Have you gone through injustice in

your life …. in school,college or any part of life ..

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Though I had never met anybody at Columbine Senior High, I felt as though I had to remember them in some way.This page is that way.The shooting happened on April 20th 1999.13 people died that day, all because a couple of psychotic kids walked into a school and started shooting at innocent people.There names were Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris.I cannot see how anybody could ever kill sombody for no reason and I still dont know.If only somebody close to them could have reached out and said “dont do it man”, then the innocent victims would no longer be victims, They would alive! I believe that inside everybody there is somebody good and that the 2 killers needed attention.Dont get me wrong though,They have no excuse for what they did.I express my deepest sympathies to those of you out there that have to deal with this tragedy.Here are the names of the people who so bravely died.Let us pray for these people:
Cassie Rene Bernall

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So I recently moved to this new city a new school, and of course a new home. Everything here seems like land, my neighbors are about 60 acres away from me, and school stinks. As a new student I didn’t expect to make friends as quick, but I was wrong. I made friends as soon as I got my classes, I’m sort of picky with the friends I make, but these people seemed really sincere. I’ve been here for almost two months now and so far these friends are still there. I’ve recently made these two new friends, both being boys. Me being a girl I thought they would just act like any other boy around a girl, like idiots. I was wrong again, these guys were really mature, they knew exactly the right thing to say. One of them does have a girlfriend and the other doesn’t. Days go by and I realized that I love this guy. The only problem is that he has this crush on this other girl that sort of treats him like garbage. I don’t tell him anything until I see that she’s taking it too far. It really frustrates me to see him that way, yet I don’t have the gutts to tell him what I really feel. I don’t think I ever will either, something about him intimidates me. So i think I’ll just be there as a friend for when he needs me. Should I stay and explain that he deserves better, or just move along not knowing if I would of had a chance? continue reading…

My name is Ale I am now 19 turning 20 in a few months. I some way I am grateful for everyday that I get to live. But in other ways I wish that it was different. Every since I can remember I have lived in a violent home. Violent in so many ways, from drugs and alcohol to sex and murder. I try not to remember my first memory because I am scared of what I might see. Although the early childhood pictures are happy it’s what you don’t see in real life that still gives me nightmares. My brother is called Ben this year he would have turned 25. He had blond hair and green eyes, he was tall and gave the best hugs. I have 3 other older brothers, Rome, Logan. I do not have the fondest memories of them. My mother left when I was around 2, but she would come back when she felt the need. More like when she ran out of money. It was my father that looked after us most of the time. Unfortunately he was into hard drugs, alcohol and anything else that you could imagine. He was usually high, like my older brothers, Rome and Logan. Ben wasn’t interested.. He wanted to go to school and be better than all 3 of them. And he wanted me to do the same, but with looking after me and protecting me and all the abuse that was going on his grades dropped. A lot of the time things were blurry to me, as i would be fed heroine like candy, to keep me quiet. So no one would hear me scream. So no one could hear me cry. Nobody ever noticed me missing days of school as my father would tell them packs of lies, things like my mother has cancer and it’s not easy. As Ben got expelled from school things steadily worsened. The beatings seemed to get harder, I was around 6 at the time. Maybe it’s because I was older and I knew what was happening to me. Ben would get up before anybody else just so I could take some lunch to school. The weekend of my 7th birthday Ben gave me a Barbie doll. I think it was the best day of my life, I had never really been given anything, it’s not like we were poor. My other brothers took that Barbie as soon as I had got it. They pulled her head off and spray painted the rest of her body green. I started to cry and put me on the tramp, and started to jump on me. By the time they had had enough I couldn’t walk. Ben carried me off the tramp, on my birthday. I then got pumped full of drugs, and slept for about 3 days. When I woke up my mother was there. I always felt a sense of relief when she was because I knew nobody would dare act up. If they did she would take me and they would have nothing to play with. She stayed about a month that time I think, I was settling in to her being there thinking that she was going to stay for once, that month I nearly felt like a normal kid. Then one morning she had gone and I knew that I wouldn’t see her for a long long time. My brothers were getting older and stronger, I got moved under the house so that they could have my bedroom. As the abuse got worse I stopped talking. I would talk in my head. I had imaginary friends because I was hardly at school. It started as being beating up, but it finished being tortured, raped, choked, malnutrition.. People began to notice something wasn’t right. But what could they do. I used to lie to everyone and to this very day I still do. It finally ended though, but I wish it ended differently. My father always came home from the pub wasted. And the whole household knew how the routine was. I was high as a kite thanks to Logan, I was 8 by now. And couldn’t live without the drugs, they seemed to make everything easier to cope with. I though it was normal even though it was painful. Ben had had enough and hid me under his bed, when my father got home he was looking high and low. He knew where I was in the end but Ben wouldn’t let him in. I stayed under the bed curled up in a ball. It wasn’t loud like it usually was, there was usually arguing. But it was quiet. I could see 3 pairs of feet which belonged to the 3 men that seemed to think that I was some sort of toy. But tonight instead of arguing it was laughter. Something was wrong I could hear punches but that was normal it went on for hours. There was blood all over the floor, from what I could see, I dare not come out. It went quiet for along time, I must have past out from being so high. It was light when I woke up – I had blood all over me – through my hair and on my clothes, I looked up and the mattress which was originally green but now a dark purpley/red. I quickly crawled out not knowing what to expect.. The one person in my life that cared about me, protected me, was laying there I wasn’t even going to believe it was him until I saw his feet which were the only part of him that looked normal.. He nearly didn’t have a face. I can’t remember anything but that about that – I’m missing around 3 months of my life. The next thing that I do remember is being in a home. The sort that children shouldn’t have to be in. It wasn’t a mental home but it was similar, children that had troubles. I still wasn’t talking not for at least another year. For the next 2 years I went from home to home from counselor to counselor. Then I went back to my mothers. I’m 11 now. I’ve already tried to commit suicide twice. But I’m getting better. And I’m ready to go to school again. I think about my past a lot. And I have nightmares that wake my Fiance up most nights. I cry in my sleep and I scream I bang on the walls saying I can’t get out. It’s hard to describe the things I’ve been through but I’ve come so far from a damaged 13 year old girl, so far that I can even talk about it! Who knows how I am not crazy, I feel like I should be! I miss my brother, if it wasn’t for me he would be alive. But there’s is so many ways to look at it. If he hadn’t died I may have still been there today – He released me. Can’t wait to see him on the other size. So after 9 years of abuse, 6 suicide attempts. This is me. And I’m not ashamed of who I am. Just where I come from. continue reading…