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.
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"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.
Inside Her Psyche
By Yeni Baez She starts of her day with the arousal of gentle sunlight beaming through her dark soul like curtains. Her skin, smooth like marbles yet her being, dangerous as broken glass. She feels the cold floor against her small baby feet so she opens her round eyes, and so she carries a sense of sorrow. The sorrow of which makes her question her being. The sorrow of which makes her ask herself “Why?” more than the amount of words printed across paper thin dictionaries. The sorrow of which is tied around her ankles like shackles. She carries it with her, like a dark cloud above her head, following her as she shows the public her permanent fake smile stitched across her face. She's stuck in a dark place with the sorrow that fills her veins and the pain that drills her brains. Sorrow created by the disgusting society she lives in and the house she's held in. There's no escape. She walks towards her mirror viewing her reflection. Her emotions, like blank sheets of paper she doodles on to get her through the day. She's black and white, camouflaging with the striped shirt she throws over her head. She carries a simple ruby necklace. Her necklace, bright red, and luminous, the only thing that stands out on her. What's so special about it, they wonder. It makes her glow. It's a simple gift she treasures and refuses to remove. Given by her lover, carried along with the deep sensational adoration she has for him. She carries the necklace along with the only non-depressing feelings she ever felt, love. Is that what they call it nowadays? It's that love she carries that glows on the necklace that dangles on the neck. It's gentle like the tight hugs he gives her that makes her feel safe, taking her away from the sorrow living in her. The love that he gives her makes the depression she carries feel like a smaller amount than what it actually is. He numbs down the pain she feels while diminishing the depression she carries. If it weren't for the love he gives her the depression crawling up her spine would eat her alive. His affection made all the problems she had disintegrate into ashes. Depression and darkness build upon the vivid memories given by her parents arguing over stupid nonsense. She replays the same sceneries nonstop in her mind when she sits in class zoning out. She stares blankly towards the front of the class while her fingertips run along the cold desk. And before she is reminded of the love her partner gives her she thinks about the love that hasn't existed in the roof that lies above her head. Her eyes become crystal clear and watery, full of tears that trickle down her rose petal cheeks. Soon tears transform into salty ocean like waves, racing down her face splashing on towards the smooth surface of the desk where her hands quiver. Before anyone could notice the soulless body sitting in the back she quickly wipes off the pain on the army green jacket she carries, given by her lover. The depression dragged across her face in tears seeps into the thick cotton sleeves. She watches the tear stain disappear wishing she could too. When she’s done wiping away the pain she sinks into her chair, pulling the jacket over her head. She closes her eyes and ties to forget all the horrible things that she plays over and over in her mind. Trying to relax, she takes deep breaths and inhales the smooth scent of him that infused the jacket she was wearing without washing before he gave it to her. Before she could concentrate on the sweet scent left on the jacket that usually put her to sleep she felt a sudden vibration on her lap. When she looked down at her phone she saw her uneasy reflection, noticing her dried lips she quickly applied her favorite chapstick, a squirtable tube of strawberry carmex, that always polished her lips. She never left the house without carrying her carmex, as if it were the equivalent of the ruby necklace he clipped around her neck; giving her a motive of comfort along with peace and relaxation. The taste reminded her of the summer nights she had spent with him, making her forget how hurt she was in the inside. Before she could take another glimpse as her phone the annoying bell that shook her eardrums, nearly making them rupture rang. Staring up against the wall the neon lights showed 2:28, “Time to go back to hell already?” she quietly asked herself. Whether at home or at school it was all the same kind of hell to her. As she slowly made her way towards the classroom she looked down towards her phone and read the message her king sent her saying “ I need you to know that I am here to stay, make you smile, laugh, feel loved, and forget about everything that causes you pain.” Yeni is an eleventh grader. She is a regular high school student focusing on aspiring a military career who secretly uses writing and art to escape from reality. |
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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