1999

A short story of a boy who lived in Texas at the wrong time.

1. (September 4, 1998)I’m not really sure what i should write about. My counselor, which is also my guardian, said that i really need to express myself, and that a journal might help. Just because she is legally in charge of me now does not mean she gets to be my mom, but i told her i would so she would leave me alone about it. Today was my first day of high school; or rather my first day at my new high school. I hate it here. But i guess that just means it is not really that different from before. At least now no one knows my face. I just want to get by this year with some pride and no bruises… is that to much to ask for?

2. (SEPTEMBER 29, 1998)I know i said i was going to write, but i guess it has been a while. I have just been kinda busy; sleeping mostly. As well as just being a normal fifteen year old boy. Oh i almost forgot to say the real reason why i have not been writing. I was sitting, minding my own, when a squad of seniors came walking up to me. One of them sticks out there chest like some degenerative gorilla and asks me if i knew whose seat i was in is name was Brandon Coleman. Naturally i said “Yeah, it's mine. Look around dude we are the only people who ride this bus; there are plenty of other seats.”. Boy was that the wrong thing to say. This oaf looks around and says “Yeah, i guess you are right.” then instead of finding another seat he hits my head against the window and starts to kick the s**t out of me. Letting his friends join in of course. Now i am the first freshman to have a restraining order, and i a big red screaming target on my back that says “i'm a snitch”. I didn't even say anything… my counselor made me tell her why my clothes were ripped and i had two broken ribs and Brandon's name slipped... So much for not getting bruises. I feel like death. But i still have my pride. After all i didn't let them have the seat. Although Brandon said he was the only one involved in the beating, i didn't think he was one for loyalty.

3. (OCTOBER 8, 1998) Nothing much has happened since the last time… i'm of course still getting routine beatings from the gorillas friends, they seem mad that their ringleader got expelled, but i don't really care anymore. I probably deserve it. I mean that's what everyone says. Well except my counselor. She says i am depressed, but she is also crazy… My real mom is dead and my dad is a raging addict. My only friend is thousands of miles away and does not answer my calls, and i got dumped in a school full of strangers. But i am fine, really. i'm still living. If that's what you call this. I mean recently i have been told i have no life… that i am gay, or an orphan that no one wants to take care of. At least they are only half right, i mean who wants to take care of someone like me. I'm not even worth it. Maybe i was once, but not anymore. I don't have any purpose… but i did at least make a friend. At least i think so. Her name is Hannah… she asked to hang out later this week, help her with chem. Probably wants me to do her research assignment. I hope she at least pays me for it.

4. (AUGUST 21, 1998) I have been hanging out in the school library recently. Hannah introduced me to a few books. I am hooked. Also it turns out that she did not want me to help her with homework. She seemed to have other ideas of what chemistry was. She did still use me tho, although not in a bad way. Maybe she might even like me… i mean i hope she does… we have been talking a lot. I really want her to like me. She is the only person i can be myself around… talk to about how i feel. I almost forgot how good it feels to talk to someone. And i want to help her, and be there for her. After all she has been nothing but nice ever since i met her. She even laughs at my lame jokes… the way she smiles and looks at me with her rich brown eyes. Did i say she was an orphan too? I guess that's kind of important. Oh… another thing. Her chap-stick tastes really good.

5. (DECEMBER 5, 1998)Hannah has been helping me with school. Getting my grades up, eating lunch with me, riding the bus with me home. What does she see in me? Well whatever it is i don't care. I don't want her to go. Whatever reason she has is reason enough for me. After all this is my last journal. Recently i have been feeling a lot better about life, especially with Hannah in it. My mom and my counselor, Mrs. Taylor, said i don't have to keep writing. So maybe i do have something to live for, and aspire to be. I can be the person Hannah deserves. Well so long journals, i hope i never have to write another.

6. (MAY 15, 1999)I'm writing this to tell you it was not your fault. That I love you, and that you have been so patient with me, even though i am not really related to you. Every night i wake up and see her face. And everything comes back to me. That i am truly alone. I remember every second of that day, as if every moment where two...I was in the Columbine parking lot when I heard the first explosion. I thought it was a prank of some kind, after all there was only a few more weeks of school left. But that's when i saw them...the backs of two guys on a hill, wearing dark trenchcoats. It was Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold. I didn't recognize them at first, but then i remembered the bus and my broken ribs. They were in the group of seniors, the ones that didn't get in trouble because i hadn't known their names. As Eric and Dylan turned around, I saw that they had guns. I almost laughed, i still thought this was a senior prank. I figured the rifles were air soft guns of some kind. They had no expressions on their faces, not anger nor hate. That's when i realized. They were holding real guns. A feeling of terror ripped through me, because just below them on the hill, i saw Hannah running, as fast as her legs could go. Then the casings fell and they threw another bomb, but i didn't see where the bombs or other bullets went. Because i was watching Hannah. I saw a bullet tear through her leg. She stumbled, struggling to get back up with an injured thigh. I watched her as she tried to run away. Blood spurted through her fingers as she held onto the wound, waddling away. Before she could reach safety, she looked back over her shoulder at the gunmen. She didn't see me, but i saw her, and this time i saw the bomb… her eyes were large, and filled with pain and terror. Then the bomb exploded. And i watched Hannah fall, not ten feet away from me. I was paralyzed, her eyes were still open and scarred. I couldn't bring myself to move. Then Eric and Dylan opened fire again. It didn't sound the way gunfire sounded in the movies. Each shot was heavy, like running on packed ground. You could hear the thud of each bullet. Nothing sounded the way you'd expect. No one was screaming or yelling at them to stop. It was actually really quiet. The look on her face… Why didn't they kill me then too? i see it every time i close my eyes. I miss her… I am so sorry, but i can't be without her anymore. I'm going to go ser her now. I am truly sorry… and i love you, you will always be a mom to me.

Author's Note

His name was Koda Graves, he is just a fake unfortunate boy. Please note that i am not making fun of any actual victims of the columbine shooting. I just felt like it held the gravity i needed for my story.

Reviews

[Anjay Dhirmalani]

This shows a more in depth view to the losses experienced during the shooting we don't really see too often. My only gripe was that if you watch the disturbing videos made by the two shooters leading up to the shooting, you realize they were bullied, and portrayed themselves as vigilantes within the videos. I think a cool twist would have been if Koda had befriended Eric and Dylan because they were bullied by the same kids. The loss of Hannah who pulled him through depression was very powerful, but I believe it would have carried more weight if the ones who killed Hannah were the closest things he had to friends (besides Hannah of course). Great job, keep up the good work.

[Tyler Gage]

I think that would be an amazing idea. I knew they were bullied and at first i wanted to get that across. but i could not figure out how to make the reader want to like them, and realize that they were victims also. I did not even think to make them become friends... Not that there actions were justified, but they deserve sympathy as well. Again thank you for the help and support!