This is an old story. The point initially was to try and imagine how people are capable of making each other suffer, to understand the casual, banal, indifferent side of violence; the perpetrator's side.
Why bother? I guess we can assume that people who do these things are evil. But if that were the case, I think we'd have to accept that we ourselves are evil, at least a little. Or else how would we recognize ourselves, when we casually make others suffer or ignore it when someone else does?
Fiction section curated by:
All artists in Fiction, Issue7: