Winter Literama 2012

LiteramaWinter 2012Volume VNumber I

Literary Magazine of Saint Peter’s Preparatory School Jersey City, New Jersey

MIRABILE SCRIPTU

Moderator: Ms. Erin Knittel

Michael Joll ‘12 Editor-in-Chief

LiteramaMIRABILE SCRIPTU

Staff: Brady Cashman, ‘14

Winter 2012Volume VNumber I

Literary Magazine of Saint Peter’s Preparatory School Jersey City, New Jersey

Paolo Crisostomo, ‘14

Literama L Winter 2012Volume V, Number I

Literama is published by Saint Peter’s Preparatory School. All rights reserved. Copyright © 2011 by Saint Peter’s Preparatory School.

All body copy text is written in Times New Roman 12pt, by-lines are in Times New Roman 12pt, headlines are in Rage Italic 36pt, and footer text is written in Rage Italic 12pt.

Literama would like to extend a special thanks to Joe Villanella, ‘79.

Saint Peter’s Preparatory School Literama was printed in four-pro-cess color by CD Graphics, New York, NY. The paper stock of the book is Gloss Text with Booklet binding.

Cover art by Michael Joll, ’ 12Untitled

Table of Contents

4

18

16

14

13

31

28

27

24

20

19

Coca

Hostage

The Real Reality

Revenge

What a Beautiful Day

PersueThe Season of Color

The Weeping Willow

The View

The Inevitable

The Two H’s

Anonymous

Brady Cashman

Jacob Dombrowski

Michael Joll

Ryan Epps

Michael Joll

Ian Garner

Mike Dombrowski

Anonymous

Danial Kelly

Thomas Howard

Saint Peter’S PreParatory SchooL4

The Two H’sIan Garner, ’11

I felt uneasy. I couldn’t bring myself to cry, but all of the memories I had with my grandfather were coming back too fast. “You know what happened to that kid? You took him with you.” “That’s a shame because as much as I loved him I wouldn’t want to keep him. No, I’m not that greedy. He’s a diamond in the rough that every person would want to watch grow up.” “You’re just saying that.” I sat down and put my face into my hands. “Why would I just say that? Do you really think I’m just throwing these words around like they’re nothing?” “Wellitwouldn’tbethefirsttimeyousaidsomethingthatdidn’t remain true.” “I can’t stand you. You’re just as stubborn as I am.” “Why did you leave me?” “Because I had to.” “No, you didn’t have to. You left without reason. I don’t even think I got to say good bye.” “Then what’s the problem?” “What do you mean ‘what’s the problem?’ There’s a big fucking problem with that. You left me for good for no damn rea-son.” “If I never said good bye then did I really leave?” My stomach dropped. Hearing his reasoning made me real-ize he never left. But I refused to allow myself to admit it. “But you did.” “Did I?” He asked. I knew it was a rhetorical question so I didn’t bother answering. He put his hand on my heart and felt my heart beat. “Then explain to me why you’re in Heaven and still have a heart beat?” “Whatkindofreasoningis–”butbeforeIcouldfinishhegrabbed my hand and put it over his own heartbeat. There was nothing.

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“I never left you. I’ve always been with you, in your heart.” It got increasingly harder to keep myself from tears, but I continuedtofightback. “Why do you think you love to read so much? Or why is it that when you do something you make sure it’s perfect. You don’t do it for yourself though, but for those around you.” He was describing my daily actions as if he had been with me. “Do you wanna know why?” Again, another rhetorical question but I nodded regardless. “It’s because you listen to your heart. And do you know

Matthew Bernardo, ’14who’s in your heart telling you to make all of these decisions?” I grabbed his hand and started sobbing. I couldn’t help my-self. “I’ve always been with you. Even in death I can promise you that. All of those wonderful lessons I taught you as a kid, well, I taught you them for a reason. I masked them all as childhood BS because I knew eventually you would make sense of it. You’re intelligent. You get that from me too y’know. That and your good looks.”

