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Seventh July 2005. Everyone remembers that day. The day London's people froze. Those four men put their lives on the line for their beliefs, some would call them freedom fighters, others would call them terrorists.
Yet they killed all those people, for what? Innocent Palestinians are still being bombed by Israeli fighter planes. Iraqis are still dying in a war, that wasn't even right in the first place. Muslims are still being treated badly, and these attacks haven't helped. All those people died in vain.
They killed all those people, and there's no excuse for killing innocent civilians.

Now over two and a half years have past, but Muslims are still being treated unfairly. Racist comments, whispers and little mutterings when they think you're out of earshot, everywhere you go people looking at you-- scared of what they "think" you may do.
That's what it's like for me, fourteen year-old Zakariy.

You know what school's like? You're in a class, with crazy teachers- spending their depressing lives shouting at you, acting like they never make any mistakes; students who desperately show off, to get the attention they crave; the quiet ones, who get away with blue murder, the teacher never suspects them. Then there are punishment exercises, detentions and isolations; and the endless supply of dreadful homework that seems to refill it's self like a glass of Coke at Pizza Hut.

And let's not forget the bullies who seek out to attack anyone who's different, anyone who looks, acts or thinks differently. It could be anyone, anyone unlucky enough to be the victim.

I was running late for school, again. No time for breakfast, unless I wanted a detention. I ran out the door, down the stairs and out to the street. So I walked ahead, and oh snap. There was the number 26 bus. Had to run even faster, crossing the road on a red light.

I bet Mr Dier didn't know he was putting his student's lives at risk. He wouldn't would he? Sitting at his comfy desk drinking Irn Bru (tutt tutt, and I thought it was meant to be a health-promoting school).

I crossed the road and thought that I'd just made it. The bus zimmed past. Maybe the driver hadn't seen me, maybe. Or maybe that was his prejudices taking the better of him. Honestly how risky could it be to let a teenage boy into a bus?

Half-an-hour later I finally got to the school gates. I ran in, breathing heavily. I might've got Asthma at this rate, I was running late every day. And in the window of the front door, I saw Mr Dier's icy grin. Not a happy grin, but not exactly angry. He was expecting this, always happened. He was kind of making a joke of it, and then gave me a little orange card. Like I didn't know what time the detentions were.