Chapter 3 - One Big Mistake Can Change Your Life

 Immense strain is no-one's best friend, but it has to be my worst enemy. My mistress - well, seeing as I really hate her now I should at least call her by the name Caramel (I can't pronounce her real name) as a sign of disrespect - always reminded me of how completely useless I am, and one of her favourite things to point out is how much I really can't cope under pressure. Every time I have to make a split second decision I have to squint and I swallow a hell of a lot before choosing the first thing that springs to mind. However, this time is worse. I shut my eyes, tightening them so much it hurts, and I turn my face towards the floor. Clenching my fists is one thing I really shouldn't do (because of friction and metal, or something like that), but I still do it, my fake nails scratching harder and harder as I clench my fists tighter with every drop of spit that goes down my throat as I swallow.
Now all I need to do is make a decision really quickly and with no thought whatsoever.

 "I-I'd like to leave."
  Wow, I think after the initial shock of choosing that had passed, silence really is deafening. Caramel isn't usually the kind of person, er, creature to sit there and absorb the shock - instead she lets the shock out in the form of shouting. This time she just stands there, shock and horror written all over her face, as I go on about how much I've been hating her recently. I'm not even sure what I say and I don't know the sequence or the timing of ther words (so I really hope it makes sense) but there are a few phrases I do catch. "You piss me off so much... I want to do what I want to do, not what you want to do... all I need is a little bit of love to teach me what I need about the whole business... now it's your fault I wont fall in love, and that's all I've ever fucking wanted..."

 Ten minutes pass. Fifteen. Twenty. Still she says nothing, and her mouth is still hanging open, and the awkwardness is so unbearable I'm glad when she starts yelling at me back. I don't listen - in fact, all I hear are the last few sentences.
  "You're so useless, I don't actually care if you leave. Maybe you could get married to some poor sod, have kids, get something to make you human - just know that I wont care. Now go."
  The penultimate sentence catches my mind in a trap. Silent Hill is mostly abandoned, or so I've heard, but they have equipment to turn me into a human. Wow. I could be who I want to be - a superstar athlete, running for work. I could fall in love, and I could reproduce.
  Now I have one thing to thank Caramel for: making me think for one minute.
  As I turn and walk out the door, I say," fine, I wont bother sending you a fucking postcard from fucking Silent Hill."

 Two hours pass and it's very cold, but even the bright lights of the city I would hate to miss can't bring down my spirits. Silent Hill. A new beginning. I may even cut my hair and dye it, wearing the ripped jeans and shit to match my style. I'm pretty: I know I can cope in this world; obsessed with looks (which, incedentally, I really hate). Even though I'm leaving everything behind I can't stop grinning a little.

 
 Actually, they aren't lying when they say 'abandoned,' do they? I'm practically the only living thing in the town, and techically I don't live. I just exist. I read my brochure, which says that the only house under £25000 and not haunted is 25 Morninghill Boulevard.

 Walking down Morninghill Boulevard and my spirits are really down now. Everywhere I go I'm stepping in some sort of shit, smelling corpses and looking at gnarled, dead trees that look about a thousand years old; greenery in the shape of some grass that's taller than me, making me feel really small (and I'm 5 feet 10 inches); brambles that seem to scrape my metal leg whenever I so much as brush past it. If this is the street, what will my new house look like? Every house I've seen is smaller than I am as they are completely ruined, with no roofs and no doors.

 My 'house' is no exception. I close my eyes in despair as I lean against the wood (which looks like it has some sort of green mould growing on it), only to fall through it. Turns out the houses have doors after all, it's just they were blocked.

 I see why the doors are blocked: who the hell would want to live here? No wallpaper, no carpet, just exactly the same as outdoors. At this point I would have sunk down onto my knees and let out a yell of fustration. This house looks about as inviting as a bat cave: filthy and covered in bat shit crawling with rabies.

 How could I live here? Is there any way I can possibly redo the argument with my mis... Caramel and live safely in Bridgeport? Was moving here one huge mistake?