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It got to a point where I couldn’t tell if I was sobbing or laughing hysterically. “I love you, Ryan. I always will. But ever since I’ve left you, you’ve been down in the dumps. I know the timing was God awful, but it let you grow up faster and become a man for your-self.” “I still can’t ride a bike.” I tried to lighten the mood. “Yeah, but I bet you’d help a friend out with anything be-fore they even asked.” “True.” “Hey kiddo, watch this.” My grandfather caught my atten-tion and snapped. Out of nowhere two cups appeared in his hands. “Have some hot chocolate; it’s good for the soul.” We took sips and naturally I burned my mouth. “You are still prone to burning yourself aren’t you?” I didn’t bother answering. I just laughed. “Can you do me a favor, Ryan?” I looked at him and he understood that I was waiting for him to ask me the favor. “Have faith in what you do, do it for me. You’re a good kid but you let yourself get in the way of yourself.” He kissed my fore-head and held me close as to keep me from trembling. He let go of me and I walked out of the café. I was surrounded by white in its purest state. There was a bright light coming towards me, but not in the sense that dying people see a bright light as endorphins are releasedcausingaflashinthebrain.No,thiswasaliteralbrightlight. These were headlights. But before I could move I felt a jolt-ingpaininmybackandfelltothefloor.

I had a bad back as it was but being hit by a car didn’t help. I grumbled to myself as I stood up brushing myself off. I looked down and much to my surprise there was nothing to be brushed off. Iwasperfectlyfine.Notasinglescratchornickfromheadtotoe.“God, imagine how much that would’ve hurt if you were down there? Believe me I can attest to that.” I was startled by the famil-iar voice speaking through his laughter. I turned around and was

Saint Peter’S PreParatory SchooL

7

facetofacewithmycousinDylan.HissmilewasthefirstthingInoticed. It was still as perfect as ever. It made the white all around us look off white.My cousin Dylan died a few years ago long before his prime. To make matters worse he died while on vacation. But nonetheless when another man walked out he walked in. I remember at my mother’s wedding he was assigned to babysitting. “What are you doing?” He intercepted my train of thought. “I was thinking about, y’know. Us.” “Is it illegal to talk about that with me you ass?” Aside from being known for his radiant smile, my cousin was known for

Matthew Bernardo, ’14his humorous outlook on things. “I was just thinking about my mom’s wedding.” “You mean when we pretended we were dinosaurs and threw pillows at the girls.” “I was thinking more of when we watched ‘All Dogs Go to Heaven’ and barked at them.”We shared a laugh and even our post-laugh sigh was simultaneous. “I remember that day.” I said, as if it weren’t obvious enough. “You were like the older brother I never had. I was hoping Literama 2012

8

that would always be the case.” “Yeah, well I hoped for a lot too. But look at where that got me.” “Dead?” I said, not realizing how insensitive it had sound-ed. “No you idiot. Around the people I love and the ones who love me. If you were wondering the latter is the greater amount.”Ilaughed.Hisconfidenceinhimselfevenafterdeathdidn’tchangeone bit. But it was humble to a degree, which made him perfect. “Yeah, Nanny is even here. If you were wondering, she still beats everyone in Scrabble. She beat Jesus using the word ‘pizza.’ How offended are you?”I laughed, “Pretty offended.” “Yeah my little sister could do that; I don’t know how Jesus couldn’t.”The smile on my face faded and I was hoping Dylan wouldn’t no-tice, but of course, he did. “Why the long face?” “I’m just a little down.” “About?” “You. Why’d you go?” “Are you suffering déjà vu?” “I just don’t understand.” I found myself struggling again. “Do you think I chose to get hit by that car? It’s all just in God’s plan, which I wanted a slide down to Hell to be built in because I hear Tosh will be doing a show down there, but big man won’t let me.” “But when you were with me everything was getting better. I had hoped for it to stay like that for a long time.” “You are really stubborn. Do you know why you genuinely like to help those you love? Or better yet, do you know why you’re abletowritetoprolificletterstopeopletoexpressyourgratitude?That’s all me. I’m the angel sitting on your shoulder guiding you to hope for the best in order to get the best.” He put his arm on my shoulder and leaned on my head. “Well I’d rather you be sitting next to me, not on me.” “Oh this would be sitting on you.” He threw me on the


9

floorandsatonmyhead.We both laughed again, just like before. “I forgot how much I loved you.” “Well that’s rude. I never forgot.” “You know what I meant.” I felt embarrassed. “I know. I’m just busting your balls. Hey I got something you might like.” Just like my grandfather did, Dylan snapped his fingersandfromnowherehotchocolateappeared.Heoffereda toast, “Here’s to us.” As he put his cup in the air there was a change in sound and color. There was an obnoxious siren ringing andaflashingredlight. “What’s going on?” My voice cracked. “A new arrival. I hate when this happens. You better get to work.”My heart stopped, just for a second. “Excuse me?” I didn’t know how else to respond. “Just remember that I love you and to hope for the best.” HehuggedmetightandassoonasheletgoIdroppedtothefloor,as if on cue.

