Welcome back, all you Holicong Colonials, to the 2016-17 Literary Magazine. We know that you are curious adventures, and this year we are venturing off into new territory, and extending our "culinary" flare. For example, there will be a themed recipe posted every month. So come and explore the vast entertainment and edification of sevenatenine! We are glad you discovered us!
The Fallen Angel
artwork by Angie B., Grade 9
A fallen angel
Thrown from the sky
Wings torn from his back
Unable to fly
A broken angel
Now bound to the earth
Doubting his worth
A tormented angel
Once strong-willed and fierce
Now cowers in shadows
Holding back tears
By Julia B, Grade 8
droplets of rain, dappled across the car windshield, blur the headlight hues
into resplendent orbs. Faintly at first,
the distant roar of thunder could be heard.
A moment later, the thunder rolls angrily, closer than before. This is
no ordinary storm, though. The thunder,
it seems, is emanating from my stomach.
“Um, Mom,” I sputter, “can we, uh, stop at Wawa?”
hon,” she replies curtly, almost oblivious to the storm within me, ripping my
conscience apart. I breathe a sigh of
thunder and a spark of lightning flashes momentarily in my eyes.
to the Wawa have become a ritual. Wawa,
to me, is a sacred place – it’s heavenly gates guarded by somewhat enthusiastic
employees, its aisles stocked with Tastycakes and :Lay's chips. Within its walls, I have tread many a time. Among all the Italian hoagies and chocolate
milkshakes, there hide life lessons, and I think in my many hours perusing the
store, I’ve stumbled upon a few of these.
years ago, I stood below the iconic lemon-yellow sign that reads W-A-W-A. I threw open the doors with the vigor of a four-year-old thrashing open birthday gifts.
The scent of a million sandwiches enveloped me. Quickly, I grasped one of the touchscreen
kiosks that had revolutionized the art of sandwich ordering. I contemplated each one of the many
options. With all the many hoagies
staring back at me from the luminescent LED screen, I felt that to select one
would be to condemn countless others. In
a moment of decisiveness, I tapped frantically, knowing the routine well. My
pointer finger bolted from the “little bit of mayo button” to the “extra cheese
option”. In a moment, it was done. A little slip of paper was ejected from the
machine. It read in its bold black
print: “Shorti Italian Hoagie.” I shivered with anxiety, yearning for the
sandwich, dreaming of its tender meat and its creamy mayo, enclosed neatly
within a toasted roll of white bread.
moments, waiting, I was taught patience by Wawa, a patience so strong that I
could stand silently when every muscle in my body urged me forward. I learned from Wawa, that in waiting, the
pleasure derived from that first bite of succulent hoagie is increased ten-fold. Now, whenever I wait for the molten sauciness
of a meatball marinara or the classic spiciness of a sloppy joe, I stand there
with a knowing grin spread wide across my face, content with the knowledge that
what lies ahead is worth the wait.
Later, in the car, I cautiously unsheathed the Italian
Hoagie. I took a moment, just to indulge
in the beauty of such a wondrous creation. The waxy paper that the sandwich was
once wrapped in capered in a gentle gust of wind. The scent of fresh-cut salami, wafted throughout
the car. This was a moment of
companionship — just a man and his sandwich.
My glossy brown eyes suddenly lost their luster. My smile suddenly morphed into a frown. I utter a single solemn word: “No.” There was a massive glob of creamy white mayo
sitting innocently among the meat. I shuddered.
After all the waiting, the anticipation, the love I had developed for
my sandwich, it was broken, shattered.
The damage had been done, the action irrevocable. Wawa had lied. The little bit of mayo button was only a ploy
to get unsuspecting 14-year-old to spend an extra three cents. My sandwich had been sabotaged. This was not a little bit of
That day I
had spent four dollars and eighty-two cents on an Italian Hoagie. What I didn’t realize was that it had been a
bargain. In the process, I uncovered an invaluable gem of wisdom: In life, you
can’t always get what you want. This
holds true even for Wawa hoagies – in fact, especially for Wawa hoagies.
not always gleaned from the likely places. Today, I stand, practically a sage,
and I have Wawa, my favorite convenience store, to thank for this wisdom. Thanks, Wawa.