“Today is the end of the world, today is the day I’m gonna die!” yelled Dylan. They fired off a few bullets, but didn’t hit anyone; they didn’t look under any of the tables.
My wrath from Janurary’s incident will be godlike
St. Philip Lutheran Church, the site of Dylan’s funeral
Only a handful of people came to say goodbye to Dylan Klebold. His long, skinny body fit awkwardly into the cardboard casket where it would lie until cremation. His hands were folded on his chest, and stuffed animals surrounded him.His family and few friends shared memories, the happy ones about Dylan the Boy Scout, Dylan the Little Leaguer, Dylan the wrestler. There was his mother Susan’s favorite story: One afternoon, Dylan, age 10, came running back from the creek with a pile of leeches. Normally unflappable, Klebold’s mother was disgusted by her son’s blood-sucking treasures; Dylan loved it, the fun of grossing out Mom. For those who attended the service, it was as if Dylan’s life had ended at age 12, not five years later in a murderous rampage that left 12 students, a teacher, and the two killers dead, and a nation grieving and groping for answers. That wasn’t the young man Susan Klebold raised. “This monster,” she told her hairdresser, Dee Grant, tears coming down her cheeks, “was not the son I knew.”
"I want to find love"
All you need is love.
crunchydragon asked: Thanks! It's certainly an interesting read.. You can clearly see how much research went into this narrative. Some interesting parts for sure, and there are more footnotes I could translate if there's anything in particular missing in this one.. =)
I don’t think there is anything amiss and no clarifications needed. You did a very thorough job. The translation and the grammar are pretty perfect. It seems the author takes a bit of liberty with the dialog between Eric and Dylan. Krabbe even goes so far as to suggest that Eric was the one that said “Hey, Boy”. As you probably already know, who said that, or IF it was even said by the boys’ at all, is a controversial topic on the forum (I’m of the Dylan camp not “Boyd”). ;-) I’m sure that translation took a lot of time and effort but of course, any more that you could manage to translate in your spare time would always be highly appreciated. :-)
Fact: People are so unaware…… well, Ignorance is bliss I guess…. That would explain my depression
Fantastic site, please check it out!
I don’t fit in I’ve been thinking of suicide gives no hope, that I’ll be in my place wherever I go after this life … that I’ll finally not be at war with myself, the world, the universe – my mind, body, everywhere, everything at PEACE in me – my soul (existence). & the routine is still monotonous, go to school, be scared & nervous, hoping that people can accept me … that I can accept them … the NIN song Piggy is good for thought writing … The Lost Highway sounds like a movie about me … I’m gonna write later, bye «VoDkA»
Saturday, April 17
Cigarettes. A white stretch limo. A girl in a royal-blue prom dress and soft blonde curls. She’s holding his hand.
This was one of Dylan Klebold’s last nights.
Prom night for Columbine. Hardly the outsider, he was one of a dozen dressed-up kids who piled into a limo and dined at a ritzy LoDo restaurant. Then it was off to the dance at the Design Center on South Broadway in Denver.
Dylan wore a black tuxedo, a pink rosebud tucked into his lapel. His long wavy hair slicked back into an uncooperative ponytail.
His date was Robyn Anderson, now a valedictorian contender with her straight-A average. She asked him to the prom — just as friends.
In recent months, Robyn and Dylan’s relationship had been wobbling along that murky territory between friendship and romance.
Robyn later told a friend that Dylan behaved gentlemanly on prom night, complimenting her on her dress.
"They were holding hands and stuff," said Jessica Hughes, one of the limo crowd.
Jessica sat next to Robyn and Dylan during dinner at Bella Ristorante. There was a lot of silly joking between them, playing with knives and matches.
"They were pretending to light themselves on fire," Jessica said.
Dylan ate a big salad, followed by a seafood dish with shells, mussels she thinks, then dessert. “I was like, my Lord,” Jessica said.
Jessica and Dylan chatted about a party both planned to attend in a couple weeks, a reunion for kids who’d been in the gifted program in elementary school.
"He was all excited to see everyone," Jessica said.
Dylan even agreed to bring pizza because he worked at Blackjack.
Back in the limo, no one was drinking anything stronger than Pepsi, Jessica recalled.
The car’s TV was off. The radio was turned to a hard-rock station and on so low the kids drowned out the music. They were being, well, normal goofy teens enjoying themselves. Cameras flashing. Lipstick smiles. Whisking through the night in a mirrored-ceiling car.
"We were flipping people off because the windows were so dark. We were making fun of people," Jessica said.
Dylan even talked of everyone staying in touch after he left for college in three months.
"He was in a really great mood that night," another friend in the limo, Monica Schuster, said.