I woke up seated behind a wooden desk. It wasn’t the café table that I fainted at. I can guarantee you it was just another dimension of where I’ve been for all this time.I saw someone walking in, kicking a bag. “You know there’s a strap on that bag.” I said, pointing at the bag. “Yeah, and?” He picked his head up and the second my eyes caught glimpse of his face my heart dropped. “This is a joke.” “What’s a joke? The crappy service here? You can bet your sweet ass that’s joke.” He kicked his bag to the side, spun me around 180° and slapped my ass. It wasn’t an unfamiliar action. It was my friend Billy, whose locker was a few away from mine. Every time we were at our lockers together he would slap my ass and kiss me on the cheek. It was his way of showing his “love” for me. A questionable idea of love nonetheless, but it was one I grew to cherish.

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“What are you doing here?” I rushed to put my hand on his chest and much to my chagrin he had no heartbeat. His time had come and there was nothing I could do about it. “What happened?” I asked, it seemed to be the only thing I could coherently say. “Will you stop worrying about the technicalities? You’ll get lost in the details like you usually do.” I slapped me. But this time it was my face. “I guess I deserved that.” I rubbed my cheek, even though it didn’t hurt. It was just a reaction. “You know what else you deserve? Watch this.” I had afeelinghewasgoingto–beforeIcouldfinishmythoughthesnappedhisfingers. Hot chocolate. Nothing new. He gave me the cup and it was abnormally cold. I took a large sip knowing it wouldn’t burn my mouth. But before I could swallow, I spit everything out. “What is this?” I wiped my mouth, “It tastes like piss.” “You, my friend, are very keen.” He laughed and pat my back. “I don’t understand it though.” “What did I just tell you?” I ignored him. “Why are you here, and not me? It’s not like I even care about anyone.” He slapped me again. “How dare you?” He raised his voice on the ‘dare’ to emphasize his disappointment. “I’m” I stuttered the word, “I’m sorry.” But he laughed. As usual. “How good was that?” He asked through his laughter, “I really need a sitcom for myself.” “You really do. I bet everyone would love that.” I sat myself down on the desk. “Everyone would love watching you in prime time. Everyone would smile and laugh the night away.” “Can I tell you something?” He asked, but cut me off be-fore I responded, “A) You sound like an asshole. B) You sound like an asshole. And C) I’m not sure if I mentioned this, but you sound like an asshole.” I laughed. I couldn’t say anything. I just sat there because, well, I’m an asshole. “You’ve got plenty years ahead of you.”


11

“I heard that one before.” I retorted. “Just live it up a little. Appreciate it all. Take it in. Take it in all the way.” “You’re disgusting.” “What?” He elongated the ‘a’ as if it would make his crude comment any cuter. “Nothing.” I pulled him towards me and hugged him. I didn’t want to let go, but I knew eventually I would have to. “Can you do me a favor?” He asked as he caressed my back, reaching lower and lower. “Only if you promise to stop fondling me.” “That can be put up for debate.” I wasn’t surprised by his answer. “Just live life, and love life. Just do me that solid.” “I promise.” I squeezed his arms as he let go. “Now I have to go check in. And you have someone wait-ing for you.” “What?”Iasked,butjustasIaskedheflickedmeonthehead and I fell.

I never really liked snow. It wasn’t the fact that it was cold and always in the way, but it reminded me all too much of what I ex-pected Heave to look like. I woke up in a hospital bed with Frank standing patiently at bedside. “DoyouknowhowmuchIhateyou?”Heasked,fightingback tears. “That’s nothing new.” I smiled. “Can you do me a favor?” He let go of my hand, which was clammy and sweaty, and said “Sure.” “Get me a Bible.” He looked surprised. “You, a Bible? What kind of joke is that?”Ilaughed,“Veryfunny.Canyoujustgetit?”BeforeIfinishedmyquestion he threw it over to me.I held the textured book in my hand and rubbed the grooves all along the cover. There was a ribbon holding the place of a page in the book.“First Epistle to the Corinthians.” I read aloud.“Wow, I’m surprised you didn’t say ‘One Corinthians’.”

