Scream Queen Confessional

Sara Roncero-Menendez

No one is supposed to know they’re in a scary story.

At least

Not until that final horrific moment

When knife cuts flesh,

When they see the face in the window,

When the doors won’t open and walls start bleeding.

But I am cursed with knowing this script;

I have played the part for years.

Call me final girl,

Scream queen waiting for the credits to descend.

The film rolls on,

The music never relents,

The mounting crescendo deafening.

Sometimes, I can feel your hand in mine.

Sometimes, I can feel it

Around my throat,

Cutting off screams, cutting to black.

Funny that haunted and hunted

Are separated only by a single letter,

Held apart by a boundary as razor-thin

As the single stroke of a pen.

Haunting is just hunting

When the predator is not present,

Where the victim jumps at every shadow,

When every breath taken is a breath stolen.

Even though you are gone,

Long buried under the sod,

I can still remember

The times I called this carnage love.

In any good slasher flick,

The girl always makes it

To the second just before salvation.

Sirens in the distance,

A crowd mere feet away,

A friend, a lover, standing right there

And for a split second, the relief kicks in.

The soundtrack quiets.

And she feels safe.

But I have played this part for years,

So I do not flinch when I see the knife come into frame,

When she screams,

When everyone simply stands there and watches.

And yet,

What envy lives in the rotted carcass of my heart,

To wish I had even a moment

Where I thought I knew better

Than to be afraid.