Last night I came across a blog about the atrocities of war. It’s graphic; there are pictures of the dead and brutalized victims of bombings, attacks, and the like. The photo that stuck with me all through today was of the aftereffects of a bombing: there is an eleven year old girl, screaming and blood spattered, and in the corner is a child who died smiling. I can’t get the image out of my mind.
It’s made me realize how lucky we are, us horror fans.
I live in Canada, and more often than not I take my country for granted. I don’t mean to, and I really do love being Canadian. It’s just that life here is…nice. People really are polite here (for the most part). We get all the seasons, so there’s something for everyone. The land is vast and largely green and just so damned nice. There really isn’t any other descriptor for it. And because it’s so lovely and safe, it’s easy to forget that life is not like this for most.
I can walk safely to my car in the dark (even though doing it drives my Mom crazy). I lock my doors out of reflex, but honestly? I probably don’t need to. I have never in my life worried about whether a bomb will hit my house. (I HAVE a house, in the first place, which is again more than many can say.) I grumble and bitch about my “bad days” like everyone else, but I rarely spare a moment of gratitude for the life I live.
It made me think: if you’re a horror fan (and if you’re here, there’s a good chance you are), you’re lucky too. No one in a war-torn country would welcome more horror. They have enough in their real lives. Those of us who can assume that we’ll return home unscathed at the end of the day have the luxury of “escaping” into horror. The monsters are different, but fear is fear. The difference is that we welcome the safe version, tucked cozily into our beds. The fact that we get to choose our horrors renders us lucky.
I don’t honestly know where I’m going with this. It’s just a thought that’s been with me today.
Today I am grateful.