by Lynn Hawes Lynn Hawes is a 16 year-old who loves sports, cooking, shopping and reading. Her favorite genres to read are drama, romance, and historical fiction. My mama, Nadia Sovyak, is a strong woman, owner of the best dress shop in Doame and mother of two beautiful daughters. I have seen her struggle through my father’s death when I was eight and my sister was five. My father was a general in the Doame Army and was well respected by our people. One day, my papa and I were playing soccer outside of the house while mama and Sasha were taking a nap, when two Cunians approached papa. My papa was a strong and resilient man who stood up to anyone. There was something different this time, his hands were trembling and his voice went high and low. The Cunian man asked me if I was the only one home, before I answered I looked at my father for permission. I replied “papa and I are home alone playing soccer.”
by Kevin Luck Kevin Luck is a 17 year-old Junior at FHS who loves to dance, sing, act, and spend time outdoors with friends. I pulled over to the side of the highway, legs aching from sitting so long. I was in the middle of nowhere, and I’d driven hours to get here. I steeled myself and turned off the car.
Everyone is born with one. A reaper. People say nobody’s reaper looks the same, like everyone’s personal terrifying snowflake of death. No one knows for certain, though, because you can only see your own reaper. Very little is actually known about them. It’s hard to study something you can never touch. by Kevin Luck Kevin Luck is a 17 year-old Junior at FHS who loves to dance, sing, act, and spend time outdoors with friends. Moon drunk monster
Beautiful, yet a stranger Oh how you make us laugh, you jester You hide to us how your mind is danger Ponder your melancholy question And tell me which you dread more A feeling of indigestion Or losing your mental war by Kevin Luck Kevin Luck is a 17 year-old Junior at FHS who loves to dance, sing, act, and spend time outdoors with friends. B is for Backs, which we watch for each other no matter what
R is for Respect, which we have for each other and others O is for Open, as we are open to whatever to our brothers need to talk about T is for Truthful, which we are always when we are with anyone H is for Helpful, we always are looking to help each other and others E is for Equal, no one of us is greater than the other R is for Responsible, we are responsible for each other H is for Honesty, which we always have to have with each other O is for Opinion, which we all are allowed to have O is for Open-minded, which is what we are to others thoughts D is for Dependable, which we all are if a brother needs anything by Khushmeet As you look out and see the flow around you,
Like the magma that revolves around the earth, You recognize there is no earth below, nor a sky above, the perfect balance, The winds look upon me, and tell me that only I am here. Only my breath, and heartbeat. I think to myself, only one as calm as the ocean, can feel its true beauty. I can feel how the water rages when the tide changes How can something lifeless like water, become so complex to understand, A perfect harmony of emotion, built by nature. by Nana Yaa Antwi Writing poetry has been a creative outlet for Nana Yaa for most of her life. It offers her both a chance to reflect on her life, and a perspective on her future. When the wicked breeze whispered against her nape and her senses dulled, within the waves of numbness drowning her, she knew what was a comin’
When the ground lurched and his insides rumbled, the ever rising lava of anguish took hold of his being, crushing him within its grip, he too knew what was a comin’ But when the sunflowers began sprouting at the speed of light and the thunder became encrusted in ice, did they know the full capacity of what was a comin’? I could have a great laugh at their guesses. Watching them as a prideful bystander who’s lived this hundreds of times, I can’t help the excitement probing at my veins at the chaotic struggle to sue; nor my giddiness at the anticipated answer to the obvious question. Who would survive? I managed to do it! I managed to survive for decades against it and I would watch without a speckle of guilt, but unadulterated glee when their exhaustion consumed them and strips of their last inkling of humanity. Who was to survive? by Chinelo A Chinelo is a Nigerian-American who is passionate about feminism and mental health. Her identity as a black Nigerian woman has shaped many of her thoughts, ideas, and interests. Her hobbies include reading and writing. From the lather of my sunscreen
that produces a white cast From the memories of middle school That I can’t get past From the umbrella in my backpack That shields me from the sun From the mirror in my bedroom that makes me want to run From the tears of exhaustion that fall on my pillowcase To the disgusting feeling I get from just looking at my face From the silence of my phone To the ringing of my ears Can I please just get away from here? From all the mornings I couldn’t get up and the news that the government became more corrupt From the deaths of thousands and the hatred that resides To the feeling of never wanting to be alive From the pressure of being great Whilst not succumbing to hate From society saying I’m ugly Because of the skin color I didn’t create From getting followed in every store From people assuming the intelligence I bore From my confidence dwindling by the hour To never feeling like taking a shower I put my headphones on While wiping my tears I hope it can get better from here by Chinelo A Chinelo is a Nigerian-American who is passionate about feminism and mental health. Her identity as a black Nigerian woman has shaped many of her thoughts, ideas, and interests. Her hobbies include reading and writing. The panting of her breath
goes unnoticed Just another run she said The lack of food on her plate goes unnoticed Too many calories she said Because the jeans she had fit too well Because the scale showed a number too high to tell Because she looked in the mirror begging not to see herself While everyone congratulated her on the new jeans on her shelf She watches others have fun outside But she’s too alone to even cry by Johany Johany is a senior at FHS. She is an aspiring author currently working on short stories, poems, and a novel. Her love of literature extends over many genres, especially classic and fantasy novels. I made my way down the dank alley, my footsteps muffled by the sludge seeping from the piles of rubbish lining the sides. My heart pounds as I adjust to the low lighting.
“Someone very important wants you dead, sir. Now what, pray tell, could you have done to stray into the path of their wrath? Sleeping with other women? Cheating at the tables?”, the voice pauses, “Or wait… how about this one: taken advantage of a young maiden? Now that one. That's the one, you see how your eyes just lit up? The fear has been triggered in your eyes.” by Johany Johany is a senior at FHS. She is an aspiring author currently working on short stories, poems, and a novel. Her love of literature extends over many genres, especially classic and fantasy novels. She walks silently in the night,
Each of her knives, oh how they glint in the light. The man, back up against the end of the alley, He wished and pleaded, staring down the line into Death Valley She smiled a bit, before slitting his throat. Careful right then, didn’t want blood on her coat. And just as she turned, I hid out in the shadows What I did next, and why I did it, nobody knows. A prince, she whispered, Why, how may I help you mister? Darling, I said, lest you want to end in shackles You’ll take a second and listen to me. She crackles. In the end, she agreed to my terms. It wasn’t too long for my passion to burn. With the way she smiles, It could keep me going for miles. But then the night came, Where she finally learned of my shame. So by the light of a new morning she was gone And with the night she stole my song. Even today, I can’t bring myself to say her name. But still I love her just the same. Even as i sit on my father's throne, All my last thoughts go to my one true love, the lovely assassin Persephone. |
About EpiphanyEpiphany Literary Magazine is a safe space for students at Franklin High School to share their creativity. |