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I ignored the comment and continued to read. “Love is patient and kind; it is not jealous or conceited or proud; love is not ill-man-neredorselfishorirritable;lovedoesnotkeeparecordofwrongs;love is not happy with evil, but is happy with the truth. Love never gives up; and its faith, hope, and patience never fail.Love is eternal. There are inspired messages, but they are tempo-rary; there are gifts of speaking in strange tongues, but they will cease; there is knowledge, but it will pass. For our gifts of knowl-edge and of inspired messages are only partial; but when what is perfect comes, then what is partial will disappear.When I was a child, my speech, feelings, and thinking were all those of a child; now that I am an adult, I have no more use for childish ways. What we see now is like a dim image in a mirror; then we shall see face-to-face. What I know now is only partial; then it will be as complete as God's knowledge of me.Meanwhile these three remain: faith, hope, and love; and the great-est of these is love.” I looked up at the white ceiling and whispered the words “Thank you.”

Christian Schmidt, ’12


13

The InevitableMichael Joll, ’12

Please do not take this lightly.I’m as serious as a heart attack.

There’s no way I can say this politely;It’s morals that you lack.

I tense up when you’re around me.The hairs stand on my neck.Your list is all that I can see

And my name without a check.

Oh please do stop;Even just for the day

I can’t stand for someone dropAnd you swoop down with no delay.

Ah death.You are dark and unknown,

But how can you take away my breathAnd then make me leave my home?

I wish I knew if there was more to this;If there’s a tunnel with light,

But I will have my feeling of blissWhen you come to fright.

Though I know you creepLike a thief in the night.

When you are about to reapIshallwinourfight.

LLiterama 2012

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The ViewRyan Epps, ’12

I stood on top of my building.I could feel the wind blow in my face.

Lights from below and beyond me can be seen for miles.I don’t know, maybe 60, 50 stories.

There were people, everywhere.They clung to their existence for guidance, help, and maybe for-

giveness.And it did not matter whether depression, regret, or madness

caught them.I sighed. My mind was racing.

Sweat mixed with tears rolled down my cheeks.Sounds of bustling city, car horns, and walking thuds of feet

roamed the blind air.Theradiatorbehindmehummedsignificantlyloudenough.

My thoughts were unheard. Business was done.What did people do when they lost everything?

Iheardasiren.Probablyafiretruckorambulance.Sounds of the crashing of waves spread through my mind.

Soon everything stopped.My mind was elsewhere.

I closed my eyes and saw everyone. They were happy.I was sad. And after a few more minutes, so were they.

Nothing could stop it. Nothing can change it.But I guess “that’s life”

Wyrd, as the old Anglo Saxons call it, ‘what happens’I was lying on a beach. My knees against my chest.

I was crying, staring at the water as it rose with a wave.And receding, the sun sucking in the water at the sunset and spiting

it back out at me with another wave.


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The Freshman Art Class

L

I sighed once more. The beach was gone, everyone was gone.All I could see was the city. Alive and on auto pilot.

And soon I heard screams far off in within the depth of my mindButIwasflying.Soaring.

The dreams soon disappeared.

Literama is now accepting submissions for our spring issue. Submit poetry,

artwork, fiction,and essays to

[email protected]

16 Saint Peter’S PreParatory SchooL

As I lay under the weeping willow treeMy eyes gaze at yours and yours at meThough your naked eyes shall never seeThe passionate love that I feel for thee

No longer do I wish to call you my friendNo longer do I wish to pretend

I wish to knell on one knee and my arm extendThen say that my heart has been opened

Though I stay in this disguiseI continue to speak my constant lies

For it shall be no surpriseIf I speak of truth it will end in cries

I love every second we have spentIt is clear that you are Heaven sent

For your love is my supplementThough my Heart is not content

It was time for me to be braveIt was time for me to leave my shy cave

True love from you is what I craveAlone no more my heart you shall save

I kissed you and you leaned awayThen my love you began to say

That no longer are you able to stayAnd you must be on your way

For its seems that you have found your mateI am afraid that I have acted too lateLet it be known to all not to hesitate

Or they shall too share my fate

The Weeping WillowMichael Joll, ’12

17Literama 2012

Michael Joll, ‘12

Although you I shall missInside me remains the feeling of bliss

Whenever I reminisceAt that moment when we kissed

Though you have walked away from meAnd this is how it turned out to be

Never shall I forget of theeOnce again my heart alone, at the weeping willow tree.

