FIGHT HOMOPHOBIA!

I am the boy who never finished high school, because I got called a fag everyday
I am the girl kicked out of her home because I confided in my mother that I am a lesbian.
I am the prostitute working the streets because nobody will hire a transsexual woman.
I am the sister who holds her gay brother tight through the painful, tear-filled nights.
We are the parents who buried our daughter long before her time.
I am the man who died alone in the hospital because they would not let my partner of twenty-seven years into the room.
I am the foster child who wakes up with nightmares of being taken away from the two fathers who are the only loving family I have ever had.
I wish they could adopt me.
I am not one of the lucky ones.
I killed myself just weeks before graduating high school.
It was simply too much to bear.
We are the couple who had the Realtor hang up on us when she found out we wanted to rent a one-bedroom for two men.
I am the person who never knows which bathroom I should use if I want to avoid getting the management called on me.
I am the mother who is not allowed to even visit the children I bore, nursed, and raised.
The court says I am an unfit mother because I now live with another woman.
I am the domestic-violence survivor who found the support system grow suddenly cold and distant when they found out my abusive partner is also a woman.
I am the domestic-violence survivor who has no support system to turn to because I am male.
I am the father who has never hugged his son because I grew up afraid to show affection to other men.
I am the home-economics teacher who always wanted to teach gym until someone told me that only lesbians do that.
I am the woman who died when the EMT s stopped treating me as soon as they realized I was bisexual.
I am the person who feels guilty because I think I could be a much better person if I didn't have to always deal with society hating me.
I am the man who stopped attending church, not because I don't believe, but because they closed their doors to my kind.
I am the person who has to hide what this world needs most, love.
I am the person ashamed to tell my own friends I'm a lesbian, because they constantly make fun of them.
I am the boy tied to a fence, beaten to a bloody pulp and left to die because two straight men wanted to "teach me a lesson"

Note: I found this on BeautifulButDeadly's profile and I had to write it. Yes, it's a bit depressing, but it's something that needs to be said. Please repost the message above, and we can spread some tolerance around!

Snapshots
Kyra

Ron Weasley dropped out of Hogwarts in the seventh year, unable to take it any longer. He was sick and tired of being treated different because of his love for Harry Potter, and he knew that, unless he left, he would lose control and kill people. Running off was preferable.

Hermione Granger went to live with her aunt when she turned sixteen because her parents wouldn't accept that she was in love with Ginny Weasley. Her aunt only tolerated her for a few months, and then Hermione was left to fend for herself in an unfamiliar and unfriendly world.

Pansy Parkinson looked around at her surroundings and hated the circumstances that had put her here, lying down with her legs out for money, unable to do anything else. She'd tried to get work long ago, had tried to make something out of her life. It had failed. Now, she could only accept her fate, could only smile fakely at the men who paid her barely enough to live on. She had tried, and she had failed.

Ginny Weasley was the only one who understood what her brother was going through. She would creep into his room at night and comfort him as best she could, letting him cry on her and pretending not to notice that, as he cried, he whispered Harry's name.

Molly and Arthur Weasley cried at the funeral, not for their daughter, who had been killed by hate-filled men, but because no preacher would come to speak over the grave. Albus had done it for them, but it wasn't the same, and it was a reminder that the world they lived in was plagued by more than just You-know-who.

On his deathbed, Draco Malfoy was alone and crying. They had only allowed intimate family into the ward with him, and they didn't count Harry as family. He had watched as his lover begged and pleaded, knowing as he did so that he would never make it, knowing that he would be forced to die alone and cold, never having said goodbye.

Cho Chang longed to be a proper daughter to her two fathers, longed to be truly theirs. But it was impossible, and she found it harder and harder to bear. In the end, she only had one choice. As she felt the blood drain out of her slender, dainty form, she looked up to the heavens and cursed them for making her life end this way.

Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were reduced to living in Sirius' house because they couldn't find one of their own. The memories associated with the place drove them apart in the end, and Remus bought the house for himself that they hadn't been able to get as a couple.

Padma Patil pleaded with the men behind the desk, knowing as she did so that it was useless. They would never let her see her twins, would never grant her custody or let her give her children the love they deserved. Susan was there to comfort her, but it was never enough.

Hannah Abbot looked up into the face of her lover, angry and enraged yet again, and knew that she would never have help. The group had turned from her when they realized just who her partner was, and now she was on her own. As the blows fell, she closed her eyes and muttered a prayer, knowing as she did so that it would never be answered.

Oliver Wood strode angrily into the house, the tears falling from his eyes and rolling down his cheeks as he awaited what was in store. It would happen again. Blaise would come at him, and there would be no one Oliver could turn to. There never had been. He was on his own, just as he always was.

Lucius Malfoy looked down at his son and felt the shameful tears come up again. He had always been closed and cold to Draco, drawing from the lessons of his childhood, drilled in so firmly by his own father. Hugging men was shameful. Hugs should be for women, not for men. And now Draco had drifted so far away that the two barely acknowledged each other on the street when they passed.

Pomadora Sprout looked longingly at Madam Hooch's flying class, reflecting that, in another place, that would have been her. Was it fair that she'd been stopped from achieving her dream by a group of people who feared and hated those who were different? Was it her fault that she was one of them?

Parvati Patil didn't live to her twentieth birthday. The woman had been turned out of St. Mungo's after the accident, when the Healers realized that she loved both Lavender and Dean equally. She died in Lavender's arms, with Dean stroking her hair, and she knew as she did so that it was the world who was wrong, not her.

Terry Boot hid behind his desk, struggling to keep his mask in place. He had nowhere else to go, nowhere but behind the desk at Gringotts, where the Goblins didn't care. He would step out into the streets later, and he would see the beggars and desperately needy people looking longingly up at him, and he would hate himself for being too afraid to do anything for them.

Daphne Greenglass walked past the church, allowing herself only a single glance into its warm interior. She couldn't go in. She'd been told quite firmly that she was no longer welcome. She clenched her hands into fists, walking faster. She'd learned long ago that life was not fair, and this was only another aspect of that.

Harry Potter fell to Voldemort on his eighteenth birthday, not because he was too weak, but because he was too afraid. He was too afraid to use the one weapon he had against Voldemort: his love for Draco Malfoy. He was too afraid of what the world would think of them, and so he closed his eyes and accepted death, too afraid to fight back.

Lavender Brown shrunk into the armchair in the Gryffindor common room, wincing each time the girls casually tossed the word gay into their conversation. What would they do if she confessed to them? They would turn away from her and she would be alone. So she joined in, hating herself every time she used the word, yet knowing that she was not brave enough to stop.

Colin Creevy gasped at the pain as he swayed into darkness. They had cornered him and beaten him up, smashing his camera and stealing his money. He knew why. It was because he loved Harry Potter. No one could accept that he loved Harry truly, and so he had been punished for something that he couldn't help.

Please PLEASE repost this anywhere! The message must be spread, and any little bit helps. I did this the only way I know how: through my writing, and if anyone has other ways, PLEASE don't hesitate!

(Neither the text at the beginning or the characters of the story are mine.)

Spread the love in time for Christmas!
--kyra

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