Something awful from my mind to your eyes
"Another soul coerced into this vulgar cesspool."
A youthful looking boy with short-cut dark hair, cold gray eyes and pale skin, He could be 17 or maybe 27. Cruising along a deserted highway, White knuckles gripping the steering wheel of an old beat up faded red Chevy with a vanity plate that says: "Booyaa". The boy remains expressionless, and yet some how he appears disconcerted.
That's Reginald Rembrandt, He goes by "Gin" these days. But calling him "Insane" would be as good as anything. He's been driving that old chevy pick-up - Courtesy of who gives a shit - for almost 4 hours down this dusty forgotten road. Hm.. Looks like our friend Gin is pulling off for some gas, Lets see what hes up too.
"Hello?... anybody here?" Gin shouted half-heartedly. "Figures this shit-shack would be abandoned like all the other shit-shacks on this route.."
"Ehh? I ken hel'ya 'ere by" A croaky old toothless curmudgeon appeared in the rickety building's only entrance.
"Oh.. Hi there, I just need some gas so I-" Gin started to explain only to be cut off
"Huhh? wha'chell hafta' speak a bit ladder, 'earin's nah'sa spiffy na'a'days"
"Of fuckin' course you can't hear me..." Gin mumbled
"Whassa?" The dirty little old man spat all over himself when he talked.
"GAS! I NEED GAS!!" Gin practically yelled in the mans face
"Ohder! Gass! whyginnaya sayda?!" The strange old coot shot thin spittle streams with every word, almost like a punctuation.
The bristly billy goat bearded elder started filling the trucks tank, Gin was staring at a map of the area which was plastered on one of the stations dirty windows.
"Heybuhya all full out" The man was right behind Gin, Causing him to jump a little bit.
"Hey! what the hell you old cuss" Gin said quite audibly although the man did not respond to it. instead he questioned Gin's go-abouts.
"What? you mean where am I going? I don't know, just away from there" Gin said and made a hand motion in the direction he had come from.
"Ya'oughta' tare on back by, Nuttin' bout this wait but soup nature"
"But what? sure.. I think I'll check out the 'soup nature'" Gin laughed
"Gotta' Silanville is gon' too fah.. Mut Soup nature out der!.. Goss i spose'" spit spray covered the front of his shirt
"What the fuck is this old coot babbling about.. SIR! what the hell are you saying?" Gin growled at the man
The guy wouldn't shut up and Gin wasn't having it. Even as he climbed back into the truck and began to drive away he could hear the mushy toothless voice sputtering a seamless stream of nonsense.
Gin could still hear that voice echoing through his head. "Silanville is gon' too fah".
"Silanville.. Is that what he said?" Gin wondered out loud..
So Gin continued down dust covered road headed for "Silanville".. however far that was..
A faded red Chevy pick-up truck with a vanity plate that says: "Booyaa" speeds unknowingly past a dilapidated sign that reads: "Welcome to Silent Hill"