L


Peter Imus, ‘ 12

The Season of ColorFall

Where all is changing.Mother Nature is but a busy bee;

As she transforms all living things.

The leaves change into an array of colors.Iseethemasredasfireandasyellowasthesun.

As they break away from the branch of their home; Creating the walkway of colors.

anonymous

The wind blows as to a vagabond making his way through.Traveling from place to place.

The feel of the air sends goose bumps up my arm.And then chills down my back

FromtheseaoffieryleavesTo the jack o’ lanterns smiling at me.A feeling of euphoria enters my body.

Fall has arrived.

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I’ll always climb the mountain but never reach the topI know I’ll never make it,

But no I’ll never stopI can hear the peaks calling me

“Give me all you got”

I’ll participate in all of your gamesThough I’ll never win

And when I do lose to you,We’ll start the game again

For I may sometimes fumbleBut I will never fall

And if I’m ever crippledI will still stand tall

And even if can’t breathe, I’ll still gasp for air

For my legacy will live on Even when I’m not there

So I leave behind that little messageThat little piece that you will see

And even if you don’t understand itJust understand it’s me

PursueJacob Dombroski, ‘12

The Freshman Art Class


Itwasabeautifuldaythatmorningandtheflowerswerein bloom and the coffee was sweet. A regular man, Carlson Em-erson, left his single room apartment and strode down the street. It seemed to any other man that that day was just like every other Thursday, but to Carlson, today was the most important day of his life. To Carlson, the sky was clear, the grass was freshly cut, the birds were singing a lovely tune, everyone passing him by smiling andlaughing,thearomaoffinefoodswaftedthroughtheair;allwas well in the world, all seemed right. Carlson stopped at a news stand. The newsie was an old Chineseman,heseemedtobeasmokerashisfingertipswereyel-low and he had rotten breath. One could also see he was a family man; he had a small picture of a woman and three children, two girlsandaboy.Heflippedthroughthedifferentmagazinesandnewspapers on display: popular gossip rags, local, state, and na-tionwide newspapers, Sudoku and crossword books, among others. He picked out a local newspaper and continued down the street, smiles and all.He stilled on a street corner waiting for the light to turn red. There was a tree besides him; it was larger than any others on the street. Looking up into the tree, one could see the leaves beginning to change hues. There was a single nest snug near the trunk; a single bird was adding more foliage to the nest. Out of the clear blue sky, alargerbirdflewintothetreeandrushedthroughthenest,totalingit.Thebirdreactedbyfleeing.Thelightturnedred,andCarlsoncrossed the road. Walking along, Carlson was stopped by an elderly woman who had dropped her purse. She was behind him, but he back-tracked to assist her. Much of what was in her large purse was miscellaneous pieces of papers and other garbage. But a lot of her money and a few pictures fell out as well.

What a Beautiful DayBrady Cashman, ‘14

21Literama 2012

Carlson scooped up most of what had fallen, saving some of the garbage to throw away, and gave her the purse. She smiled and gave a hearty thank you. Carlson said the he was honored to help, and continued to walk on his way.Carlsonmadeanotherstopatafloralstandonthesideofthestreet.There was a young blonde haired woman running the stand. She smiled and asked him what he needed, he was only browsing though.Heexaminedbundlesofdifferentkindsofflowers:roses,daisies,tulips,azaleas,sunflowers,andcosmoses.Theyallhada unique smell, each more beautiful than the next. He grabbed a bundleofyellowdaisiesandpaidforthem.Theflowerladysmiledagain, she asked if they were for a special occasion. Carlson simply replied yes. The sun was truly warm, warmer than Carlson has ever felt it. He took a deep breath in and out and took it in. Days like these never come again, so Carlson wanted to enjoy every last second. Carlson made his way through street blocks all across town, appre-ciatingeachmomentastheycameandreflectingonthosepastallat once.Carlson was soon approaching a cafe. The aroma of smooth, yet bittercoffeefilledthesurroundingair.Carlsondecidedthiswaswhere he wanted to rest after his long day. He entered the cafe, there were several people at tables sipping there drinks, in some cases eating some sort of breakfast pastry. He stood on line; there were two people in front of him. The woman in the front had ordered an espresso, and had received one quickly. The other man in front of him had ordered a coffee to go with two sugars. He was verybusiness-like,suit,briefcase,scowl,andtheworks.Hefinallyreceived his coffee and left. "Good morning sir," A young Asian girl was the cashier, she had a shy smile, yet she seemed outgoing. It had to be a forced outgoing feeling. "What would you like today?" Carlson browsed through the overhead menu, there were so many over complicated kinds of drinks. Carlson couldn't even begin to comprehend what any of them mean."Just regular coffee please." The cashier pressed a button on the register and looked up.


