It always gets me into a troubled state if i read something disturbing,which -i admit- might sound so dumb.In the current issue of Esquire, I found a piece of literature by Benjamin Percy, which has made me contemplate on the frailty of human nature. Yes, big words, but come on, if i am lucky enough to get you to my point, it will be clear.
So here it is: this is a story of a fella, suffering from Moebius Syndrome (said to be a very rare neurological disorder) who is a janitor at a company. He had a tough childhood, used to be called DeadFace because of his emotionless face. This guy witnessed the death of his father,and now he lives in a basement apartment. This guy has a Mac. This guy has a collegue,called Frank, whom he hates, because Frank has fucked-up stories. Frank seems to like Jim. This guy plays a game. It is called Yearbook. I won’t tell you more, otherwise you won’t read the story, which would be a shame.
Personally, i do believe that people like stories about human loss. It could be alleged that usually these stories are indispensable for educational reasons. I don’t mean some of us end up developing Moebius Syndrome, what i mean is that this specific story made me revalorize my day.