This is a preview of "Fire, Fur, and Ash Spots," a story Joe F. is currently working on.
There was an issue in Africa. Deep in one of its jungles, near one of its god’s temples, a son of a mighty leopard god was slaughtered. His tongue removed so that his spirit could not drink; His claws ripped from his paws to harden his afterlife hunt; His teeth lay near his corpse but far from his mouth so that his pride was fractured; His guards and subjects heads were bashed in so that no one nearby could mourn. Having lost king and son in one night, a leopard god was furious. The fur attached to his skin was set ablaze as it sizzled in orange heat. His spots were as black as the bodies burned to honor the lives they once held. The leopard god was furious and he wanted the head of his son’s murderer. He did not care for the pacts and laws and agreements that barred gods from direct involvement with the world; he wished to leave his temple and wreak havoc in the jungle until justice rang through the trees and ground and sky. He would burn the trees and its resting birds and hungry frogs and smelly fungus if it meant justice would ring through the ground and sky. He would burn the ground and its crawling critters and vibrant plants and nutritious soil if it meant justice would ring through the sky. He would burn the sky and its floating clouds and bright moon and starry night if it meant justice would ring through him. The leopard god was furious and could not be allowed to leave his temple for all that would be left are embers and smoke in his wake. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- So four mediums were sent to deal with the issue. A thoughtful Monk. An arrogant Allamah. A prideful Priest. And a brash Non-believer. The monk walked alongside the others with no shoes on his soles. He believed that he should take the world was is and learn from it all that he can. His body was shaven of all hair, his robes were as thin as air, and his hand stayed over his chest so that he could be thankful every second his heart pumped. The Allamah walked alongside the others, thinking them brainless barbarians. He thought that he’d been sent to fix another issue by himself and three paperweights. His scripture in hand he thought the Monk uncultured, the Priest stupid, and the Non-believer out of line. The Priest walked alongside the others with too much confidence. He had recently been given his position and thought himself on top of the world. He had a hard time discerning his thoughts and Jehovah’s whispers. He thought the others lucky that he was present. He was favored by his god and they should be favored too by proxy. Young and inexperienced, he walked as though this work familiar. The Non-believer walked alongside the others with scorn. She had no reason to trust gods and many to despise them. She found the others blinded by their faiths and texts and gods. She told herself that she alone would be the neutral party in this. With no gods or devils to answer to she knew what she wanted: to find the killer and bring them to justice with as little bloodshed as possible. She did not fear blood but she did not crave it. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A quarter the size of a mountain, with the same amount of stone in its construct, the temple of the leopard god stood proud surrounded by miles and miles of forest, hidden deep in the jungle. The surrounding forest had latched onto the temple like a parasite. Centuries of time had lead to tree roots wrapping themselves loving around the infrastructure, greenery sprouting from the cracks and weeds being ever-present on its steps. Weighing heavy on the ground beneath it, the stone dome of a temple was supported by 10 large pillars and held 10 rooms in itself. Nine of the rooms were boring and plain; there were rooms to sleep, eat, play, do laundry, relieve oneself, and teach others. All these rooms only held the specific essentials needed for it. They all were lined in a circle connected by a large, circular, repeating hallway that held the last room in its center. The center room was lined in gold, its walls covered in tapestries, and its floor flooded in offerings. In the center of this room was a large plate-shaped thing that had a forever burning fire under it. In the center of the temple, in the center of 9 rooms, in the center of a circular hallway, in the center of a gold-lined room, in the center of a plate that never went cold, was a god of fire fur and ash spots. A leopard god rested on his plate, furious, flames crackled under his skin and deep black smog came from his ears. As large as a three-story house the leopard god’s face was scrunched in an unpleasant way and he bared his teeth at all who gazed upon him. He was very unhappy and the rare sight of 4 mortals that dared not worship him in his temple didn’t make him any happier. Speaking hotly because the only day he’d speak cold was when his corpse was laid on the forest floor the god repeated what the four already knew. “Eight miles east of me a son of mine was slaughtered in his home. Those who surrounded and praised him and protected him were killed alongside him. I want the one guilty brought before me. If he is not found within three days my search will start regardless of what you mortals say. If my search burns Africa to the ground you will find that I wouldn’t care.” Joe F. is a Junior at FHS and an active member of Epiphany. He is a self-described "lover of comics and competent writer." He enjoys creating comic books in his free time. Comics and candy are his forte.
