I M Gays: A Fictional Narrative

and I place the gun at his chest. “What are you doing? Good grief! Let me go!” he struggles, before hollering, “Help!

I remember on my first day of preschool, my mom told me, “Abby, don’t tell your teachers about your family.” Sitting in my car seat, at the age of 4, I was starting to become overwhelmed with confusion. This confusion bubbled up inside me for years. I had so many questions that I wanted to ask my moms, but I did not have the courage or the strength to ask. Then I grew up. My perspective on the world changed, and I realized that my parents were seen as a calamity to society. That was my perspective though. I wondered what my mom’s was. How did she grow up in a world that only saw her as a flaw in the system? So I asked. Beth Shaffer’s perspective on her past, the present, and the future is an astonishing story.

I wave, and exit the car. I’m weak in the knees at the sight of him. Luckily, he rushes in and clutches my arm. “I’m so glad to see you,” he says, and assists me to the front door of

“Okay pray i have a good shot.” He pulls his gun and shoots the ropes you fall.

“I have no idea.” He screams as he’s losing blood at an alarming rate. I take my coat and tie it around his chest to stop the bleeding and we keep running.

I waste no time, picking my lock and bursting through the cell door. I stumble forward as Jagger lunges forward trying to grab me again, his fingers barely brushing the back of my shirt. I regain my balance, breathing hard. I face him. His eyes are dark with anger as he clenches his bleeding arm. His face is pressing against the bars as he stares at me.

“You don’t want to kill me, Noah.” You warn, your voice low. “They’ll never forgive you if you kill me.”

The article don’t be so Gay: Challenging homophobic language by Erika L. Kirby is Professor of Communication Studies; she has been at Creighton since 1998. She received her Ph.D. from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln in organizational communication, and she studies the everyday intersections of working and personal life, emphasizing how differing social identities (especially gender) assimilate into and collide with organizational structures. The following piece was originally published in 2008. The author’s main purpose is to educate the reader on the power of certain words. The author’s tone is truly concerned with how common homophobic slurs are use. The overall topic is to demonstrate what little thought we put in to our words.

        “I thought you were one of them,” he admits, squirming under Walker's punishing hold. “I told them last time I saw them that if I did see them again, then I’d kill them.”

The topic of homosexuality elicits many reactions. It is forever played upon in pop culture for it's shock value if nothing else. Some demonize it, holding things like religion as proving, "alternative lifestyles," to be wrong. Some have erotisied homosexuality as in many of Anne Rice's vampire novels. Some laugh at homosexuality or people who are homosexual, calling it, "weird". Some react violently, as in the case of Matthew Shepard. And yet others have gradually turned towards acceptance shown (debatably) in such movies as, " To Wong-Fu Love Julie Newmar" and " In and Out".

Again, another backhand cuts me off. Pain stinging through my cheek does not stop me from speaking. I snap my dark eyes back at Stonewood. “You know I’m right and you hate it. It’s only the matter of time before the Order screws you over and leaves you for dead.”

An elbow smashes into my jaw and nose, blood instantly gushing from my nose. I drop to one knee, refusing to fall completely. Rage rushes through me as I breathe hard and try to gather my wits. He suddenly drops my wrist and a boot flies in the corner of my eye and ends in my ribs.

"Why not." I replied, and handed him two quarters. He handed me the statue, but grabbed a hold of my wrist and leaned in clise to my ear.

“How dare you—” Once again the officer was cut off by a sudden movement from Kardan. Everyone was silent, then he spun, aiming a rifle at Jorgan. “Intruders! Put those blasters on the floor, soldiers. Nice and

I haven't met them yet….” He pulled his hoodie a little tighter. All the eyes on him were starting to make him nervous and he didn't want anyone to know what he hid. Before he had moved to New York and this school, his classmates would bully him for all the writing on his arms, since he had told them he was gay, and his dad hated it. He called the words to flowery, and had said it's not respectable for there to be writing on him especially not from another fa****. As soon as it was legal his father had shipped him off from South Carolina to live with his grandmother.