they killed my sisterMature

a boy who is abused, and bullied, and comits suicide

“They killed my sister. She was only ten years old. She couldn’t take the beatings they give. I  was older. I could handle it. But she couldn’t. She was so small and frail. I loved her, I took her beatings for her. But I couldn’t stop them that time. They killed my sister, but they didn’t even care. They said, “good, now we’ll only have one extra mouth to feed.” But they didn’t even feed her. She was all skin and bones. I’m not surprised they killed her, but they were her parents. They should have loved her, they should have cared. But they didn’t


         After it happened, things got worse. Walking down the halls at school, some people would look away from me, some people would whisper about me. But even more people laughed. They made up a new saying about me, he’s gay, he’s black, and he’s got a dead retarted sister. If it were anybody else in the school, they would’ve been nicer. But being the only black kid in a school full of white people. And being the only out of the closet gay guy, nobody cares about, or respects me.


         Things got worse at home too. Dad started drinking more. Mom was constantly high. And only having one kid to beat on made that get worse too. I got used to it though. It was numbing. It took my mind off other things.


         Sometime, I wished I was white. That I was attracted to chicks, not dudes. That I could be just like everyone else, and not get picked on, or beat. Or I could even find a friend. But I can’t, because I’m different. I just want to give up. To not have to fight. To be in peace.


I deserve better. I really do. But people only care what’s on the outside, not what’s on the inside. And that will never change. So I’m giving up, I’m letting go. I’m not hanging on ay longer. And I just want you to know that, I didn’t kill myself. Everyone else did.”


I lowered the paper down onto the podium and looked up at the see of eyes staring back at me. I paused for a moment, preparing myself, and then spoke out.


“These words, were the last plea for justice Andrew Harman gave before he died. He fought long and hard, but he gave up. He didn’t deserve to be treated the way her was. Nobody does.

Andrew Harman was a good person. He was abused and hurt, but her was good. He was my neighbor, and I admit that I didn’t do enough to help him.


         I heard the gunshots. 2:00 on a Saturday afternoon. No one was at his house so I just went in. He was lying on the floor of his room with the gun in his hand, covered in blood. The not he wrote was lying on his pillow.


Hate is a strong thing. He is dead because people are afraid of what is different. And fear leads to hate. I just hope that those who were involved realize that they were wrong, and for his sake, don’t let it happen again.”


I looked down at the note in my hand and nodded a quick thank you to my audience and stepped away from the podium.


         Before I sat down one boy I knew from school stood up and looked me in the eye and said “thank you.” Then he walked over to the casket and said, “I’m sorry. For everything. I wish I could have said this sooner.” Then he walked back to his seat and sat down. Pretty soon another person walked over to the casket and said sorry and then another, and another, until over half the people in the room were lined up waiting for their chance to beg forgiveness.


         I stood watching, while tears flooded to my eyes. I waited till everyone has sat down till I walked over and looked down at the peaceful expression on Andrew’s face and whispered, “ I’m sorry, I’m sorry for not looking out for you. For not being your friend. I’m sorry.” I set the note in his hands. “This belongs to you.” And I turned and walked back to my seat. That was the end. But her was happy now. He was in a better place. And because of that, I was happy for him.


The End

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