Seaswells 2014 by College of Coastal Georgia

Seaswells 2014

Volume 48 American Scholastic Press Association Most Outstanding College/Community College Literary Art Magazine 1994, 1995, 2000, 2002, 2003, 2005, 2006, 2013 First Place with Special Merit | 2001, 2004, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012

Southern Division of Community College Humanities Association Literary Magazine Competition Third Place | 2004, 2007 Best Small College Magazine | 2006 Second Place | 2009

College of Coastal Georgia | A Unit of the University System of Georgia Brunswick and Kingsland, Georgia

The 2013-2014 Seaswells Team Benjamin Delegal, Contest Coordinator | Shakara McGirt, Layout Coordinator Alesha Walker and Duncan Miller, First Copy Program Coordinators Jessica Ahl, Publicity Coordinator | Melissa Stanton, Correspondence Deja David, Emily Rueber, Mackenzie Thurmond, Fall 2013 Staff Sharon L. Bartkovich, Faculty Adviser AUSTIN/GARNER PROSE CONTEST JUDGES Ntungwa Maasha | Hope Williamson Elizabeth Wurz

BARR POETRY CONTEST JUDGES Robert Bleil | Melissa Canady Stephanie Conner | Jennifer Gray Karen Hambright | Sarah Hartman Chris Wilhelm

Seaswells PHOTOGRAPHY CONTEST JUDGES Cody Cocchi | John Cornell Karen Hambright | Kimberly Mannahan Gene Threats

Seaswells ART CONTEST JUDGES Anna Dewart | Gene Threats

About The Cover Artist When the staff started discussing what we might like to do for the cover of the 2014 magazine, we kept coming back to the beautiful photos of the CCGA lake that students had submitted in the fall of 2013. In January 2014, the staff decided to turn the cover decision into a contest among students for the best lake photo. The winning entry that is featured on the magazine’s cover was taken by Lymaira Agosto. She is a freshman this year, planning to pursue a career in Radiology. Agosto states that she only ventured to capture the photo because she saw a flier for the Seaswells 2014 Cover Contest. “It was no big thing,” she claimed, “but I really wanted to win the contest. It was a wonderful day outside, all sunshine and no rain. This equaled the perfect conditions.” The staff agreed that the conditions were perfect—but so was Agosto’s eye. We especially like how she made the fountain the centerpiece of the photo but also kept the benches in the foreground, giving the picture a wonderful sense of depth. Who or what inspired her interest in photography? “My mother used to be into

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photography when I was younger,” Agosto states. “She bought a camera for me when I was in middle school.” She remembers the early days when she posed a puppy from her dog’s second litter, propping it up against a tree in her backyard on a sunny day. Agosto is self-taught, having learned all the functions of the cameras she has acquired in order to take the best pictures she can. We, the Seaswells 2014 team, are happy to see how she has progressed. Congratulations and thank you to Lymaira Agosto for our beautiful cover photo. We look forward to many more contributions from her in the future!

Table of Contents Poetry Barr Poetry Contest 9 30 42 8 17

First Place On the Suffering of Beauty - - -- - -- - Bennett Rainey Second Place I am from - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- Alesha Walker Third Place Futile Men - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -Sky Coker Honorable Mention Be the Dew or Dancing Rain - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Cobe Wilson Similes for an Unknown Love - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Becki Cowatch

7 SEASWELLS - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Phyllis Barr 10 The Picture - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Sonni Boatright 11 Serendipity - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - April Rose Learning Mockingbird Hill - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -Cristen Roberson 13 Breakthrough - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Linda McZeal 18 Coy - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Megan Nash Warning! - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Scarlet Bell Powell Decker 20 Three Letter Word - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Neco D Trimmings 24 The Birth of Ursula - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Scarlet Bell Powell Decker 25 Billy Brown-Eyes - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Jan Osborne 27 Carried Away - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Brittanie Morgan 28 Dreams of Madness Wake - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Sky Coker 32 Zen Garden in June - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- Bonnie M. Tobias 33 A Day at Jekyll - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Nichole Herrin 34 Moon Melt - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Jan Osborne Since a thousand years before - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -Scarlet Bell Powell Decker 35 The Illusion of Horology - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- Patrick Brown 36 Hypocrisy of Society - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- Patrick Brown 37 From: Stand your Ground To: George Zimmerman - - -- - Jared ONeil 38 My Beach, My Home - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Aimee Gordy 40 Dragons of Home - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Cobe Wilson 43 Sweet Dreams - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Naâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;Chanelle Brown 48 That Tap That Clap - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Cobe Wilson 49 The Clock Writes Timely Pages - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Jan Osborne 50 The Heroes, Zeros, and Neros - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Mike Ganten 51 All in My Head - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Nick Bryant 52 Carry You - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Mackenzie Thurmond 53 Relationship - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Monica Kratz The Dancer - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Sonni Boatright 54 Hungry Eyes - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Sky Coker 55 To Pass Time - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Diana Carrasquillo Breakaway - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - April Rose 56 Chasing the Rainbow - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -Shamara Thomas 60 Start of Day - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Bonnie M. Tobias 61 On Not Looking for Love - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- Scarlet Bell Powell Decker 62 Imagination, Creativity and Inspiration - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Trisa Chancy

