Monday, October 31, 2016

What We're Cooking Up This Year

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
Neglected, unloved...
Doubting his worth

A tormented angel
Once strong-willed and fierce
Now cowers in shadows
Holding back tears

By Julia B, Grade 8

Wisdom from Wawa

            The 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?”
            “Sure 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. 
            Excursions 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.
            Once, 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. 
In those 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 mayo. 
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.

Wisdom is 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.

by Liam M., Grade 9

artwork by Angie B., Grade 9


His eyes were so cold,

and so were his tears.

His smile was stolen,

and so was his laugh.

His personality taken,

and so was his heart.

His family broken,

beat up and wounded,

just like him.

By Delaney K., Grade 8

Recipe of the Month: Pumpkin Spice Roll, selected by Emily W., Grade 9

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