It is always those scenes when I lose interest with a horror film. The scene where the woman is running from the killer. She falls and he catches her. He then kills her. The last camera shot is her dying. Graphic, huh...
It is always these scenes that tap into a white woman's reality of feeling vulnerable. I had to understand that. I understand those films are not written for me or the people I know.
In the same scene where the killer comes along and swings at the woman.
In my film, she is Indian, she is fearless, and she knows something is going on. She walks into the situation and taps into her 10th sense - something is wrong. All of her senses are engaged. She hears a rustle. She turns in time to duck.
In my film, she pulls her hair back with one hand and puts it in a bun. She grabs the nearest stick and backs up and screams, “Bring it on Motherfucker!”
He lunges at her but misses. He grabs for her but misses. They dance around swinging.
“Is that all you got...”, she chants.
She swings and gets him squarely across the head.
“Whose the daddy now!”, she screams.
He is stunned and throws himself at her. She is momentarily caught of guard. They fall to the ground. They tussle. She grabs a rock and knocks the killer out. She ties him up and waits. Her hair is disheveled. She realizes he cut her.
“Fuck”, she shouts. She then kicks him.
I grew up surrounded by women who fought. My sisters, my mother, my female cousins, my female friends, aunts, and grandmother all fought. They were always fearless in their fights. They fought men. They fought women.
They may not have won all the time but you know what, they stood up. They could stand toe to toe with anyone who dare disrespect them.
Those are the women I grew up around so when I watch a horror film and she falls down and gets killed. I figure, one less dummy out of the gene pool.