Sweetest Goodbye
by Elizabeth Augustin Write about me, my dear write about the good times we had the spark in our eyes whenever we saw each other the soft look in yours every time your eyes dulled into mine I still remember how my reflection looked deep inside your brown eyes, So piercing, so vicious yet so fragile I still remember our ragged breath the way our lips curled in on eachother The passion we constantly had, and struggled to express Write about the slow walks down stooping paths the tight grip you always had when you grasped onto my hands I miss those precious moments we had But I don’t miss you, old friend you’re not the same friend I used to know you’re completely unrecognizable now ; blistering cold maybe someday they’ll stumble upon this and i’ll be in a much better place By then, it will be much too late Elizabeth is a Junior at FHS. She is currently enjoying reading and writing about supernatural fantasy and fiction.
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a piece on depression by Batool Zaidi
The feeling of being a burden on someone is another feeling I wouldn’t want anyone to feel. It’s unpolished even, awkward. Take it from a person who touches the surface of both of these sensations everyday; I feel downhearted. I try so hard to feel wanted, but all it is is awkward smiles and small talk, in which I am feeling nothing. I’m afraid to ask for things, because I feel like a strain, a deadweight. I try everything to make the people around me happy, but I feel like I just make things worse. I don’t mean to do it on purpose, I sincerely do it, because I’ve always been told to make people smile, because everyone deserves happiness, no matter their race, gender, sexuality, religion, cultural background, social class, their income, because maybe these are the reasons that people feel like they aren’t wanted, or that they are a burden. I know I have value, and am worth something, but one person can make you feel like you’re worth absolutely nothing. I know one doesn’t mean to do that, but I take it to heart because the last time I felt this way, I was told that I needed to see my therapist. Telling me that there is something wrong with the way I feel... I’m quite sorry that I don’t react to situations the way you do, or feel the way you do, or see the world the way you do, because we aren’t the same people. We’ve all experienced the world in all different ways. We all have had different experiences that shape the people we are today. So, you do not get to let me feel that way. I know this isn’t all that positive, and this isn’t the way I write usually, but I write what comes to mind. But this is a reminder, to the ones who feel like less than-- don’t feel that way. It’s not worth it; live your life, find happiness in the little things, you aren’t a burden. Batool Zaidi is a senior at Franklin High School. Her hobbies consist of writing film reviews for pleasure and enjoyment, watching films, and reading up on screenplays. She has been writing since she was in 8th grade, when she first used it as an outlet for her depression. This is a piece she wrote about being a burden. "Old Turns to New"
by J.Z.S. The sun is burning, hot on my face and arms. My dad is on his way right now and I’m so excited. “Mami, when is Papi getting here? I can’t wait much longer!” I’m on the verge of whining. My cousin, Elier, was just as anxious, jumping and twitching with excitement. He’s skinny in a branchy way, like a little stick figure, eyes a dark brown, hair gelled up into a mohawk. A van pulls up into the driveway, red and dusty from the dirt road, honking its horn. My dad’s opening the door before even stopping the van, running out to pick me up and give me a great, big hug. Then there was a pause as he smiled at me. He put me down, turned away, and walked back to the van. A lean, brunette, whose wearing a semi-bright yellow dress was getting out of the van. I tilted my head, squinting my eyes against the bright sun. I know who this is but I can’t seem to remember a name or relation. She was familiar but a stranger all the same. “Who’s that?” LE whispers to me, pointing at the woman. “I don’t know,” I say unable to look away from the pleasant smile that was aimed at me. I tilt my head, confused as to why my father had a girl, no a woman, riding in the car with him. “Hey, baby girl, I want you to meet someone,” my dad motions for me to follow him. When I don’t advance, he holds his hand out to me, I take it and follow. I stumble behind him as he speed walks to the woman. “Daddy, who’s that? I don’t remember her,” I whisper. He doesn’t answer, so I tug on his flannel shirt soft in my hand. “Beba, this is your new mom…” his voice trails of as he turns to face me. “My… New mom? But… how can i have a new mom if i didn’t even know the first one! I… I can’t… help…,” My voice trails off. The sun is suddenly way too hot. Sweat beads trail down the sides of my face. The tension in the air was thick enough to slice with a butter knife, so i did what any normal person would have done. I pretended to faint. Although it had the opposite effect than what i was going for. The next few hours where unbearable; everyone wanted to know if I was ok, and trust me, I was. They offered me milk, cookies, Vapor Rub (the dominican remedy for just about anything and everything), they even gave me a cough drop, though I didn’t show any signs of being sick. Through all this nobody wanted to give me the one thing I needed: Answers. And I never got them. That’s it. That’s all. Absolutely no answers, and so that's the end of this terrible memory. The only thing my dad told me is to forget that I had a mother before then. I have a new mom now. Right? J.Z.S., or Johany, is a 9th grader at FHS. She is an aspiring author currently working on short stories, poems, and a novel. Her love for works expands towards all types of literature, but especially classic novels. Timed Destruction; Endless Doom
by Elizabeth Augustin You’re content now, right? You’re at the height of your being I know you craved that sense of adventure, the rush of life Let’s be honest, how long will this facade of yours last? this fire you’ve ignited will eventually cease to exist because nothing is eternal, and nothing lasts forever ...Didn’t we learn that, by now? What comes up must come down and what is down will one day sprout and flourish far beyond your expectations Elizabeth is a Junior at FHS. She is currently enjoying reading and writing about supernatural fantasy and fiction. |
About Epiphany
Epiphany Literary Magazine is a safe space for students at Franklin High School to share their creativity. Archives '16-'20
June 2020
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