Warily wielding the weapon thrust between my fingers by an authority above my own, I brought the blade ever closer to the poor, unfortunate, and now-soulless carcass ironically resting peacefully before me. Collecting the courage of a thousand lions of Oz, I plunged the sharp metal into its gullet to get this dirty deed over with. Suddenly, there was a sound like ripping canvas, for the skin of my Red-Breasted Nuthatch in ornithology lab had been torn. Immediately, I was out.
From an outside perspective, it seems quite silly. After all, you wouldn?t expect a college senior in a science major to be so shaky at the inception of dissection. And yet, despite a specimen as short as my finger, I didn?t want to see its insides. Call me every derogatory term you can come up with, but I?d rather the guts and gore stayed inside like they?re supposed to. Is that too much to ask?
Too cute to cut!
Yes, it seems, because such a story cannot possibly be true! At least, not in the eyes of Important People. Video games have made me?desensitized, they say, cleansed of a revolting response to the icky things in life. My tale simply doesn?t line up. Rather, I should be doomed to desire senseless mutilations with an undying lust.
Actually, I couldn?t cut up something as insignificant as a dead bird. And I didn?t.
After my TA eventually took control ? out of pure pity, I imagine ? the adorable little guy leaked less blood than my own mouth after the last trip to the dentist (as a nightly flosser, this translates to ?not a lot?). Not that I would know from firsthand knowledge, though, as I spent the next half hour light-headed, staring blankly and determined to focus on nothing at all to avoid even an accidental glimpse of the carnage around me. I needed to escape that God-forsaken place, that torture-den-turned-biology-lab because some scientist said his work was for the greater good. I would have, too, as I was ready to sacrifice a slice of my semester grade if that hero of an instructor hadn?t saved my miserable day.
Meanwhile, frantically fleeing the swinging hatchets of Chucky knock-offs and using a bazooka to blow away masked monsters brandishing chainsaws are my earliest gaming memories. With Zombies Ate My Neighbors as my first game and growing up gunning down dozens of Russians a day in GoldenEye?007 during my formative years, the virtual violence from my childhood is anything but a perfect model to raising legions of upstanding citizens. That said, when confronted with a single bird already dead from natural causes beyond my control, the single sound of severing skin sent me into an emotional state that no M-rated game has ever matched. My overdose of interactive entertainment never intertwined with the real world around me. That?s a fact, its evidence etched into my ghastly-white face for too long of a monumental moment earlier this week. I?ll let you know when the war-like flashbacks eventually subside.
How did I ever tell this apart from reality?!
All of these affective details, relayed with the utmost honesty, and people continue to believe that video games are the bad guys. That video games are the evils invading our innocent children, altering malleable minds by eradicating response mechanisms toward actual acts of violence. These people apparently know it all and are committed to convincing the rest of us that these dangers do indeed exist around every cover-based shooter?s corner.
I was one of these kids once. ?Now fast-forward for a decade or two and I couldn?t cut into a dead nuthatch.
That?s a gauntlet tumbling through the open air. Your move, Important People.
Source: http://www.gamers-association.com/2013/02/video-games-gore-so-much-for-being-desensitized/
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