Flowers open
Winter's spoken
The same world but a view has changed
A veil has lifted
The ground has shifted
What you only longed for is here
A moment mends a broken heart
If you'd only known it from the start
The moments form just who we are
You were always here
......
Listen to our words...
and move out into the cold dark.
Feel yourself step into the mist...
and become immersed.
You have taken the watch within the woods,
smashed it down and dust you took...
and so the words above and tune came to you.
For the Sinister Meeting Room has answered you...
Come to our halls,
listen to our words...
You find yourself walking in a town drenched by rain,
it runs silver trails down mossy walls...
where roosters drink milk,
and gentlemen angels laugh and try to steal Chai Tea...
we put on our wings,
and flickered through the rain...
fleeting grins from dark eyes and pale faces,
my lips bleed red...
and my eyes black,
there's something missing...
there's something missing.
By the way...
Welcome to Silent Hill.
It is here the Sinister Meeting Room has called you too...
uttering your secret name,
you performed the ritual...
and made the vow,
and so you are tied...
entwined,
commanded...
invited,
to attend our night.
Step closer if you please dear Sir...
and MadMadam,
to our Bonfire of Ancients...
It is here we release the souls of the others...
where we cast the lines of our hearts into the dead amber night skyy.
We search and fish for monsters...
so that we may have our souls devoured,
for we cannot stop...
and we cannot stop the hunger,
of them...
and so the monsters devour,
but no...
not you dear traveller,
you shall travel on...
for though your heart is torn apart,
you find yourself moving on...
find yourself erasing and erasing and erasing what is now gone.
So that you may continue on...
A figure appears from behind the bonfire,
a familiar figure draped in royal purple...
he bows his sharp jaw to you,
the most ferocious of smiles grinning out to you...
and he whispers the following words;
'MadMadam, Sir...listen, hush...
come with me.
We must travel through Silent Hill...
through the land of Memory Sharks,
leviathans of the deep.
For we wade in that daerkness...
and by the day it grows,
but we bare our laughter like a weapon...
like a match flame,
and we know that we can start an inferno through it.
Do not lose yourself to the silence...
for though it draws and haunts,
attaches itself and clings...
it can make a shell of you,
don't let it in...
don't let it in.
But...
Listen.
For the silence appears to me...
as a figure tall and white,
pale as bone in face and skin...
eyes and hair and ice-cold heart,
he comes to me in the night...
and when I walk the streets slowly in the dark,
his hand and claws gripping my shoulders...
and his sharp words in our ears.
I dreamt the other night...
as I sat beside a meadow,
I was upon a highway...
deep in the bush,
in the deep, cold night...
there was no one else,
and on the highway I stood...
and in the distance,
a silver sports car appeared...
it drifted and swerved across the road,
closer and closer towards me...
I leapt for the bushes about the highway,
yet the dream ended before I saw if I was hit.
But now...
we must break from the dreams and continue on.
We pass beyond the warmth of the bonfire...
until we come to the wayward cliffs and giants of my homeland,
tread the wet sands as though it were glass...
hear the ancient tales the waves hiss to you as they cut into the shore,
Listen to...'
The Sea - 'A child once lived here years ago,
his eyes had been the colour of plums back then...
and his heart like a sun,
yet he was in love with a woman...
a woman that appeared from beneath our waters to him,
and who was as white as ice...
her eyes as dark as Hell,
She took him away...
drew him to the beach day by day,
what he knew not however...
was that the woman was dying,
second by second...
and second by second it was infecting him,
his eyes grew from lilac to mist...
Until he could no longer see,
and so we took him,
within...
but,
years later he escaped...
and we no longer know where he lies,
for his light has been hidden from us...
and only our language he took,
to the other end...
now our land is grey,
and storm-ridden.
Without him.'
You follow your guide...
past the lonely lands,
and finally you happen across a peculiar fellow...
playing brass melodies upon a dead tree,
you see the notes of his song...
explode into colour against the grey,
and feel that you are witnessing....
something forbidden,
it is then as the music twines about you...
that a doorway open by his feet,
descending down deep into the earth...
it is here that your purple-clad guide leads you.
You sink into darkness...
and the briefest glint of crystal veins,
built into the earth...
as you travel down a flight of stairs,
and soon an aged light begins to grow...
you follow your guide towards its' warmth,
and see velvet replace the bare stone at your feet...
angels and dragons,
adorn the walls...
mantels made from thousand-year old cedars,
sit beside a raging fireplace...
the smell of spices, chocolate and butter,
drift into the room to you...
while the music of the man above,
seeps through the ground above you...
to your ears.
You are shown to an armchair,
beside the fireplace...
surrounded by scrolls,
taxidermy and suites of armour...
and commanded to wait,
your curious guide disappears only briefly...
and when he returns he brings with him a small sign,
placed at the top of a tree-like stand...
he places it on the table before you,
along with a tray of hot chocolate, croissants...
strawberries and cream,
and he bows low to you,
he utters not a word...
yet the briefest of sly winks,
before he spins around twice...
and disappears in a cloud of lilac smoke.
You frown confused,
yet comfortable in your seat...
and you lean forward to better read the sign;
You turn the sign around...
and glimpse the following words,
written in trailing ink;
'The Sinister Meeting Room has entered an interlude,
and you dear traveller shall be required to wait...
you may dwell here within our reception room,
dined by the clock...
and cocktails when the hour is late,
or if you so wish...
you may say the words,
'Rentaire Bellarre'...
After which you will seize the knife,
beside the bottle of wine...
and stab thyself through the reflection nearby,
hung upon our wall...
only then can you be free.'
'An interlude...
if you please,
of five and three quarter minutes and hours.'
The choice...is now yours.
We rarely see things as they actually are...like the other day. I was walking down the road and stepped into a puddle, and instantly I was sucked down into an ocean. The puddle wasn't a puddle...it was an ocean.
Things tick away at me, and ever since that puddle the water has invaded and risen in my house to almost the edge of my bed. I look over the edge sometimes...and see the fish and small sharks; the large jellyfish that often float close enough near to me each night to leave cuts on my body. We are learning to breathe underwater, yet I hope we can achieve such a thing before the water covers my head...before the end.
Each night the taps drip, and I can't turn them off...because I don't have hands, because I left them somewhere when I was still awake...and not sleeping. Again. Damn bloody hands, always disappearing. Maybe one day I'll chain them to my wrists. Anyone else out there have problems with their hands?
Much Love,
Miss CLScarlett xx
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