Love, Hunt & Battle: Finding Your Inner Zen Through Gaming
Something haunted him. I’d heard his story told before, probably over a span of ten years, but it was the first time that I was face-to-face with him. The bandages on his wrists would slip and he’d immediately grab at them, as if covering up the scars would keep the truth from reaching the surface.
We’re at his wife’s funeral and his young son is standing by him. I only catch his eyes for a moment, but I can’t read him. Remorse? Pain? He quickly storms away and maybe I’ll never know. I do follow him though.