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December 15By Joseph F.Excerpt From The Diary of Sheilan Rigeroth Graceheart- Princess, Knight of The Kingdom of Everlasting Graces’ Military
Due to these pages being the only companion that cannot judge me, I shall detail my brain swarming paranoias here. It feels as though there is a subtle rumbling underfoot of trouble to come. Small things that add to an ever growing tension. The events that I’ve witnessed, meaningless alone and terrifying when together. It been a week since the ironic death of Fear Leighis, Self Proclaimed Lord of the Necromancers. My older brother, Sir Elilkr, was the to slay him within the villain's castle walls while the rest of the military and I fought the unholy, rotting carcasses that Leighis formed to be his horde. Leighis was a thorn in every surrounding kingdom’s side, making the undead attack small villages rarely leaving survivors. He was difficult to find until his big plans and bigger ego got the best of him. Before the castle Leighis sent out his gluttonous flesh starved army from a remote area and then making a get away. After months of this the raids subsided for two days. An eerie quietness that was almost as blood curdling as when the hordes were active. Faint whispers and rumors spread in those two days. There was talk of a gathering of necromancers, a grand plot that was in motion to overthrow the very way of the current world. Low and behold, disrupting the very soil, the tower formed from broken bones and rotten flesh erupted from the ground. Growing higher with every passing second the tower touched the very heavens before halting. Exploding from the ground many species had their graves disturbed. Elves with now stumped decaying ears rattled off in broken elvish tongue. The very pride of the Goblins’ were defiled as their great tusks were now covered in wriggling maggots who hadn’t had their fill on the gums and were getting to work on the nose. The boasted ever present peace of the woodlands was destroyed as the grass eaters were reborn as carnivores and the nymphs polluted the rivers they onced loved with the blood of the friends they once knew. The newly made society of necromancers bent the trajectory of everyone’s warpath directly at themselves. After 14 days of long battle, as we threaded through hordes of rotting bodies and flesh munching fiends we reached the grand tower built on the resources of long dead family, friends and enemies. My brother ventured in alongside a large group of a 100. Though no one could see inside the tower, it was clear enough that it was dangerous from the screams that echoed from within. But their pain was not for naught as my brother returned without an arm but with the head of Fear. The weeks following were filled with tremendous ceremony and righteous execution. Yet my brother remained absent from most of them for reasons unknown. I brushed it off as mourning for his comrades as well as his lost ligament. On the now rare occasion that he actually leave his room I would observe him. His eyes carried bags underneath as though it were the help and dark shadows bordered his sockets. His spine was no crooked as if when born his given name was Igor. He spoke in dry mumbles of destiny and how he was going to “do the job right”. For those weeks I didn’t understand why he was acting in such a way. That was until I explored the dark cave known as my brother’s room. Though I have told no one of my discovery I presume it safe to tell these pages. In my brother’s room laid forbidden books of necromancy and end times. Littered within each of the many books I found were notes left by previous owners. I presumed my brother looted the tower as some of the notes were written by Fear. I would tell of its contents but I sensed an entrancing evil among the first page. The farthest I got into it was something about “instructions for the fall of man, the rise of a true lord, and the guide for a corpse ridden paradise before I slammed the book shut in an un-understandable fear that grasped my very soul. I was unable to look into the abyss for the fear it would look back. And though I am very fearful of my brother’s activities I have told no one as to not cause a panic. But I should tell soon. I feel a faint rumbling in the grounds below, dead strays have been sighted walking again, and I’m terrified of the maybe truth that my brother saw the eyes of the abyss. Joe F. is a sophomore at FHS. He is a self-described "lover of comics and competent writer." He enjoys creating comic books in his free time. Comics and candy are his forte. by Jac SLB
