I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open, but just because I’m in the middle of the woods in upstate New York, playing the final girl in a horror simulation, doesn’t mean I should abandon my skin-care routine.
In the middle of the woods? I think that she should be willing to get dirty, and then clean herself thoroughly when she gets home. I admit that health might be involved, in which case it's important.
However, I only play a final girl at Camp Mirror Lake; I don’t actually want to be one. I turn my Black ass right around and book it back to my cabin, where I close and lock the door. For now, my face full of fake blood is going to stay just the way it is.
“I’m the final girl. I’ll keep you safe.” She grins. “If you’re the final girl, what does that mean for the rest of us?” “It means we’re all dead,” Tasha says, grinning.
I’ve been playing the part of a girl who escapes a serial killer every night for months. It’s not a game this time. The consequences are real, but we still have to play.
“The final act is never really the end,” she said to me and Charity once as we watched the original Friday the 13th under a pile of blankets on a chilly Halloween night when we were about thirteen. “There’s always a twist, but it only works if you don’t see it coming.”
