Reflections: Angelo DeMorto

Conducted by Sachael[1]

Transcribed by Ecanus[2]

“Tell me about everything you can, Angelo.”

“A hero? I’m not complaining but I really think I don’t deserve such a title. Local fireman Joe deserves it more than I do. Heck, the hobo down the street deserves it more. I’m just saying, that I shouldn’t be defined a hero for that one moment in my life. My whole death is really just some elaborated crock some local anchor made to get a promotion. I am not a hero; far from it, actually. And I am so sick of being called a hero by everyone in the community, including you! I am not a hero! You don’t know me! I am not a hero! Why? Because heroes don’t screw up their lives. Heroes don’t treat other people like ‘bits of paper’. Heroes sacrifice something dear to them. All I lost was my life that I had wasted away.

At age nine, a young Angelo DeMorto steals from the general store. He feels no regret, only exhilaration. When the store manager runs out to tattle on the police, it’s Angelo’s mother that pleads with the manager to drop the charges. When the man does, Angelo doesn’t learn his lesson. If you think that the morals might’ve subtly sunken in Angelo’s consciousness, you’re wrong. Why? Because Angelo begins to steal from other stores, honing his skills as a thief! And four years later, Angelo DeMorto and his friends beat the store manager to a pulp! My god! The manager’s cuts ooze blood and his eye is swollen shut from the bruise caused when I had smashed my boot against his face. He was bawling with pain, asking us to stop, but ‘heroic’ Angelo and his friends run away, leaving the man to bleed to death besides the switchblades.

Tip of the iceberg! Three years later, I danced with Mary Jane. Her sweet moves were so enticing, leaving me to want more. Soon after, I’m hanging out with Charlie, Adam, and Kit-Kat. Guess who favorite friend is? Angel! Hah! Isn’t the irony just killing you!? Oh, don’t worry; I introduced all my pals to all my friends at school. God! What I life I had! Invited to all the parties, recruited just to bring all the “supplies”! Life was my dollhouse, and I sure as hell took it for granted.

You should’ve seen me in my prime! I would spend the entire nights romping around town, looking for people to torture. All that blood I had shed! All the screams of agony of those who disobeyed my reign of terror! I was bloodthirsty demon, starving for the elation and exhilaration that I felt when overpowering someone.

Now, the two of you are probably how the hell a kid named ‘Angelo’ is acting like a kid named ‘Damien.’ My mother was a born romantic and true sap. Newly divorced, my mother raised me by herself. I was her ‘little angel’ and that’s why my name is Angel. She was too wishy-washy, but she was always there for me. All those times were I should’ve gotten arrested; she’s truly sacrificed everything for my second chances. Once she had a three hour argument to keep me in school, fighting against the discovery of my stash; she argued that my student rights were violated against my Fourth Amendment. She’s the hero, not me. I get recognition of ‘community hero’ while she gets to suffer and mourn her dead angel…I’m sorry for everything Mom. I’m a disappoinment, a screw-up. You deserved a better son than me; and I love you.

Want to know something funny? No one even knows how I truly went down! For the last time, I didn’t die a hero. The anchor reported that ‘A gallant young teenager had honorably pushed the young Tina Mostler out of harm’s way.’ Well, BS to anchorman Bob and to everyone who believed him. The real story was I saw that dumb blonde absorbed with her cell phone and her other electronics at a deserted bus stop. She seemed occupied, so I snuck up behind her, readying myself to deftly slipping my hand in her huge handbag to steal her wallet. I had judged before me that she was waiting for the bus and so I reached in her tote bag. However, unexpectedly, she crossed the street with my hand that had gotten entangled in the shoulder straps. I had no choice but to follow her quietly as I tried to free my hand without her noticing. Go figure, I couldn’t and ended up tugging on her shoulder straps.

Yes boys, you guessed it; she turned around and ended up seeing Angelo DeMorto, idiot pickpocket, with his hand foolishly stuck in her bag. As if in slow motion, I used my remaining hand to cover her mouth, muffling her scream. We began to struggle, unaware of that the nearby stoplight was signaling green. Stupidly, I still persevered to steal her entire bag. Time sped up, and in a flash she had almost freed herself from the frenzied dance of a struggle. She had both hands on one strap of the bag, as I had one hand gripping the other strap. I leaned forward, pushed her shoulder to knock her off balance, and then shot my hand into the wide-open mouth of the tote to snatch her wallet. However, when she tumbled down, so did I; for when she fell, she let go of the bag that we were struggling with such a force that cause me to fall back and trip over my own two feet. To make our situation more visual, let me give you this example. Do you know when two people are playing tug of war with such effort, and suddenly one lets go of the rope? Then the other dude second is left teetering backwards and falling because he is caught off balance? Well I was the latter dude. I stumbled backwards and lost my footing in the middle of the street. And then the honking truck came out of nowhere and killed me.

As for the girl, it took her like a good five seconds to realize I had saved her life, by trying to mug her. She began to scream for help, and soon that empty crosswalk became populated. Shortly after anchorman Bob appeared in his cheap suit, reporting the ‘inspiring’ story as the medics failed to revive me. And thus, by Tina Mostler and anchorman Bob’s story, I was dubbed Angelo, the guardian archangel of Puyallup. What nonsense Tina had cooked up. If she was trying to be noble by letting me die honorably, she shouldn’t have. I wasn’t a hero. I died delinquent teenager at the least. And you know what’s ironic, guys? The last thing I ever heard on earth, as a human from Tina Mostler was: ‘Get the hell off of me, you monster!’ Soon after, I’m dubbed an angel by the same girl. Life sucks.

So if you’re still confused about why I hate being called a fucking hero, I’ll try to simplify it. I lived my life as a freakish monster, honestly, almost like a psychopath. The only hero is my mother. She deserves more than I ever was or will have ever become. My mother should not have to mourn over a lie. I was a god-awful son who honestly didn’t deserve her tears. Not a hero, but a monster.

Look, am I done? I’m tired and honestly, I’m a little depressed and could use a cigarette; can we finish this tomorrow? Good? Jesus Christ, I’m a monster not a hero. Get your facts straight.”

End of Transcript
July 14, 2010

[1] Angel of Water who helps to purify and clarify thoughts while embracing a serene heart.

[2] Angel of Writers who inspires writers with original ideas and encourages them to complete tasks

Pauline Ceraulo
Age 18, Grade 12
Trinity School
Gold Key

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