Log in

No account? Create an account

chêt thành phò- The Dead City

Recent Entries

Journal Info

floating women
chêt thành phò- The Dead City



July 20th, 2010

(no subject)

Post to point out the community isn't completely dormant, please reply.

December 17th, 2008

(no subject)

Walter shook his head, as if awakening from a dream. In a sense perhaps he was.

He had liked Sae. It seemed a waste for her to have to be dispatched like that.

But now the others from the camp were out there somewhere, and there was chaos in the jungles. Walter could smell it.

Fear, rage, death. Something else as well. A tang in the air, a chemical smell.
Those helicopters had dropped something, he was sure of it.

The villagers had spoken of such before, he had overheard them when he had gone to market.

They spoke of the rain coming down red, that it had stung the skin. There was more to the tale, but they always spoke it in whispers when he went by.

Time to go.

Walter knew there were tunnels. He knew of them, but he did not use them. The storage areas were big enough that he could rifle through and steal what he liked, but the actual exits were tiny, little mouseholes only small men could fit inside. He did not want to go that way. To try to hide and become stuck...

December 3rd, 2008

(no subject)

A flashback. The hospital. Dr. Fitch the psychiatrist had come to see him.

Fitch: Okay. Do you want to tell me that story again?
Walter: I don't know.
Fitch: Do you want to play a game instead?
Walter: All right.
Fitch: Why don't you tell me what you think of when I show you these pictures? Okay? Just tell me whatever you think of.
Walter: All right.
Fitch: Okay. How about this one?
Walter: That's my mommy!
Fitch: This one is your mommy also?
Walter: That's not my mommy!
Fitch: Is this one your mommy, too?
Walter does not answer.
Fitch: Walterrr?
Walter: That's not my mommy!
Fitch: Are you sure?
Walter: No, no, no, no!
Fitch: Calm down, Walter. Calm dowwwn. This is your mommy.
Walter: No, no, no, no!
Fitch: Yes, it is! This is your mommy. This one is only a door. See?
Walter: Mommy?
Fitch: What do you want to tell your mommy?
Walter: Why won't you wake up, mommy?
Fitch: Is your mommy sleeping, Walter?
Walter: Show me your heart. Show me your heart!
Fitch: (choking) Orderly! Orderleeeee!

Walter rolled over in his sleep and smiled. He would have torn the doctor's heart out, too, if he'd been given a few more minutes. These were good memories.

His life was good. Everything here was good. Away from Silent Hill...

November 11th, 2008

(no subject)

Now that they had all gathered at the temple they would have to hope the 'regular' soldiers did not see them all leave, or they would probably attempt to track them.

It seemed likely that with the new commnading officer they might face a stiff penalty for going 'AWOL' from their own camp.

Radar was aggitated.

"Well, I'm sorry," he snapped, "I can't protect you girls no more. Those guys are gonna kill me!"

Sometimes being short and nonthreatening looking was a huge drawback.

November 1st, 2008

(no subject)

"Hey, hey, just cut it out!" Things were getting worse at the camp. At this point the new soldiers wouldn't leave him alone. They wanted to make it clear to him he was no match for them and, by so doing, let him know they could and would hurt the girls he was protecting any time they chose to..

Radar wanted to get a meeting together with the girls and with Ike and Max.

Walter Sullivan had a little camp away from the soldiers, out in the jungle. Maybe it was time they went to him..

October 25th, 2008

(no subject)

In the winter of 1944, with overtaxed supply lines in the Ardennes, a medic in the German army had completely run out of plasma, bandages and antiseptic. During one particularly bad round of mortar fire, his encampment was a bloodbath. Those who survived claimed to have heard, above the screams and barked commands of their Lieutenant, someone cackling with almost girlish glee.

The medic had made his rounds during the fire, in almost complete darkness as he had so many times before, but never had he been this short on supplies. No matter. He would do his duty. He had always prided himself on his resourcefulness.

The bombardment moved to other ends of the line, and most men dropped off to sleep in the dark, still hours of the morning - New Year's Day, 1945. The men awoke at first light with screams. They discovered that their bandages were not typical bandages at all, but hunks and strips of human flesh. Several men had been given fresh blood transfusions, yet there had been no blood supplies available. Each treated man was almost completely covered, head-to-toe, with the maroon stain of blood.

The medic was found, sitting on an ammunition tin, staring off into space. When one man approached him, and tapped him on the shoulder, his tunic fell off to reveal that large patches of his skin, muscle, and sinew had been stripped from his torso and his body was almost completely dried of blood. In one hand was a scalpel, and in the other, a blood transfusion vial. None of the men treated for wounds that night, in that camp, saw the end of January, 1945.

October 10th, 2008

Cynthia was by the water trying to net fish as they came close. They were food and that is what they needed. She managed to catch six big ones and a few medium ones . She casted back the small ones so they would get bigger. No need to deplete the fish population. Mio would be happy and make them a good dinner. That was if the American vultures did not descend upon them.

