Post by Miles on Aug 30, 2010 0:38:06 GMT -5
As far back as Stephen can remember, he was alone in this world. As a child, he was an orphan. Never knew a single thing about his lineage. What his parents did, or the color of their hair. Hell, he wasn't even sure what religion he was. Not that it mattered much, there at Saint Teresa's Orphanage. To the nuns who ran it, they were all good little christian children, waiting for god to send them nice mommies and daddies. Which was nice, in it's own way. Thinking someone was watching out for you. Not that it mattered much in the end. When he was thirteen, Stephen was still there. Nobody took an interest in the strange little child, with a triangle birthmark on the right side of his neck. He didn't like it there, so one night, when everyone was asleep, he left.
From that day forth, he was his own man. Free to do as he pleased, when he pleased. That is, of course, so long as he could avoid the police.
For the next few years, Stephen wandered as far as he could. City to city, town to town. Sometimes spending weeks or even full months in the wild if need be. He did what he could to survive, steal, scrounge, hunt small game. But one thing he always made sure to do was, when he saw someone like himself in need, he'd help them out. Stephen knew all too well how uncaring the world could be.
But, that was years ago. He's twenty three now, job and a small house in a small town up north. Keeps to himself, mostly. Until that day. A few days ago, he got a letter.
That was all that was written, but the return address read 17 Levin Street. Even so, Stephen packed up what few things he had, quit his job, and went off to the bus station. It was time to take a trip to Silent Hill.
From that day forth, he was his own man. Free to do as he pleased, when he pleased. That is, of course, so long as he could avoid the police.
For the next few years, Stephen wandered as far as he could. City to city, town to town. Sometimes spending weeks or even full months in the wild if need be. He did what he could to survive, steal, scrounge, hunt small game. But one thing he always made sure to do was, when he saw someone like himself in need, he'd help them out. Stephen knew all too well how uncaring the world could be.
But, that was years ago. He's twenty three now, job and a small house in a small town up north. Keeps to himself, mostly. Until that day. A few days ago, he got a letter.
If you want to know what happened to our parents, come to Silent Hill.
That was all that was written, but the return address read 17 Levin Street. Even so, Stephen packed up what few things he had, quit his job, and went off to the bus station. It was time to take a trip to Silent Hill.