It’s an odd thing for me, horror. I have defended it, been scared by it, wanted to read it, watch it and write it, and by extension, share it.

Now I give more thought to why I feel the need. I would say my childhood was both molded and traumatised by horror films and books (mostly films), yet I cannot leave it alone. They have partly made me who I am, shaped my phobias and fears and set me upon this path.

But I wonder, should people like me share the story in it’s full unbridled horror, or should we filter it? For those who don’t have an imagination themselves or are limited with it, are we just putting unnecessary concepts and ideas forward? Ones that shouldn’t have ever got out? And after we have written it, it can take on a new form where the horror or idea no longer belongs to us, is no longer down to the imagination. Film and its brutal visual imagery assault can be both impressive and terrifying. But lets be clear, it is an assault on the senses. Just one we choose. But why?

All stories can evoke feeling and emotion, so why do we choose to put ourselves through heartbreak, love, horror, fear, intrigue and laughter, for something that is not happening to us or anyone we know. Is it because it is safe? Because it isn’t happening to us and we can just pause, identify from afar or turn it off? Unlike real life.

I am in two minds about whether we should, just because we can…

(c) K L Wicks