My best friend likes watching horror movies.
He insists that I watch them with him—an idea I despise.
I hate horror films and wonder why anyone makes or watches them.
They give me the creeps, and I lie awake at night.
But my friend is persistent. He pushes my wheelchair
into his home theatre, shuts the door, and traps me there.
His favourites—”The Exorcist”, “Jaws”, “Halloween”—
he plays again and again, forcing me to endure.
I feel nauseated, but there is no escape.
When he visits my home, he brings DVDs from his vast collection
and makes me watch them on my TV.
I hate the intrusion, yet I suffer in silence.
I love Westerns, war films, submarine dramas,
action, romance, and comedies—especially romantic ones.
So I strike a bargain: for every horror he drags me through,
he must watch a film I love with me.
He hates my choices, but he agrees.
We watch “The Hunt for Red October” together.
At last, he understands what it feels like
to endure a movie, you loathe.
Now he leaves me in peace—
he watches his horrors, while I watch the films I love.