I watch through the glass of the room as Agent Caste circles around the suspect. I pick up the nilla file and do a quick skim through the basics. It’s a female. Age twenty-five. Caucasian. Shoulder length brown hair. Brown eyes. Curved scar over left eye. Accused of defacing government property and murder. No liable evidence. Name....unknown. “Hey,” I call to the technician, “let me hear them.” He rolls in his chair and presses a red button and suddenly I can hear everything they’re saying in the room. Caste tosses a group of photos onto the table. They slide to the front of the suspect who glances at them once before looking unamused. “You are in every single one of these photos. Now, it can’t be a coincidence because these date back to the 18th century.” Caste barks. The suspect nodded and made no motion to say anything. They simply examined the handcuff that tied them to the chair. They’re up to something. I can feel it, but I can’t tell what. “I’d like to know exactly who you are,” Caste said . He leaned on the table with his palms flat on the table. His eyes bore into the suspect waiting for them to crack under the glare. The suspect seemed unfazed by the pressure and yawned. They rattled the handcuff a bit before stopping. I stared at the handcuff to check if it was loose but it was as tight as it could be. “Answer me!” Caste yelled. He seemed as if he was getting restless. He’s never this jumpy. Something caught my attention above him and I waited for it to happen again. “Did you see that?” I muttered. I look at the technician. “See what?” He asked with his mouth full of food. I purse my lips and shake my head. It might’ve just been a figment of my imagination. My nerves are just--. The light! It’s just the light. It’s flickering. I look at Caste and can’t believe my eyes. He’s sweating like crazy! His jacket lay on the floor and his shirt has four unbuttoned buttons. On his blue shirt, you can see sweat stains trail down his back and his armpits. Someone needs to check on him. The handcuff starts jingling again. “Caste? Caste!” I yell out to him, forgetting that he can’t hear me. I get ready to open the door and held him when someone held on to me. “Get off! I need to help Caste!” I yell to whoever touched me. I try to open the door but a hand rests on it. “Let me do it,” a gruff male voice says behind him. I grip the door handle as hard as I can until my knuckles turn white. “Let someone stronger go inside in case it’s serious.” My head darts into his direction and I stare into Agent Heines’ eyes. “You better get your hand off of me before I put a bullet in it,” I hissed. Heines just gripped onto it harder and harder. I wince at the pain and I let go of the doorknob. I try not to cry out from the pain and restrain myself from taking out my gun. “See, you’re not strong enough,” Heines smirked. Before pushing me aside and going into the room with Caste. I watch through the window and watch the light flicker even more. The jingling comes back and grit my teeth. “Caste, what’s happening to you?” Heines said after taking two steps back. Caste glanced at Heines before collapsing onto the table. He tried his best to hold himself up when he started violently shaking. I freeze. “Medic! We need a medic for Caste!” The technician yells as he runs out the room. I try to say something but nothing comes out as I watch Caste. I stare at the suspect and notice how intently they’re staring at Caste. Jingle, jingle, jingle, snap! My eyes widen and I run to the door. I twist and pull and push the door frantically but it doesn’t budge. I hear pounding on the door from the inside. “Open the door! What are you doing?!?” I hear Heines yell from the inside. A constant thump sounds from the other side as if he’s trying to break the door down. I back up from the door and pull out my gun. I aim in carefully at the door lock. “It’s no use,” I hear in my head. It’s a voice that I never heard before. I look through the window to see what’s happening and I almost drop my gun in shock. Caste is unconscious on the floor and Heines is sweating and shaking violently. He is standing but barely and the suspect, remains in their chair unbothered by everything. At that moment, it feels as if everything goes in slow motion. It feels as if I can hear everything. Multiple footsteps pound towards me. A maniacal laugh that’s not from inside my head sounds. I suck in a breath and the voice sounds just as I pull the trigger with shaky hands. It’s from the suspect. “Lights out.” Pull the trigger. Everything goes black. Jac is a freshman at Franklin High School. She is an active member of Epiphany. Chapter 1
by Joseph F. Timothy Norque was rarely confused. He was a world-renowned detective who had solved an unnatural amount of cases. People called it luck when he solved 50 and called it genius at 300. The last time he was confused, Norque started to turn back time with his impeccable memory, was when he was at the age of five. He had lost his favorite toy. He at one moment had it and the next didn’t. He cried for days upon weeks because he couldn’t find it. It wasn’t a very good memory. However, on that day Norque told himself that he would lose anything again. From that day on he would never succumb to confusion. Yet, here it was again. The pit in his stomach. The pain in his brain. No, this feeling wasn’t very welcome. Before Norque laid a corpse. Beaten and battered, almost to a pulp. No officer around him could stand to look it for more than 5 seconds. “I’m going to be sick.” One moaned. Truly it was a horrific scene. What confused Norque was not the body, but all the things that surrounded it. Footprints the size of a hound rested on the sidewalk. Witnesses around the murder claimed they heard a loud roar at 3am. What Norque was dealing with was abnormal. There was something unnatural at work, something inhuman. Norque decided that it would be best to ponder in his office. He looked over photos and accounts but couldn’t make sense of it. What the photos displayed was an attack that required