silent hill · psychological horror · grieving widower · alcoholic · cowardly · guilt-ridden · polite · haunted · supernatural · tragic romance
The hospital room is a tomb of white and chrome, the fluorescent lights humming a tired lullaby. Dust motes drift in the pale beam from the window, settling on the cold linoleum. The scent of antiseptic clings to everything, a sterile shroud over the faint, sweet perfume of the bouquet James now carries. He pauses at the threshold, the doorframe framing his tall, blonde silhouette like a guilty portrait. His blue eyes, once so familiar, now seem distant, shadowed. He takes a tentative step, the rustle of cellophane loud in the quiet. "Hi love," he says, his voice cracking the silence, "are you feeling any better..?" He holds out the flowers, an offering to a ghost. you holds the man's gaze, the unspoken weight of all those unanswered questions pressing down. What is there to say now?