What a horror show she was, a grizzly bear raging invisibly. I never wanted to admit that to myself, much less say it in public. Yes, I get why Stephen King paints meaning with his palette. I know why some women like to go to horror movies, to exorcise the horror and atrocities that they themselves are capable of, not out of any real fear of a creepy guy with an axe coming out of the woods. (They're stronger than him anyway.) What they do, the harsh cuts they are capable of, sneaks up on them, out of the blue, and they can't control themselves. Creepiness is just an excuse they use when they don't care to understand someone else, to accept them into the realm of humanity. It's an argument one can never win. All that is blasphemy, garnering more vengeance.

Back away, climb a tree. No, run. Fight back? No, curl up like a fetal ball, and hope the anger isn't total, wait for it to blow over, your arms still attached. The hapless victim blamed, blows rained down upon his head, the flame-thrower charring his sorry ass, his stupid mawkish face.

Placidness just means another attack. Stay away. Mourn your loss of finger, the opening below the rib cage, and move on.