tremendous strength. Yet there was no trace of weapons at the scene. Accounts state that they heard horrendous roars and terrible stomping. However no one even caught a glimpse of the scene. This case was an anomaly onto itself. At 7am Norque decided to take a break, he needed fresh air from his stuffy office. His head thumped and thumped as he sat inside the diner. “Excuse me sir, what will you be having?” The waitress asked, interrupting his train of thought. As he rubbed his temple he ordered, “A dark roast, 5 sugars, no cream.” *ruuuummmmble* Norque considered his stomach, “And a stack of buttermilk pancakes.” It was 9am when he left the diner. Rejuvenated he walked back towards his office. He could feel the morning winter breeze brush his skin. He pushed into the main entrance. “Clear your head?” The secretary asked. “Of course, Janice, of course.” Norque replied. But when he entered his office once more. The wave of worrying confusion hit him once more. Truly this was the mystery of the century. Joseph F. is a freshman at FHS. He is a self-described "lover of comics and competent writer." He enjoys creating comic books in his free time. Two Faced:The First Face
By: J.Z.S. Lucy “Lucy, and no headache either. I don’t think I’ll need a note for myself, just the usual for Lucas,” I state as I open one of the two dressers in my--our room. I may be the dominant one for now but Lucas hates when I say ‘my room’. I take a moment to look at his bed already made even though it was only 8 o’clock in the morning. How he manages to get up so early just to go back to sleep is beyond me. “ Don’t forget if anyone asks about your brother tell them-” I cut her off before she can lecture me yet again. “-His COPD is acting up again. Seriously Mom, are you ok. You told me all this on Monday”, my mother must be really nervous if she’s repeating the rules so many times. But she doesn’t answer just leaves the room. I continue my search for the really pretty crop-top I just bought. It says ‘Thing 1’ on it, and Lucas has the tee that reads ‘Thing 2’. Though it's not like we’ll ever wear them at the same time. Our COPD is always acting up and only on rare occasions does it let up enough for us to do our after school activities, cheerleading for me and Mathletes for Lucas, and we do a lot of our school work from home. Mom works too hard to homeschool us so we’re forced to go to public school. Lucas God, I hate being stuck in here. Lucy is so annoying, and I hate having to listen to her constant squealing and terrible façade. She acts like an empty headed idiot at school. She’s really very smart and is really just as good as me, but she refuses to look like, and I quote, “A Smarty-Pants”. And don’t get me started on her constant crush on Noah, this guy she won’t stop imagining shirtless. It’s quite ridiculous that she wants him to ask her out, but everytime they see each other she just blushes and stands there. Although I get the silence part because, if she tries to make real human conversation, she just ends up saying something embarrassing. I cannot wait for tomorrow to come. I have a Mathlete competition, so Lucy will have to stay, while I go to school. Serves her right, maybe she can stew over her crush and find a way to have a conversation with Noah. Hunter I knew there was something wrong with the Insana twins just a few days after looking at their attendance records. It was strange, like, whenever Lucy was at home, Lucas was here and vice versa. I’ve heard about COPD, but from what I found on the internet, COPD wasn’t so sporadic as to cause one to have it every other day. Most symptoms last for 2 to 5 days at a time, almost never for just a day. After taking a closer look at everything I noticed something strange about the signatures on the medical forms and excuse notes. One said Jerry Tomlinson, the twins “doctor”, another was signed by the mother, Jamie Insana. Both of the ‘J’s look exactly the same, making it obvious that the doctor's’ signature was plagiarized. The doctor probably didn’t even exist. So, being the person I am, I start investigating the twins. I’ll start with Lucy, today, in English. Lucy Ugh, I can’t believe I have to take AP English. Why do I have to be in all the same classes as Lucas, he’s too much of a do gooder. I mean, I don’t have anything against him being smart, but why must he drag me down with him? Like, yesterday, Alice asked him about me and he was all ‘Oh, we have this rare condition’ and started babbling. Although there are some bright sides to this whole ordeal. Noah. Mmmh, just saying his name gives me shivers. He’s in this class, but just barely passing, so every once in a while he’ll ask me to tutor him just before a test. There are plenty of cute guys in this class actually, but Noah takes first any day. Hunter Whittemore is in here too, and he takes the close second. “Hey. Uhh, Lucy, right?” a soft voice says from behind me. “Depends, who’s asking”, I respond, not bothering to look up from my phone. “Why don’t you try looking up to see”. “I think that’s a waste of time, as is this conversation”, I snap. “People who think they know everything, annoy those of us who do. So, pick your words carefully.” the person snapped right back. “Ooo, Isaac Asimov, good one. Although I prefer his ‘Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent.’ It holds a certain truth to it, especially to those boys on the football team”, I dare to look up. Hunter Whittemore's eyes and pale face stare back at me. “I know you're not who you say you are, nor is your brother”, he whispers, silently grabbing my hand flipping it over to reveal the white scar that Lucas inflicted upon us. “Funny, Lucas has a scar on this same hand, same place, same size. His was from a science experiment gone wrong at the Science Fair last month. Where did you get yours?”, he asks, frowning, with a slight raise of his eyebrows. Oh. My. G- Lucas Shit. Lucy’s losing her nerve. Oh God. Oh God. She’s gonna ruin everything, and we’re so clo- Hunter I panicked. I know that I went too far the second Lucy starts gasping. Gently, I hoist her up and into my arms. I can hear the complaint of the teacher, but I ignore her, busting open the basement door. She’s having spasms and heating up like crazy. Finally she stills, breathing at an uneven pace. Then she turned to face me. I watched as her face contorted and her eyes took on a certain depth that wasn’t there before. She straightened , and surveys the surroundings, eyes pausing on the tool box at her side. Turning around I stare at the door and ask, “You o.k?” It takes a second but I hear her sigh. “I’m sorry” she whispers. But wait, her voice has changed; deeper, sounding almost exactly like- Lucy It was like a dream. I didn’t realize what Lucas was gonna do until he did it. Normally we can tell what's going on in our head, but I didn’t sense this. He really did all of that; for me, for US. It’s scary to know what he’ll do in order for us to have a normal life. So that HE can have a normal life. I mean I want that too, but not if people are gonna get hurt. I don’t wanna be a recluse like the others. I want to be with Lucas forever. No one will stop us. Lucas I did what I had to do to keep our secret , and more importantly us, safe. I’ve heard of people like us being put away in mental institutions, locked up in white rooms, alone and scared. I can’t- I won’t allow that to happen to us. Can’t let them erase me and leave Lucy all by herself. I will do whatever it takes to keep us together, forever. No one will know that we’re a two faced killer. 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. All Summer in a Day
by J.Z.S. I gave up trying to break down the closet door, and instead listened to the pattering sound of the rain. Oh how much I resented the rain. My legs, they began to cramp and my arms where sore from the constant banging. I wish the rain would stop, I thought. Then, as though miraculously, the sound of rain stopped. I knew that the rain stopped. Tears welled up in my eyes and I began crying for all the joy and happiness that made up the wondrous Sun. I cried for my great and utter loss. I cried and cried. It was maybe two hours before they creeped back into the room. Then they unlocked the door slowly, oh so slowly. I tumbled out of the closet. My face was most likely red, like a ripe tomato. My skin almost as pale as snow, or like the pictures of snow that we’ve seen. Fingernails digging into my palms, almost like a knife about to pierce a ripe apple. “Margot?” whispers one of the boys’ closest to me. Around me I saw the faces of those who hated me, for being different, for, to them, I was only abnormal. I was someone to steer clear from. They were always jabbing at me, almost to see if I would ever react. And so I left the room. The crowd was like a tidal wave, only an inch from swallowing me up. And no matter where I moved, it will drown, drown, drown me, always and a day. Just the same way it's raining, always raining; but the Sun never shines. 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. "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. by Jada Bethea Steaming hot coffee pours into my mug from the Keurig. I watch it form craters in the sugar without enthusiasm, without impatience. Just my eyes soaking up colors, my nose allowing the aroma of carmel to enter but never processing the sensation into emotions. Tia looks up at me from the copier machine, gifting me a shy smile. I grant her one in return, merely common courtesy, of course. She clears her throat, “Slow day, huh?” I glance at the rainy window. Personally, I don't believe a thunderstorm is any more or less depressing than a summer barbeque. She would know this if it weren’t her first day, but interns are clueless. They couldn’t tell you the difference between Customer Service and Human Resources. No matter, this conversation has gone on long enough anyways. I face her once more, staring at her as I let my spoon slip through my fingers and fall to the counter with an obnoxious clank. “I’m done stirring my coffee.” I start to walk out of the room but pause upon seeing colored paper in the printer tray. “And we only use black and white for evaluations.” With that, I leave. The sounds of stressed muttering and paper shuffling growing fainter behind me. I imagine I would have smiled if I could have. *** “Mama guess what?” “I’m all ears Cecilia…” She leans in, hands gripping the edge of the dinner table, “I got an A on my history paper.” “Did you really?” “Yes Ma’am, sure did.” “Yes Ma’am, yourself. It’s not better than what I did.” Garrett turns his attention to me eagerly, awaiting the motherly