…. I have to say though, it’s worse to read about it than it is to be in it. Or at least it’s somehow not as bad as you imagine it would be. When it’s happening to you it’s like your familiarity with everything protects you from the sickness of it. All the stuff around you – the towel on the door, the green shade over the old lamp, the rooster glass -- all the familiar stuff gets mixed in and dilutes the insanity of it. When you read about shit like this in the paper you don’t have those familiar objects in the room that the victims were being held by. All the person that reads the story is left with is the horror of it. The stark, gut turning horror of it …..
by Anthony Vaccaro
Born of the suburbs, Anthony now lives in Toronto. After a protracted stay in University, an extended European holiday, too long dreaming of being a rock star, and many years working as a technician in the film industry, he finally decided it was about time to hunker down and get serious about writing. By day he chases gold and diamond mining companies around the globe as a staff writer for an international mining paper, and by night he tries to focus on writing fiction.
