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.