"To go sir?" Carlson stared at her for a second."To stay please." She almost seemed astonished by his answer. She excused herself for one second and went to through a door behind the counter. She peeked her head back through the door and said that he could take a seat. Carlson looked around, there were four tables available: a table near the door, a table near the register and close to the line, one near the restrooms, and another facing the window, he sat at the window. He put his back to the window, placed the daisies on thetable,andflippedopenthenewspaperandskimmedthroughit.He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the soothing smell and texture of coffee was almost drowned out by the sounds of busi-ness. Soon the Asian girl who worked the register brought a clean, crisp white ceramic cup with his coffee inside of it.

She placed it gingerly on the table. "Sorry for the wait, not many peoplestaytodrinkcoffee.It'susuallypeoplewhohavemuffinsand bagels and stuff, so we put the cups in the back so they're out of the way.""People need to slow down huh?" She agreed and left to tend the register. Carlson put down the paper and looked at his cup; it was full of black goodness, an escape from the world to some people. There were two other items that came with the coffee, a small cup of milk and a casket of sugar packets. Carlson grabbed the milk and poured half of it into his coffee, the fresh white milk fusing

Christian Rasmusson, ‘12

23Literama 2012

with the dark coffee was something to be admired, nothing in the world worked as well as this combination. He then combed through the packets of sugar. They were all in different colored packets: yellow, pink, blue, and white. None of them were what he was looking for. He pulled another packet out of his right pocket; this was the one that did it for him. He tore the packet half way across the top and tilted it over his drink. It came pouring out like a river of sweetness, ready to complete his drink.He placed the empty packet on the table and pulled his coffee closer to him. He opened the newspaper once more and looked throughitsomemore.Heflippedthroughpageafterpageuntilonestory caught his attention. He took a gulp of his coffee as he read it.Hefinishedthearticleandplacedthepaperonthetable.Hetookanother large gulp of his coffee and placed the empty cup back on its saucer. He picked up a single daisy and looked forward, not to the people ahead of him, but beyond, into the bright world that waited for him that day. He placed the daisy in his shirt pocket, shut his eyes and laughed to himself. It was the last time Carlson Emerson ever shut his eyes.Yesterday, a thirty-two year old male died in a coffee shop less thanfifteenblocksfromhisoneroomapartment.OneCarlsonEmerson killed himself by poisoning his coffee while sitting in the cafe. The authorities stated that the most likely scenario was that he ordered a drink, sat down, and poisoned the drink himself before he ingested it. There were no traces of any poison anywhere but his cup and a small white packet on his table. Mr. Emerson was noted as having a content smile on his face.The table at which the victim was sitting not only had the tool of his death, but a newspaper and a dozen yellow daisies. The news-paper was open to a particular article. It was about the death of a mother and her three children, two girls and a boy, died in an ac-cident caused by a drunk driver. The victims of the crash were the family of Carlson Emerson. When the former neighbors of Mr. Emerson were inter-viewed, they said, "That poor man, ever since his family died he's been so upset. His house was foreclosed upon; he lost his job, everything. The only thing I thought was keeping him sane was


Sit back, my friends, and listen up closeAs I tell this story written in my proseThis story is somewhat entertaining

And do me a favor, please no complaining.

There once was a bully in New JerseyWho never gave a single person mercy

His name was Larry, he was a complete jerk to othersAlso,being18,hewastheyoungestoffivebrothers

This boy was quite the large fellowWith beady brown eyes and hair of lemon yellow

He spent many a day in the gymAnd he also was rather dim

Anyways, I digress from this taleSo Larry the bully was walking the trail

NearhishomeinWestfield,When a teenager stepped in his path, his right hand concealed.

RevengeMike Dombrowski, ‘13

thoseyellowdaisies,thosewereherfavoriteflowers,andshehad them everywhere in the house." She later inquired about the scene of death, and when she was told, she responded that that cafewasthefirsttimeMr.andMrs.Emersonfirstmet.And when interviewing the waitress who gave Mr. Emerson his drink, she said, "He seemed so... Euphoric. I've never seen someone as relaxed as him. He was just so... Content."

