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benlehman at 01:23pm on 15/05/2011
benlehman at 01:23pm on 15/05/2011From the annals of my hard-drive, I found this wicked Silent Hillesque RPG and finished it up. It's called Unforgiveable and it starts like this:
Your head hurts so much you can barely see. The light is fluorescent and sickly flickering, not enough to fill the darkness. Stand up. Your clothes are filthy, and something smells like old piss. That hissing is the sound of a radio, tuned to a dead channel.
Fumble around. Where are you? When you push yourself to your feet the blood rushes from your head and you almost pass out again. There is a stale tin taste in your mouth.
Out of the corner of your eye, something moves in the corner of the room, scuttling like a rat. The lights flicker and you don't see it. The sound of static is louder and louder, punctuated by screeches and pops. Here and there, a snatch of voice: "a test of the em..." but nothing you can make out.
Above it, you can here the scuttling sound of a crawling creature. Your back coils in primal fear, and the hot bile of panic rises in your throat. Flail around, looking for something, anything, a tool, a light, tearing open drawers and your hands rest around a handle. A knife, still warm. Still covered in blood. Not yours.
My God. What have you done?
Anyone interested in reading the whole thing?
Your head hurts so much you can barely see. The light is fluorescent and sickly flickering, not enough to fill the darkness. Stand up. Your clothes are filthy, and something smells like old piss. That hissing is the sound of a radio, tuned to a dead channel.
Fumble around. Where are you? When you push yourself to your feet the blood rushes from your head and you almost pass out again. There is a stale tin taste in your mouth.
Out of the corner of your eye, something moves in the corner of the room, scuttling like a rat. The lights flicker and you don't see it. The sound of static is louder and louder, punctuated by screeches and pops. Here and there, a snatch of voice: "a test of the em..." but nothing you can make out.
Above it, you can here the scuttling sound of a crawling creature. Your back coils in primal fear, and the hot bile of panic rises in your throat. Flail around, looking for something, anything, a tool, a light, tearing open drawers and your hands rest around a handle. A knife, still warm. Still covered in blood. Not yours.
My God. What have you done?
Anyone interested in reading the whole thing?
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