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This is the story of my frind. Im not even sure if I can call him that anymore. We don’t see/talk to echo her much at all. Thare is no real ending to this story. Because even after all of this I am about to explane. He still lives. So don’t expect a happy ending because thare isent one. None of us make it out of this world unmared. Some have more scars then others. I persnloy did not have the grate childhood. But I could never imagen what he went threw. Part of this story will be from my perspetive. When I met him and when I lernd more about him. And a part of it will be his. But that part will be fishal. The acsins will not be but the thouts. Thare are fake names used. Just for privacy. Im just warning you now this is not for the light harted.



Looking at Sara you never whold have gesused. What her and her famly had been threw. She looked like everyone elce in our group of finds. Her story was incredible. Unbelvable. I never whould have gesued. We were siting in her room. She was telling us her story. It sounded something like this


Her eldest son was a drug deler. One of his ‘friends’ gave him a pill that was spost to sell for a lot but he had warned him not to take one. That the side esfrtes were raly bad and never completely wore off. As you have probly geused he took one. Whaile he was high he killed his youngest child Hether. He threw hethers body in the lake. She was missing for several day untill he came cleen to the police. He was thrown in mentle hospitle to serve out his time. When thay thout he was well enof thay put him into a prison. Whare he now servie his sentice out.


To say the lest when I met Tilor I was shocked. At all he had been threw. I did not see a depressed teenager, as I whould have espected him to be. He seemed normal. And relatively happy. Mild problems, but just like every other teenage boys. I thout him a little bit about the geatar. We pratied and hung out and lafed on a trip to a youth camp. We houng out varry little during the camp. Because he was getting closer to God. At the end of the camp, he had given his life to crist. Our conversasons on the way back home were still light harted but much more serice. We talked about canges we were going to make when we got home. CDS we were going to throw away. Pepol we were going to stop haning out with. We had engery drinks twards the middle of the ride home. Hipper we talkied a millon miles a hour. We had a blast to say the lest. He went home 2 days later. We did not talk agin untill the next time he came to visit Sara his grandmother. He hung out for a day and went to some musems as a grup with his grandomther sara and my mom and his younger brother Mathew. We dint get to talk like we had before but he espresed to me that he was struggling. I should have seen it comeing then. . .


With his real father in jail, and his step dad in the army traning in fort hood, TX. Im sure he dint have the sport he needed. I wish I could have helped him more. Done something. But I dint see the sings then, I do now of corce. But I never saw it then. I wish I had. The next time I saw him was several months later, at tanksgiving. We talked hungout and had some fun. His step dad was thare it was the first time I met him or his mother. It was then I relised he probly dint have the gratest home life. . . His step dad only seemed to down on him. His mother never said once that he ws doing a good job, or anyother positive words to him. We both tried to ingor the fact as we tried and faled to tune his getar. We had fun but when we started talking how our relaship with God was dooin he grew qwiet. When he finly spoke this is what he said. “its hard to do things when you look around and you don’t fell like your strong enof.” I didn’t knoew what to say. My millon mile a hour brain had the brakes salmed when he sadi it. I tried to covice him that he could to do all things with crist. Im sure it did little to no help though. That was the last time I talked to him. What he said has allways left me realing, thinking and wishing I could be thare for him.

About a week and a half a go. (to days date 4-16-11) I herd he had just gotten out of the hospitle for cuting himself. To say the lest I was hart broken. My frind, who had always seemed strong to me. Had fallen farthen then I had ever espeted. The graving for my frind was almost contuwas. And I tried to figure out what had happened to him. I still balme myself. I could have been a beter frind. Called once in a wile. Something. . .


Tilor

Two days after he gets out of the hospitle I lern about the asendnt. His mother had thrown him a party, with beer. One of the friends thare founf his mothers gun. And came into the room.

I saw her emidtly. The room grew siltet, the only noice was the loud music. She had his mothers gun. She pointed the gun at me, I froze stiff in my set. The nshe pointed it to my frind Austen siting next to me.

The noise rang threw the house. My head turned to my frind. He was belding badly. She had shot his frind. NO NO NO THIS CANT BE HAPING ! I scremed over and over in my mind. My frind was dead laying next to me.

Amber/me

I saw a update on his face book today it said. ‘the ringing is still thare and the flashbacks whont stop’ I greve gratly for my frind. If I can still all him that after not being thare for him and not even knowing when he was in truble untill sara told me. He wehnt to his friends momiral service today. I know its got to be hard for him because its hard for me. . . . Im woried he might start cuting agin. If he already hasent. I have made up my mind though. If he ends up in the hospitle agin. Im going to see him. Im going to be thare like a real frind shold be. And maybe one day we will both look at back at this a rember what God as brout us both threw. But I know we will never look back a laugh. We whont smiled because its not funny. Because this was a real boys story. And this child, his hurting right hear and now. And all I can do to help his lisson to his story as it spills from his lips. And pray, pary varry varry hard.



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