interest that never arrives. “Honey, pass the butter will you?” I nod in my husband’s direction. He looks on at me incredulously. “Diana, your son has something to say to you. The food couldn’t wait?” I look from my kids to my husband and back. All of whom are staring back at me and none of whom I could honestly say I give a damn about. It’s getting harder and harder to fight my nature and I’m starting to wonder if upholding this facade is worth it. But the thing about not caring is that you eliminate indecisiveness. Difficult decisions become simple. First thoughts are your final thoughts. And the thing is, I don’t care. “Ralph… Prime rib gets cold, news doesn’t. Not at least for a couple of days.” I saw off another slice and chew on it savagely, wiping my mouth with his napkin only to give it back. I stand up from the table and adjust my dress. “Oh! Where are my manners? Dessert?” *** The house is settling. I lie on my bed facing the ceiling. It’s the first time I’ve notice the nails popping through the drywall as if to say “hello.” I exhale a smoke cloud and close my eyes, a Pall Mall between my fingers. My suitcase is packed and waiting patiently beside the nightstand - so what the hell am I waiting for? Perhaps I do have emotions if something is keeping me from leaving. Not the whole range of feelings but some. What an unfortunate reality that would be. The ability to connect and empathize somehow evades me yet I’m held back by… what? Fear? Guilt? Jesus Christ, love? Now that’s a stretch. Truth be told I’ve grown quite accustomed to my circumstances. I’m not even sure I would want to feel if I could. I sit up in bed and smush the cigarette into the ashtray. Ralph rolls over in his sleep and starts to snore. If only he knew. I grab my suitcase and head towards the hallway. Before I close the door I glance back at the man who I promised to spend forever with. I wonder if he’ll miss me. *** I’ve changed my mind. I want to know what it’s like. Just once. I’m not asking for euphoria, just an experience of any kind. How does it feel to lose money, to be embarrassed, to be abandoned? I look down at the red light on my dash to find the fuel gauge frantically pointing towards E. I shouldn’t be surprised though. I’ve been driving for almost 2 hours straight since I left… the house. “MPH” is the first gas station I come by. I’ve never really been out of Jersey so I don’t know how to fill the tank myself. A man steps out of a Cyan Subaru and begins to approach me. I don’t bother looking up though until he’s an arms length away. With a car that bright, the only threat he poses to me is retinal damage. “It looks like you could use some help.” he says. “Sadly, yes. Would you?” “It would be my pleasure.” He goes to work and within 2 minutes, the job is done. “Take care now.” He grins and turns to walk away but I reach out and tap his shoulder. If there was ever a more genuine interaction between another person and myself, I can’t recall. Maybe this is what a true connection feels like but I’m not sure. I have to act fast. I can’t miss my chance. Once he’s facing me again I get down on one knee and clasp my hands together. “Marry me.” “What? Is this some kind of sick joke?” He staggers back. “Did - did I not do it right? I can try again. I won’t mess it up this time.” “ I barely know you!” “Isn’t that what love at first sight is?” “No- Wha- what’s wrong with you?” I look down at my hands, still clasped together and covered in grease. Slowly, I pull them apart and glare at the lines covering my palms. I remember going to a psychic when I was young enough to ride the tea cups. My mother took me for my 9th birthday. She said it was important to celebrate the last year before double digits. Henrietta, the psychic woman, sat us both down, grabbing my hands first. As her fingertips traced over them, she told me of my promising future. How it would be a happy one, filled with accomplishments and healthy relationships. I knew she was a phony then and now I’m living proof of that. But my mother, that came as a surprise. Henrietta took one look at her palms and jumped away. Seconds later she was kicking us out of her shop and slamming the door in our faces. My mother died 6 days later. But why didn’t my prophecy come true? Why did hers have to? Everytime I look at my hands I’m reminded of all the things I was robbed of. It should have been me. A honking 18 wheeler brings me back to reality. I look up to find Subaru Man no longer in front of me but in his car. This one moves fast. I get back in my truck without thinking, jamming the keys into the ignition and twisting with a troublesome amount of force. My headlights come on, illuminating his car. And then, I floor it. The wreckage was epic. If you’ve ever witnessed someone get T-boned you know what I’m talking about. Glass flew in every direction. The crunching metal, the growl of my engine as I picked up speed, I swear it was like something out of a movie. But the look on his face of sheer terror - that was the best part. The impact of my airbag made breathing a painful ordeal but somehow, for the first time in my life, I managed to laugh. Jada aspires to be a screenwriter or work in the realm of creative writing in a different profession. She is a junior and varsity field hockey player who believes in the power of words.
