"I hate this world. I hate the people in it .I hate the way people live. I hate god. I hate the deceivers. I hate betrayers. I hate religious zealots.I hate everything. I hate so much (I could write 1000 more lines like these, but does it really matter, does anyone even care) Look what this wretched world has done to me."
And now look what you did to them.
Today the media was going crazy trying to figure out why.
"Lived fast, died young. Left a mangled corpse."
He sure did.
And so many other mangled lives...
But why? I don't know if we'll ever truly find out. But I do know where Trench got his writing style and attitude from. Straight from the tortured writings of the Prince of Teenage Gunmen the Columbine killer Eric Harris.
"I hate the Fucking World..."
He was bullied, he was ridiculed and rejected by other kids. Nobody ever expressed the murderous rage behind these bloody attacks better than he did. Or left in the wreckage of his short troubled life so many warning signs that so many people somehow missed.
I don't know if there is a common thread. But if there is one it's not Goths, or blogs, or video games. It's probably about bullies, and guns, and families who didn't know enough about their sons until it was too late.
Like it almost was for me.
When I was a young teenager I was hounded by a pack of bullies at my first school. They attacked or ridiculed me because of my funny accent, and because I was tall, thin and shy. But mostly because I was gay. Day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year. And nobody did anything about it.
Over the years my hatred for them grew until it became an obsession. Even after they started to leave me alone, because I was stronger and more muscular and had started taking martial arts, I still wanted revenge.
I retreated into myself and began to fancy myself as a killing machine, as some kind of GAY AVENGER.
I dreamed of storming into the pizzeria on Duluth street where the posse hung out, and blowing them away. I don't know if I was ready to die. But I'm pretty sure I was ready to kill. I hated the world like Eric Harris did. I was so fucking ANGRY. All the time.
But I never got that chance. One evening as I was walking down St Laurent I spotted the leader alone in a bar. I walked up to the pool table where he was playing and as soon as he called me a "tapette"(fag) I attacked him with my fists and then a pool cue.
The bully ended up lying face down on the pool table, blood pouring out of his mouth and nose. The bouncer was raining down blows on my head but I didn't even feel them.
Then suddenly the bouncer was moaning and on the floor, and some incredibly strong guy had me in a choke hold and was hauling me out the door and into the street. He turned out to be a French guy with a buzz cut, who was a few years older than me.
He washed the blood off my face, he gave me a smoked meat sandwich. We talked for hours. He was a soldier. His name was........ Sébastien. After hanging so long in the shadow of the Angel of Death, he was my Angel of Life.
Sébastien turned my life around, by teaching me that being gay and strong wasn't the same as being gay and violent. That hurting others was a DEAD end. And would only hurt the ones who loved me. As well as myself.
He encouraged me to take up serious martial arts. Along with my parents he drove me to anger management classes, where I first started to write down how I felt, while he sat in the back of the room and looked on. Even though he didn't really understand English.
When I blew up over some little thing and attacked him in frustration, although at that point he could have killed me, he never fought back. Just talked to me softly "ca suffit Simon, ca suffit, it's ok" And held me at bay, and then in his arms, until my anger was gone.
And soon so was my little arsenal. He took care of that too.
Oh, did I mention I fell in love with him?
Too bad Kimveer Gill and Eric Harris didn't have a friend like Sébastien. I don't know whether it would have made a difference in their case.
But I do know one thing. Oh boy do I know it.
If you want to make our schools safer don't bother banning blogs, goths, and video games.
Ban bullies and guns instead....
P. S. Sébastien says he wants to make it clear that he did NOT strike the bouncer on that fateful night. He simply pulled him off me and the guy slipped and hit the back of his head on the side of the pool table. And furthermore that the only person he punched in the bar was yours truly while trying to drag me out of the place. But only after I punched him, in the ribs, several times. And finally, that while it is true that I owe him everything, he'll settle for a smoked meat sandwich.
Uh oh. I don't remember that part. But I think he deserves the sandwich.