Continued:

”..climbed up and pulled out some ceiling tiles, then lifted the students up to where the air was fresher. The quiet was cut when the office phone rang. It was the elementary school calling, wondering why the concert was being delayed.

MANY OF THE KIDS WHO MADE IT OUT THE exits ran into the parking lots. Police had heard rumors that the gunmen were exchanging clothes with the students, so everyone had to be checked, patted town, in order for the cops to be sure these were the victims escaping and not the killers. Neighbors arrived with blankets, bandages and gauze and brought kids into their homes. A nurse passing through the area found herself doing triage on a front lawn. The ambulances began shuttling the wounded-the ones who had been able to get out of the building on their own power-to area hospitals. Senior SWAT team agent Don Kraemer spotted a boy in a window, limp, bleeding, desperate to get out. “He looked at us but was oblivious,” Kraemer said. “He was going to come out headfirst.” Kraemer and another agent grabbed him and pulled him to safety. The boy, with shot gun wounds in the head and foot, was so much in shock that he could barely say his name. Rick or Rich, they thought he said. His name was Patrick Ireland. He had taken two bullets to the head. Last week the 17-year-old was in serious condition, suffering from impaired speech and damaged motor skills to his right side.

      Among the countless offers of help that came in during the siege was one the police did not accept. Well before any potential suspects had been named publicly, Klebold’s father contacted police saying he thought his son might be involved and offering to help negotiate a surrender. The SWAT team leaders decided they didn’t think he could be of any use.

     All the while the killers were still inside, going about their business. And in the end, they did their deadliest work in the school’s quiet place to find people in a school’s quiet place to find people in a school’s quiet place, the best place to find people in a school when finals are looming and everyone worries about getting term papers done on time.

    A teacher, identified by police only as Peggy, made it into the library a few steps ahead of the killers. First she called the police. Then, over the phone, she could be overheard desperately trying to warn the kids. “There’s a guy with a gun!” she yelled, bleeding. “Kids, under the table! Kids, stay on the floor! Oh , God. Oh, God-kids, just stay down!” At first, Craig Scott thought it was all a prank, maybe the teacher was in on it. But the noise was real, and the fear was real, and he ducked under a table with his friend Matt Kechter and one of Columbine’s few black students, a senior named Isaiah Shoels. And they heard the gunmen come in.

     THEY WERE LAUGHING, EXCITED. “Who’s next?” they said, “Who’s ready to die?” the two moved through the room, calling out “All the jocks stand up. We’re going to kill every one of you.” Seth Houy had come to the library to hangout with his sister and a friend; they ducked under a table and he lay on top of them so he would be the one hit. “Honestly, I think that God made us invisible,” he told the Denver Post. We prayed the hardest we’d ever prayed, and God put an invisible shield around us.

     The killers went round the room, asking people why they should let them live. Students heard one girl pleading for her life, then a shot, and quiet. They told wounded kids to quit crying; it will all be over soon, you’ll all be dead. They approached another girl, cowering under a table, yelled “Peekaboo!” and shot her in the neck. Anyone who cried or moaned was shot again.

      The murderers were utterly without pity. Survivors said they treated it like it was a video game. “We’ve waited to do this a long time,” they said. At one point one of the gunmen recognized a student and said, “Oh I know you-you can go.” And then, “We’re out of ammo … gotta reload. We’ll be back to get you three.”

     Craig took off his white baseball hat and hid it. When the killers walked by, they saw Isaiah and called him a “nigger.” He pleaded with them not to shoot, just let him go home, he wanted his mom, and they pulled the trigger. Then they shot Matt. Craig, covered in his friends’ blood, lay very, very still. As he told Katie Couric two mornings later, in an account almost unbearable to watch, Craig began praying for courage. “God told me to get out of there, he said. So he got up and started to run yelling to other to come with him. One girl pleaded for help. “She had a chunk of her shoulder blown off with a shotgun,” Craig said. “And I helped her get out. She was bleeding all over the place, and her-her bone was showing.” They got out of the library, out to an exit, down to the cops, where Craig told them what the shooters looked like, where they were.