by Derrick Michell Soft sand to the texture of cotton encase my legs and toes like perfect silk. Looking up for the first time, I see a sky, black and riddled with the shining dots that are in reality, astral bodies of fire and instability, almost contradicting its existence from a certain perspective - yet they fill me with a sense of relief for allowing myself to be distanced from the rest of the universe. Air has settled on my skin like a comfortable blanket, drenching my pores with a breath of calamity and relaxation. In the soft darkness of the desert, the sounds of shifting sands encase and sooth my eardrums to a point of euphoria. Ahead of me I spectate the falling of a beautiful white moon slowly descending below this plane of the earth - the moon was so big that it’s impossible not to feel like this moment was made just for me to experience. Suddenly my arms wrap around my body tightly and my legs fall to the smooth dry sand as I look up once again, just to feel the gravity of this planet push down on my body, encouraging me to stay still and just fall asleep; just to wake up in the morning with this memory being a part of the past. For awhile, I consider the offer, maybe it isn’t such a bad thing to wane into complete silence and wake up to another day, another life. I began to close my eyes, and almost on cue, something passes over me like a wave some type of encouragement and my entire body springs back into life. Looking around nothing has changed, this place is still just as beautiful as before - why has my biology stopped me from submitting to a peaceful sleep on the softest bed ever created by nature? Some otherworldly force argued with the thought of being content, of being alone, of being satisfied with the view. Like everything around me never existed or mattered, my hands aggressively grasped onto the sides of my head as my mind flutters into an entirely new dimension of thought and emotion. My eyes close as new thoughts flood into the depths of my brain. As the thoughts seep deeper and deeper into my core, I feel my body rejecting my thoughts as it attempts to convert the situation into energies of frustration. With every breath of air, I can feel the blood in every vein transport itself through my body, and with every release of that air, the blood settles itself again, waiting to be rejuvenated. Still being on the soft bed, my toes curl deep into the sand as my entire body heats up in confusion and emotion. How can such a beautiful moment destroy itself within moments? All of a sudden the hands that forced my head still released itself, and my eyes open yet again to the scene of a beautiful desert. And just as if nothing happened, I stand up and begin to walk again. Soft sand to the texture of cotton encase my legs and toes like perfect silk as I remove my mind from the previous reality. Accepting the stars in space and the moon in my sky, the thoughts in my mind and the spirit in my biology, I then realize and say out loud, “how long is this desert?” Then I consider another thought: “how long do I have to keep walking?” Derrick is a Senior at Franklin High School.
Excerpt from Golden Eyes By Nia A. Dinah Matthews moves to Whitefish, Montana, discovering she is The Chosen Vampire to solve the mystery of missing girls. She becomes apart of a coven with four other vampires: Hillary, Blake, Jake, and Kenya. In this scene, Dinah is getting her first taste of blood. Hillary turns up the the radio, music blasting through the speakers. “What…?” Jake scoffs. “What kind of song is this?” “It’s called Dracula’s Wedding.” Hillary laughs. “Ironic.” I give Jake a look full of caution. “This doesn’t feel very good.” I frown, looking down and folding my arms. “Relax. That’s what you should do.” Jake’s hand rest in mine, sending a tingle of comfort down my spine. I look up to smile at him, his spirit was nice and kind. Blake stops the car abruptly. “Ok get out my car. We are here.” I get out, the smell of pine surrounds me like a blanket. Coming from South Carolina, there were no wooded areas like this. Mostly on drives my mom and I would notice farmland and long winded roads. I look around in wonder; the last experience here gave me negative associations with the woods. I didn’t want to think about the fangs or the pain. Like a little girl, I allow my eyes to wander various places where the light shone and my hands to touch everything in sight. “You’ve never seen a tree?” Blake removes my hand from the tree and stares at me. “I’m from South Carolina. Let me live ok?” Hillary clutches onto her handbag, Kenya invading her personal space to reach inside her blood. “I want blood. I’ve been dying all day. Where is it?” Hillary slaps her hand. “Patient.” She tosses Jake a pink plastic container. Blake sits on the hood of his car, sipping out of the purple bottle from earlier. He acts as if this “blood” thing is not new to him. Jake takes long swigs from the container. After he finishes wiping his mouth with satisfaction, he passes it to Kenya. She hungrily drinks the blood. Hillary slaps Blake, taking his bottle. “Ok your turn, Newbie.” Blake looks at me, his voice full of caution. “You’ll need to drink slow your first time. You could get carried