He was in my dreams again last night. Tate. His face free from dissociation. His aura, the very epitome of innocence. He came to me, just outside our porch while I was seemingly sketching the corpses of birds on the kiosk Dad recently set up. He told me life and death were the same, that the difference between the two was just an infinitesimal spec known as reason. You see, in life, everything had a reason, but in death, none. And in that insignificant second, I believed him. His eyes bore into mine like a dagger slicing to the very core of my soul.
Tate, had no reason... to live. Whereas I, glancing at the healed marks on my right wrist, had... wait... the marks are healed. Completely! I had innumerable attempts before but the marks scarred for weeks. I look at Tate, his face devoid of any known emotions. Then he smiles at me, held out his balled fist and handed me a pill box. "You won't be needing that anymore." He smirks. The box was empty. "I saved you." Tate adds. And in that brief moment, I smiled for reasons I... I don't know. My angel of death. Tate Langdon.
American Horror Story. I prayed for strength every time I was about to watch every episode. So much strength that I was only up to the third episode. haha! The rest, I read online. Pure Horror, I must say and Psychological at that! Slept with the lights on ever since.
You see, I was never the bravest of the brave when it came to horror flicks. In fact the only movies I could gulp-up in the horror spectrum are zombie movies. They always end up the same! I mean, they either die, live or immortal! Ghosts, vampires, zombies, or freaks of nature like that perverted hobo in Jeepers Creepers, the story lines are always always the same. Amercian Horror Story is no different.
Common sense, I think that's the only factor missing in most (if not all) horror flicks. So here, in connection with my leveled-up cowardice brought about by American Horror Story, I've listed five simple ways to avoid impending paranormal hostilities:
- When transferring to a new dwelling, NEVER move to a house with HORROR written all over it! Really, I don't even have to explain this issue, I mean can you give me one horror flick with a house that doesn't not shout "Creepy!"?
- For heaven's sakes! Lock the doors, dude! Ghosts or no ghosts, you wouldn't want a mixture of mortals and paranormals intervening your everyday lives, would you? I mean, if ghosts are your most preferred banes of existence, then keep it that way! Avoid that seemingly creepy widow (with an equally creepy mongoloid of a daughter) you have as a neighbor if you have to!
- If the boy that you're attracted to corrects your suicidal activities or threatens your bully of a friend (who, by the way had scratch marks all over her face after the "threat") on the basement, that either tells you that he's a sadistic psycho or that he's the sexiest man alive (still with a mental psychosis but sexy nonetheless).
- Seriously! If you've been bedding your husband for ten years or more, then I guess you're very much familiar with his physique. Meaning, whether or not he's wearing the kinkiest S&M rubber suit that covers his face or nothing at all, I would guess you'd be very familiar with his (how do I say this..?) size (?). And with that, you could really save the world from bringing forth (thus, conceiving) the son of the devil!
- Lastly, if your husband cheats on you in the very bed you've been sharing for about a decade, scarring him with a knife is not enough. Stab him! Castrate him! Kill him for all I care! Two words, extenuating circumstances.
But then again, I genuinely believe that the very element of suspense and thrill makes all horror films different from all the other genres in cinema. All in all, horror films will always be the only films in cinema history that will literally keep you at the edge of your seats.
And yes, Tate Langdon is probably the only ghost I want creeping out the from under my bed every night. EVERY night!