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The kid was named JoeAn adolescent who had brown hair and skin of snow

Joe was many a times a victim of LarryThe things that he had experienced, to some, were quite scary

Larry said, “What do you want, wimp?Get out of my way, you stupid little shrimp.”But Joe stood his ground, not moving an inch

Larryfeignedapunch,buthedidn’tevenflinch.

Larry became worried, wondering why Joe was thereJoe just looked coldly at Larry, not really seeming to care

About what Larry could do.At that time Larry’s fear grew.

JoefinallyspoketothebullySaying, “ You’ve always beat me fully

Never once considering what I could do against youWell, now, here’s what I’m going to do”

Jake Dombroski, ‘12


“I’mfinallygoingtomakeyoufeelwhatI’vefeltWhen you beat me up, you left many a welt

On my back, so now it’s my turn to deal the painI’m going to do what you did to me, which was so far from hu-

mane.”

James Roman, ‘13

L

27Literama 2012

My life is ever changingIn all different ways

But though my life is not the worstThe grass seems always greener on the other side

As I have grown from boy to manOpportunities came my way,

But Reality hit me as hard as a ramAnd new problems arose.

As a child I was problem freeBut now that I am grown

The Stress increases as the years passAnd my personality begins to change

I am now grown upNo longer problem freeI couldn’t wait to grow

Now I wish I was young again

The Real Realityanonymous

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Kevin Li, ‘12


“Are you prepared to die, my friend?” the voice came out from the hazy darkness. It was Russian. Why? The details were slipping out of my head like water in my hands. I couldn’t remember anything pasttheofficeabovethemethandthenthedooropening.Therewas a pain in my head and then the sharp prick of a needle. They drugged me, I realized, but with what? And how long had I been unconscious? I was blindfolded and I had no idea where I was. I decided to try reason with my unseen captor. “Listen dumbass, how ‘bout you take off the goddamned blindfold so I can see your ugly face!” “Very well”, the voice came again. I felt a rough hand grab the back of my neck and rip the blindfold off my head. Sud-denlymyeyeswerehitwithasuddenflashofbrightness.Myeyeswatered as they adjusted to the dim light in the room, and I guessed it had been at least six hours because the dim light felt like I was gazing at the sun. My hands were bound behind my back to the wooden chair. My feet had been loosely looped around the chair as well.Thedimbulbhungaboveme,flickeringslightlyinafruitlessattempt to hold the growing darkness of the room at bay. The room I was in was as bland as could be, gray concrete walls and no win-dows. My captor stood in the shadows, nothing but a silhouette. I laughed hoarsely to myself. “You’ve been watching too many mafiamovies.”Itoldhim,inanattempttowardoffthegnawingfear in my stomach. “Oh but this is no movie, this is real life.” The Russian growled, “Now Mr. Anderson, why don’t you begin telling me who you work for? Police? FBI?”, “Why are you asking me?” I said calmly, “Your boss obviously doesn’t know that you found a cop in his meth lab. If he knew I’d already be dead. You’re just an underling. Not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree either, am I right?” My thoughts and memories were becoming less and less blurry as I kept talking. I needed to keep this guy voicing empty threats for just a minute longer.

HostageThomas Howard, ‘15

29Literama 2012

The Russian stepped into the dim circle of light, looking furious. There was a throbbing vein in his head and a scowl on his face. He had black hair, dark eyes, and a Makarov pistol in his hand. I just needed to keep him talking for just a few more seconds. “Perhaps you forget,” The Russian said menacingly, “You are the one tied to the chair and I am the one holding the gun.” “Did you know that Harry Houdini once said that the key to escaping was not how tight the knot was but how much slack was left in it?” I told him. “Shutup!”yelledtheRussian,finallylosinghistemper,“Tellmewho you are and who you work for before I splatter your goddamn brains all over the wall!” “You left too much slack,” I said calmly and jumped up out of the chair and smashed the Russian’s face with a right hook. Damn that felt good. He stumbled backwards, dizzilyaimedthepistol,andfiredawildshot.Beforehecouldfireagain I grabbed the chair and smashed it into his head. The Russian dropped the gun and staggered backwards, reeling from the blow.