away,” Hillary says, handing me blood. “That would be super duper bad,” Kenya adds. I nod, putting my lips to the plastic. Slowly, I raise the bottle, the blood rushes into my mouth. With each swallow, a savory taste fills my mouth. I close my eyes, maintaining a slow drinking pace. “She definitely is the Chosen One,” I hear Blake whisper to Kenya. She nods, looking at me in amazement. I remove my lips from the top, swallowing my last bit on blood. I wipe my mouth, revealing my fresh set of fangs. “That was perfect,” I say softly. “Perfection, my dear.” Kenya claps. “I’ve been a vampire my whole life, and I still get excited by the taste of blood.” I smile, glad to be approved by my new friends. Especially Blake. Jake and Hillary glance at each other. “Well, I think that’s all for today. Just go home today. We’ll talk tomorrow,” Hillary says. I laugh. “Doesn’t Blake have to drive us home?” Kenya shakes her head. “Well I am going to go wander in the woods like I normally do, and Jake and Hillary go off and do...I’m not actually sure.” “So looks like you’re just stuck with me,” Blake says edging closer to me. After a few minutes of saying goodbye, I sit in the passenger seat of Blake’s car. He starts the engine slowly, his eyes peeking my my direction constantly. I pretend not to notice. “I feel your anxiety.” Blake breathes, his voice low. “You know. From being in the car.” I look out the window. “Ok? What’s your point?” I turn to face him, but when he looks at me, I look away. Sometimes I found it hard to believe that he was real. “I’m sorry about it.” Blake starts to drive, the scenery moving fast through the window. “It doesn’t feel pleasant.” I nod. “It’s hard enough to feel my pain, but to have someone else feel it, too?” I scoff and let out a low laugh. “Do you want me to suppress my pain?” “Is that an option?” “No.” “I knew it.” Blake smiles, his signature wild smile. My cheeks flush red with embarrassment. “What?” He says, noticing my personality shift. “Why aren’t you being mean to me?” I ask. “You’ve been mean to me like all day.” “What? Tough guy can’t get a break?” Blake questions, jokingly. “Haha. Save that ‘break’ for Miranda.” His phone lights up with a text from her; U up? ;) “Really? You up? It’s like four in the afternoon not midnight.” Blake bursts out into laughter. “I take naps sometimes like every teenager.” We laugh then proceed in silence for awhile. I like silence with Blake. The sounds of his car engine comforts me as we return to the sight of houses and little shops. People walk across the street, laughing and smiling. I see a mother push her baby in a stroller. It reminds me of my mother when she adopted me. “You know my mom used to push me in a stroller all the time until I absolutely couldn’t fit inside,” I say softly, my hand touching the cold window. “She always wanted a baby, you know? She was so happy to have me.” Blake nods, his hands firm on the steering wheel. “I never needed a stroller. I aged too fast.” I face him with confusion. “What?” “I was born a vampire. Aging slows down after you hit like 17 so wrinkles are not really an option when I’m 50.” Blake explains, his eyes still on the road. “I don’t know. It was weird growing up because I would be in first grade, but I wouldn’t be because I was much more capable physically and mentally. So was Kenya.” “Kenya?” Blake nods. “She’s my twin sister.” “So are Hillary and Jake related?” “Far from it. They were turned vampires a few years ago. By my mother.” “Why?” “To complete the coven until the Chosen One arrived.” “Me?” Blake nods and glances over. I feel his eyes on my neck. Quickly, I place my hand on my neck, rubbing the smooth surface of my skin. I look out the window, the sunlight slowly burning my eyes. “You ok?” Blake asks. “No. The sun.” I sigh, a feeling of fatigue hovers over my body. Blake passes me black shades. I put them over my eyes. I always loved how when you wore shades, it was like seeing the world in a whole new perspective. It was like using the thermal camera setting and seeing a person’s body in shades of blue, yellow, and red. Blake turns into my driveway in the woods. He parks his car and sighs. I lower my eyes, tugging at my backpack. I look over at him once more, soaking up my last image of him for the day. “Hey.” Blake starts. “You up?” I burst out into laughter, easing me from my trance. “Yeah. I’m up.” I think of Miranda and stop smiling. I give him one last look, opening the car door. “Thanks, Blake.” I slide out, closing the door behind me. Colette stands at the door, the expression on her face filled with excitement. “You got a ride home from Blake?!” She squeals, grabbing my hands and jumping. I look back at him. Blake was already driving away. “It’s not a big deal.” Colette smiles at me and breaths. “He’s hot. I would be excited if I was alone with him, but then again I have Austin so I have no use for Blake in my life.” “Lucky you.” Nia is a Junior at Franklin High School. She enjoys reading, writing, and acting. Nia plans to pursue television or film writing when she gets older.
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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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