I am sicken by the vulgarity a man or a woman can have.
Fiction is fiction – therefore, imagination. However, fiction can only be created out of reality and the epitome model of a human heart. George R. R. Martin, author of book series A Song of Ice and Fire (recently adapted into a television show by HBO called Game of Thrones), is not necessarily vile himself. Although, he does tell gruesome stories.
Please, do not take my critic the wrong way. Putting aside the nude and sex-filled scenes – Game of Thrones is quiet captivating. In ways, it reminds me of the Lord of the Rings sage, this idea that a story does not need to be full of pointless plots full of drama. Rather, lives can be struck down and ruined. More specifically, the exploration of the human capacity to be loyal and brave or a coward and wicked. The heart can fall on either side.
No, what bothers me to the core is the filth residing in the human heart.
Joffrey Baratheon, King of the 7 Kingdoms, who doesn’t deserve to hold the position he does. Barely a teenager.
He’s given two prostitutes by his uncle, who hopes his nephew will blow off steam. However, Joffrey in his own twisted pleasure demands one to beat the other. At first he allows them to believe it’s an innocent act. Then as the music intensifies, so do his demands. He gives the one girl a whip and eventually a heavier weapon to finish the other girl off. Terror resided in the eyes of these two women.
I know it’s a book. I know it’s fiction.
Yet, even so, this sort of lust for brutality exists. Both men and women can be so disgusting. They can take pleasure in things that are inhumane.
They cause me to feel ashamed.
Their ways are dirty. Evil.
So I did close my eyes and I did try to cover the screen as the scene played on. I didn’t want to see. The truthfulness and the possibility of things like this happening in my world made me sick.
But I would be a fool to believe otherwise. So many girls, boys, women and men lay as prey to another one’s hand.