I picked up the pistol and for good measure, clubbed him with it. Hedroppedtothefloorunconscious.Iquicklysearchedthroughhis pockets and found a wallet, phone, a small knife, and a cheap pairofsunglasses.Ipressedtheman’sthumbandforefingertothelenses and slipped them in my pocket. I checked the man’s pulse,

Christian Blauch, ‘13


making sure he was still alive, before I tied and gagged like he had done to me. I stood up, walking over to door and pressed my ear to it, two voices drifted through it, both speaking in Russian. I tried thedoortofinditunlocked,openeditacrack,andlookedthrough.There was another dull room with gray concrete walls. The room was devoid of furniture besides a folding table and some crates stacked in the corner. Two men were leaning against a wall next to afoldingtable.Theycarriedsemi-autoassaultrifles.Thiswasbad.

The crates would make decent cover if I could get behind them, that is if I could get to them without a bullet in chest. But I did have surprise on my side. The guards didn’t seem to have noticed that something was wrong, but it wouldn’t be long before they did. I checked the ammo in my pistol. Six bullets in the magazine. Two targets.Iburstthroughthedooranddroppedthefirstguardwitha double tap. One to the head, one in the chest. The moment the firstguardfellIranforthecrates,takingadvantageofthesecondguard’s shock. But before I was safe he started squeezing off wild shots in my direction. I heard a bullet whiz just over my head. I jumpedandrolledbehindthecrates.Theguardfiredintothembutwhatever was inside managed to stop the bullets. I peeked over the crates only to e greeted by more bullets. I heard slow apprehensive footstepscomingtowardsme.Ihadtofinishthisguyoff.Ipoppedup from cover and squeezed off two shots at the guard. I was down

Christian Rasmusson, ‘12

31Literama 2012

onthefloorbeforeIcouldseewhethertheyhadhit.Therewasa thump. Then silence. I looked past the crate and saw the other guardonthefloor.Istoodupandcheckedboththeguards’pulses.They were both dead. I went over to the folding table and found my cover ID, cell, and my Glock. I picked them up and began to search the room more thoroughly. Then I heard the sirens.

CocoaDan Kelly, ‘12

James sat down in the lonely red velvet chair of the Lone Star diner staring at the singular cup of cocoa in front of him. James blew on this cup of cocoa in its plain white cup with its peculiar lack of distinguishing qualities. The small bubbles of froth slowly moved to and fro with his slow controlled breath. As a child he had looked at these very bubbles of froth in a cup of similar size and shape, thinking that these unremarkable pustules upon the dark surface were thoughts, rising from the deep places of this cups mind. As James blew on these white creatures they began to dissipate as his own thoughts did when they were disturbed by the breath of others. He mourned for the innocent souls as he slaugh-tered them with the air from his lungs as its milky brethren contin-ued to work providing more. “Hey Jimmy boy, Jim ya there!” his pin striped associate asked from across the desert table in the velvet Lone Star booth.James looked up from his now cool cup of cocoa and nodded at his associate. The other men at the table looked as if they too were dis-turbed by the comments of Mr. Valieri. “Look, Jim” he said coolly, “We gotta be gettin to work here.” James nodded at the pinned stripesuitandstoodupwiththeothersattheirtable.Atotaloffivemen stood there in the cold air like the empty freezing blackness of space. Or so James supposed for he never actually went there. His thoughts were once more disturbed by the distinct clink of handguns and change hitting the counter of the diner. Their target

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sat outside across the street in an old car of 30 years with a unique style that always intrigued the solemn gangster. The door of the diner slammed open and the men in his company poured through the opening in the line. James had moved through with caution so as not to disturb the delicate setup that his associates created with theirmess.GunfireinterruptedthequietafternooninDaytononthat soft summer day with the violence of an automobile accident. The bullets ripped through the air like cars on the freeway as they passedfromoneendofthestreettoanother.Themafiabosswhosehead had been ripped in two fell to the ground and his associates responded in force. First Bill and then Perry fell to the ground with theforceofwhatseemedliketons,andthenJamesfeltthefirstbullet blast through his arm and chest. His legs were weak when they collapsed but James felt no pain in his body. He expected that after three or four bullets in his body that he would feel them but nothing responded when he called upon the nerves. The blood from his body poured onto the cruel pavement as he watched with indifference. But there within the blood and gravel were small white bubbles, moving to and fro with the force of his last breath.

33Literama 2012

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Winter Literama 2012