Out in the highlands, the lush green meadows speak nothing but silence.
Underneath the endless sky, the baking sun, and the cotton clouds the angels sleep on.
They must be as comfortable as the Serta matress I sleep on at home.
No one has set foot in this land, the green grass untouched and matted.
Nature's carpet that no one has seen, smelled, or touched.
Only the whispers of silent echos, unheard tranquility.
Somewhat disturbing, yet enticingly peaceful.
Where the angels in the sky sleep, and below where the meadows speak of silence.
This is Silent Hill.
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