       And then he asked the other kids if they…”

Continued:

”..climbed up and pulled out some ceiling tiles, then lifted the students up to where the air was fresher. The quiet was cut when the office phone rang. It was the elementary school calling, wondering why the concert was being delayed.

MANY OF THE KIDS WHO MADE IT OUT THE exits ran into the parking lots. Police had heard rumors that the gunmen were exchanging clothes with the students, so everyone had to be checked, patted town, in order for the cops to be sure these were the victims escaping and not the killers. Neighbors arrived with blankets, bandages and gauze and brought kids into their homes. A nurse passing through the area found herself doing triage on a front lawn. The ambulances began shuttling the wounded-the ones who had been able to get out of the building on their own power-to area hospitals. Senior SWAT team agent Don Kraemer spotted a boy in a window, limp, bleeding, desperate to get out. “He looked at us but was oblivious,” Kraemer said. “He was going to come out headfirst.” Kraemer and another agent grabbed him and pulled him to safety. The boy, with shot gun wounds in the head and foot, was so much in shock that he could barely say his name. Rick or Rich, they thought he said. His name was Patrick Ireland. He had taken two bullets to the head. Last week the 17-year-old was in serious condition, suffering from impaired speech and damaged motor skills to his right side.

      Among the countless offers of help that came in during the siege was one the police did not accept. Well before any potential suspects had been named publicly, Klebold’s father contacted police saying he thought his son might be involved and offering to help negotiate a surrender. The SWAT team leaders decided they didn’t think he could be of any use.

     All the while the killers were still inside, going about their business. And in the end, they did their deadliest work in the school’s quiet place to find people in a school’s quiet place to find people in a school’s quiet place, the best place to find people in a school when finals are looming and everyone worries about getting term papers done on time.

    A teacher, identified by police only as Peggy, made it into the library a few steps ahead of the killers. First she called the police. Then, over the phone, she could be overheard desperately trying to warn the kids. “There’s a guy with a gun!” she yelled, bleeding. “Kids, under the table! Kids, stay on the floor! Oh , God. Oh, God-kids, just stay down!” At first, Craig Scott thought it was all a prank, maybe the teacher was in on it. But the noise was real, and the fear was real, and he ducked under a table with his friend Matt Kechter and one of Columbine’s few black students, a senior named Isaiah Shoels. And they heard the gunmen come in.

     THEY WERE LAUGHING, EXCITED. “Who’s next?” they said, “Who’s ready to die?” the two moved through the room, calling out “All the jocks stand up. We’re going to kill every one of you.” Seth Houy had come to the library to hangout with his sister and a friend; they ducked under a table and he lay on top of them so he would be the one hit. “Honestly, I think that God made us invisible,” he told the Denver Post. We prayed the hardest we’d ever prayed, and God put an invisible shield around us.

     The killers went round the room, asking people why they should let them live. Students heard one girl pleading for her life, then a shot, and quiet. They told wounded kids to quit crying; it will all be over soon, you’ll all be dead. They approached another girl, cowering under a table, yelled “Peekaboo!” and shot her in the neck. Anyone who cried or moaned was shot again.

      The murderers were utterly without pity. Survivors said they treated it like it was a video game. “We’ve waited to do this a long time,” they said. At one point one of the gunmen recognized a student and said, “Oh I know you-you can go.” And then, “We’re out of ammo … gotta reload. We’ll be back to get you three.”

     Craig took off his white baseball hat and hid it. When the killers walked by, they saw Isaiah and called him a “nigger.” He pleaded with them not to shoot, just let him go home, he wanted his mom, and they pulled the trigger. Then they shot Matt. Craig, covered in his friends’ blood, lay very, very still. As he told Katie Couric two mornings later, in an account almost unbearable to watch, Craig began praying for courage. “God told me to get out of there, he said. So he got up and started to run yelling to other to come with him. One girl pleaded for help. “She had a chunk of her shoulder blown off with a shotgun,” Craig said. “And I helped her get out. She was bleeding all over the place, and her-her bone was showing.” They got out of the library, out to an exit, down to the cops, where Craig told them what the shooters looked like, where they were.

       And then he asked the other kids if they…”

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This blog was made to help you come to your OWN conclusion of why certain events might have occurred on April 20, 1999, with the information I will provide you.

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