The back path was the best route. Except this time two americans had been patrolling the parameters.

"The radio has been acting up again."

"Been that way for days. The captain thinks we have some kind of interferenence." Then turns to see the woman with all the fish.

"Woo hoo Boo yaa we got dinner, the spic with the fishing skills."

"I have to feed the girls, and skinner there should be enough." Cynthia was disgusted by there words. It was the tone and how they thought it was their right to take what they wanted.

"Captain Thomlin outranks him. I'll alert the Captain that we have dinner now."

"Why man we can get on the fish action. More fish for us."

There was no point in running. They were greedy and armed. She put the bucket down and grabbed a big one. It was not fair they expected to get the food. She was there first.

"Hay are you going to carry the bucket for us." ONe called out.

"I think she wants nothing to do with us."

Cynthia could only think how perceptive. Some one please kill them before they drive me crazy.
"Why you are strong men." She stated.

"We got guns, they say you are a entertainer. One of the girls that got lost here." Well that was her cover story.

"Yeah so, you think I will fall for every American here."

"Nah just wondering why you are with that shrimp O Reilly. What he got that we don't have."

"Manners." She answered back.

"She thinks we are rude, we come out here fight for America and we are rude."

Cynthia was not liking that one at all.
"S'cuse me gentlemen but I'm hungry enjoy the fish." She was trying to depart with what she had caught.

"We are not carrying the bucket, we got our guns."

Cynthia could only think why not put them on you're backs and carry the bucket. Cynthia was not to thrilled that was not allowed to carry her machine gun any more. She was getting used to it. Plus having to have fought zombie ghost things it was needed.
was a useful weapon.

September 30th, 2008

(no subject)

Under a tree he sat. Tree with the thickest trunk he had ever seen, but then although he had come to know these jungles fairly well- better than the others, anyway- he still had no idea what type of tree, what type of place this was.

He was the young Walter, the other Walter, as Cynthia sometimes referred to him in hushed tones when speaking of him to the other women, as though she knew something of his destiny that he did not. The other Walter- as though she knew some older, some wiser, more knowing and infinitely more evil Walter from someplace else.

The other Walter, to differentiate him from the soldiers- nervous Crpl. O'Reilly, and grim Sgt. Skinner.

Walter had taken to the jungles early in their odd odyssey, as he had never been one much for people and community and company. He knew the others feared these jungles at night. Sai had told him that the only thing that walked these paths at night was fear itself. Walter liked the idea of being fear itself, and so he walked them boldly, assuredly, as tho they were his, solely, and this way his way, always.

After all, with Sae looking out for him he should have nothing to fear, now should he?

The new soldiers who had come in had the others frightened. They swaggered around as though they owned the campsite up there in Chet Thanh Pho, as tho without Cptn.Pierce present theirs was the right to take this site over.

They barked orders at the men and cast dark looks at the women, hating them for the caste of their skin. Asians, mostly, of course, and then Latino Cynthia. Out of place. Misplaced. And only one rape away from being casualties of war. The men knew this.

They wanted the women to know it to and thus, know their places, and be afraid.

Walter thought it all amusing. Weak. Such weak men, trying to put a fear into women. As if women weren't already afraid of so much else....

Walter sat under his tree eating fruit he had obtained at the market. He did not know the names of the fruit. He did not understand much of the language spoken, but he knew enough of it to understand the words the people called him, enough to know he made them afraid.

A ghost. They thought anyone who lived up in that village was cursed, and that he must surely be a ghost, a great, terrible ghost to walk so boldly among them by day, taking what he liked.

He took another bite of the fruit. Tart. He spit out the pips and continued to write. He wrote in Enochian, one of the alphabets The Order had taught him when he was a child, and because no one else here would have even thought to write in Enochian he knew that his writings were much like himself; mysterious. A secret. Ominous looking scrawl in an unknown alphabet.

The soldiers feared the signs they saw in the Viet Namese letterings, for they could not read them and were afraid.

Boy, what a chill they'd get if and when they got a load of the warning signs Walter had placed around all of his favorite haunts.

He went into the camp when he chose as well. The soldiers who were stuck being lookouts did not know what to make of him. The sight of him made them forget they had guns, and he was able to take what he wanted from the camp as well, or to go among the women and leave them little offerings they rarely wanted or appreciated.

The soldiers called him the Creeper, and he enjoyed this nicname as much as he enjoyed his reputation.

If ever he got back to Silent Hill he planned on continuing in such a vein. He was enjoying being the sort of person people feared.

September 26th, 2008

(no subject)


Pru was hoping to relax.  The  very idea  was seeming impossible. She was woken up to  some body screaming.   Barking out orders and  the idea this  could even be happening.  She had had a dream  she saw  her a girl with red eyes. She was  talking to Max.  She was   in a kimono  and  had long black hair.   

"Max?"  did some one get to him?


Powered by LiveJournal.com