the return journey.” [Page Eight] His final words on the matter, before heading back into his apartment to die by the fridge: “Consider the fans, rusted and looping round and round each narrative: Each one illuminates the descent from your cross-legged spot on the living room floor.” [Page Nine] I guess it’s to be expected, living in a cursed town and everything. I’m managing though. Articulation is overrated. And I have some reliable methods of escapism. Stuart Rawlinson is a writer currently living in Glasgow, Scotland. Previous work of his can be found in SPAM. |