Literary Magazine

Tyger, Tyger: St. X's Online Literary Magazine

Faculty Advisor: Rebecca Reisert

Click on the titles below to read the best pieces of creative student writing in 2017-18.

A Dollar: A Poem Inspired by Chris Keller's Frozen Assets - By Ty Bentley

A Mean Right Hook - Jack Dwyer

A Mean Right Hook

By Jack Dwyer

I've always disliked bullies in any situation. I'm a fan of the underdog’s fight, the unlikely champion. When given the chance I will always defend those who can't defend themselves. This protective nature stems from my grade school experience from second to fifth grade. A chubby, lonely left tackle on the little kids football team made for grade A cuts in the eyes of a bully.

Two older kids in particular--who were so alike in size and motive that I referred to them as Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum--made an effort to crush my head during water breaks as often as they could: a practice they kept up whenever an adult wasn't looking. The duo weren't verbally encouraging either. This seriously affected how I acted socially. I became quiet, even among my circle of friends. I had little self confidence and refused to speak unless spoken to. I used to say to myself, Who the heck am I kidding? They're right, I'm so stupid to think I can do anything about anyone.

It got into my head that I should never argue with anyone because I was too stupid to debate anything. I thought I should say yes because I had no grounds or right to say no. I bottled up my emotions and destroyed myself even when Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum stopped picking on me. Unknowingly, this made me into a sleeping bear.

Fifth grade was a time of change in my school career. The older bullies had been grades above and had graduated, so my own classmates had started to fill in the positions they left behind. In the four-man band that consisted of my friends and me, I was the big friendly guy. It didn't bother me that I was quiet. I preferred to share my snack and smile rather than make incoherent small talk.

Eventually, a kid from my own grade started to become a bully himself. He wasn't the shortest kid in the grade, but that didn't stop him from having a Napoleon complex the size of east Texas. He was gangly but was supplemented by his avid interest in martial arts. I was too dumb and quiet for him to notice me but eventually he started targeting my friend who happened to be the tall one of the group. I wasn't aware of this until I saw the karate kid picking on him when everyone was lined up to go inside after recess.

The sight woke something up inside of me. What the heck does he think he's doing? What! Instead of silent acceptance I was filled with unmitigated rage. My blood boiled, my heart pumped hard, my teeth clenched to the point of pain, and my hands curled into fists. I could accept someone trying to harass me, but I wouldn't stand and let this guy harass my own friend. He deserved none of it. If this kid has beef with my tall friend, then he has to cut through this bull first.

"You lay off him right now!" I roared at the top of my lungs. I could yell extremely loud, even though most people barely had heard a peep out of me. I couldn't lift a finger for my own defense, yet I knew I could raise a fist for a friend's defense.

I rushed the kid fast and socked him.

I was unaccustomed to fighting, but since I was an offensive lineman for the football team, I had a few dozen pounds over him. He fell down and immediately came back up swinging. His fist connected to my jaw but I couldn't care less. I wanted to rip him limb from limb.

The teachers broke us up fast and sent us both to counseling.

Surprisingly, we later became good friends. We both ended up respecting each other despite our punches. After we talked and found more common ground, the karate kid became a better person overall and stopped picking on others.

After that day I was the big guy in my circle of friends. I started to talk more, and I found a new purpose within myself. I would always be there for my friends and be the hand to help them up. I learned how to accept hardship and take the brunt of it for a friend in need.

Edited by Zachary Hopkins and Matthew Voss

A Song To Forget - by Evan Sims

A Song to forget

By Evan Sims

The fears grip my throat and won’t release.

They’ve wrought me to my death and brought me to my knees,

He digs claws into my flesh and dreams.

I kick and thrash but I just can’t kill the beast.

So I fight the gravity, the force that’s grabbing me
And pick up my guitar.
I strum a chord and mutter a word,
And then let down my guard and I sing.

A song to forget
The monsters in my mind.
I’m running with the wolves,
The music flows into my closing eyes.

A song to remember.

The good that still remains,
And for that moment,
I can’t feel an ounce of pain.

When the music comes to an end,
My ears fill with the sound of screams again.
I’m dragged back down into the murky sea,
My shadow begins tugging on my sleeve.

No, don’t stop singing,
This sweet release,
Let the music,
Lie to me,
Let it,

Edited by Micah Petway and Parker Ashlock

Crawling: Inspired by Chance Pullford’s ...And Above You’ll See an Octopus - by Keegan Flynn

Flourish - by Sam Snawder


By Sam Snawder

Oh how I tried to get into her mind,

But my own would not let me flourish.

Like small grains of sand, the touch of her hand--

But my own would not let me flourish

It tore me apart when I got to her heart

Because my own would not let me flourish,

And what caused me to cry--Oh, what caused me to die--

Were her beautiful eyes that would not let me flourish.

Hollow - by Zach Hopkins

Morning Steps: A poem inspired by Eric Portaro’s Duel Tower Treehouse - by Evan Vetter

Sworn to Secrecy - by Micah Petway

Sworn to secrecy

By Micah Petway

Sworn to secrecy,

Bounded by the three words:

Let's do it

Showing my commitment to what little I know,

For I am naive and foolish.

Sitting and waiting for all the twisted ways.

Silly me, thinking you could be honest with me,

Hoping you would tell me.

Maybe you didn't know.

Maybe you're scared.


But you are sworn to secrecy,

So not a word is said.

After the twisted deed has been done,

Still nothing.


Showing no sign of remorse.

Sick, tired, aching. . .


I was sworn to secrecy.

So much doubt,

Showing no progress,

Wanting so much. . .

I froze.

I couldn't cry.

I won't cry,

For I am

sworn to secrecy.

Edited by Zachary Hopkins and Sam Hall