Bury Your Gays

by Chuck Tingle

Sometimes kindness is a duty, a job that one sets out to accomplish with time and patience and effort. People who feel this way, myself included, fight against some other gnawing instinct within; we bloom like a flower from the dirt. It’s an honorable thing to strive for, and there’s nothing bad I can say about that kind of growth. Other folks, however, don’t even think about it. There’s some uncanny spark that always pushes them to make the right choice, because they’re not even aware a choice exists. It’s just what they do.

“Security guards get absolutely destroyed in horror stories. It’s like the easiest way to pad your body count,”

“You’re right, it probably wouldn’t have been nominated if it was horror,” I agree, “but that’s their problem, not mine.”

“The same goes for fear, though. You don’t wanna feel that way all the time, but it’s a muscle that needs to be exercised. There are scary things in the world, that’s just a fact, and if you pretend they’re not all around us then you’re in for a rude awakening. Horror offers a chance to recognize this truth, to explore dark places in a safe way.”

Night of the Living Dead isn’t really about zombies, it’s about racism. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre is littered with pro-vegetarian subtext, and They Live is more about rampant consumerism than aliens.” “But ghosts aren’t real,” Seth argues. “He wasn’t actually in danger.” “Zombies, Leatherface, and space invaders aren’t real, either,” I counter. “But racism, factory farming, and unchecked corporate greed are.”

“That’s why horror is a celebration of life,”

“At Harold Brothers Studios, every month is Pride month,” Freddy declares, sauntering over. He stands right next to me, the two of us gazing out his office window side by side. Every month that it’s profitable, I think.

On a long enough timeline, endings are inevitable. Tragedy is inevitable. Fortunately, so is joy.