Michael Myers: Final Girl

Helplessly Hoping

It was close to midnight and she still hadn't come back. He was starting to wonder if she ever would. He had been standing still for so long at the window, trying to fight the sudden urge he had to pace. He had never felt the need before, but he found himself doing it, a desperate attempt to distract himself from his wandering thoughts. It didn't seem to help, but he walked back and forth throughout his empty house anyway. She had left him so incredibly confused as if he hadn't been already. She had been doing it for years without even knowing it.

He knew there was a possibility she was angry he had killed him. He was afraid of that. However, he questioned why she would waste any energy grieving his meaningless death. Or maybe it was that he had stopped her. He didn't like thinking that she might have actually gone through with it, the image of her killing wasn't one he liked. It destroyed that perfect image his mind had created of her. He then began to wonder why exactly he cared.

She was after all, just human. She had made mistakes, she had desires he was sure, just like everyone else. He has always been immune to emotion of any kind so what was different. What was it really that he had been so addicted to all these years?

He thought back to when he was a child, watching Judith fall in love over and over. He never understood her need for what he viewed as just another warm body. But she chased it. He remembered the look in her eyes the night he killed her. She had looked at her partner in awe it seemed, her mouth agape in ecstasy. She looked to be in a trance, like anything he did was a great mystery to uncover. The layers of clothes she peeled away were perhaps just a metaphor for discovery. She was uncovering what she viewed as treasure, not just his body, but his soul and in turn she would share hers with him. Maybe within all that lust there was something else.

Lust was what made him sick. The thought of using and being used never failed to disturb him. He never cared to explore exactly why people felt it, but he was so conflicted about his own desires that he had to find some deeper meaning. He himself refused the thought that he was feeling lust, he had made up his mind that he was immune to that. He was truly incapable of looking at her in such a meaningless way. There was meaning. She in turn never seemed to act on lust, perhaps it was what he found intriguing. But there had to be more than that.

It made him terribly uncomfortable, but he internally pressed on to find the answer. He needed one just in case she did come back. He couldn't stand this inward battle he felt when he looked at her any longer. He needed an explanation, not only for his own feeling but as to why it was so important to keep her from becoming like him. He thought back to the first few times he had laid eyes on her and his unwillingness to kill her. He remembered that desperate need to touch her. He remembered thinking it would only trigger his rage, but it hadn't. It didn't necessarily offer an answer, but it had made it feel something other than cold. Something he had never felt in his life. He felt a strange heat in his face when he thought of his fingertips on her lips again. It almost made him feel embarrassed. It wasn't natural for him to think any of the things he was thinking yet he couldn't stop. Her hand on his, her lips on his mask.

Wishing the mask hadn't gotten in the way.

He stopped pacing. None of this was right. None of it made sense. There wasn't anything specific about her, sure there were good qualities but there wasn't any logical explanation for him to feel what he was feeling. Other than one. It was simple, but it went against the entire history of his being.

Just then, the door opened. She stood before him bathed in moonlight once again, her presence gave him the relief he so needed. He felt it again, that strange heat washing over his body. He had no way of telling her and maybe that was for the best. But he knew he had his answer.