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63 Swimming with Sharks - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Scarlet Bell Powell Decker 64 Love, my song of Inspiration - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- Rachel Sisson 65 Shooting Star - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Bennett Rainey 68 The Connection - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Patrick Brown 70 Little Buttefly - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Kaci Coleman His Anthem - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Jan Osborne 71 Endless Ribbon - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - A. M. Torres

Photography

Cover

Lakeside - - - - - - - - - - - - -Lymaira Agosto

Seaswells Photography Contest 36 24 12 57 27 45 69

Best Overall Barriers - - -- - -- - -- - -- Alyssa Keeve Best Black & White Empty Houses - - -- - -- - Megan Nash Best Color “Leave Me Alone” - - -- - Chelsea Spivey Best Computer-enhanced Rainbow Fountain - - -- - Brittany Fulkerson HONORABLE MENTION Going in Circles - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- Megan Nash Points and Stripes (Computer-enhanced) - - -- - -- - -- - Megan Nash Snow Bum (Computer-enhanced) - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Alyssa Keeve

7 Palm Trees in the Wind (Computer-enhanced) - - -- - -- - -- Stephanie Scott Lost in Thought - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Melissa Stanton 8 Heralds of Spring - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Melisa Elder Backyard Delight - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Pamela Westcott 9 Perfectly Pink - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Katherine Morse 10 Nice ’stache - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Jeremy Black 11 Workin’ Man’s Shoes - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -Lorea Hiers 13 God’s Colorful Creation - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- Sonni Boatright Creepy Crawler - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Mairely Garcia 16 “Jump! Jump!” - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Mary Keane Petals of Gold - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Ali Pullen 18 Pblttttt! - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Trisa Chancey 21 Wanna Race? - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Jeremy Black Love at First Flight - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Mary Keane 23 Un-easy Escape - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Tanya Powell 25 A Fungus Among Us - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Jessica Ahl Mountain Hideaway - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- Pamela Westcott 26 I Go to the Hills - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Thad Saunds 27 At Last We Meet - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Harvest Hale 29 Pier at Dusk - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Ali Pullen Passion for Purple - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Patricia Arrevalo 31 Hats (Computer-enhanced) - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Tib Dunncan Three Rivers - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Shawntay Rivers 32 Snow White - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Kaci Coleman Bridge to Serenity (Computer-enhanced) - - -- - -- - -- - -- - Valerie Goldner 33 Beach Grass - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Trisa Chancey Strange Beauty - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Lorea Hiers

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34 Full Moon - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Mary Keane 35 Better Late Than Never - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Ali Pullen 37 The Real A-Team (Computer-enhanced) - - -- - -- - -- - -- - Jeremy Black 38 Silver Linings - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Hannah Jones Burning Bush (Computer-enhanced) - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Yulia Roby 39 Wooden Dancers - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Lymaira Agosto Jekyll Sunrise - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Valerie Goldner 41 A Horse Out of Water - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Katherine Morse 42 Coping with Caffeine - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -Derek Pak 44 Sea Oats (Computer-enhanced) - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Yulia Roby Hopper Face to Face - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- Pamela Westcott 45 The Marshes Within - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- Jeremy Black 47 1964 (Computer-enhanced) - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Chelsea Spivey 48 Fiesta de Colour - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Alyssa Keeve 49 Dizzy Dancing Lights - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Valerie Goldner 50 The Journey Begins - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- Jessica Ahl 52 Bonaventure Grave - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Katherine Morse 54 Shining Path - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Derek Pak See Me Now? - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Thad Saunds 55 Tree of Life - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Tib Dunncan You Know You Love Me - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- Sonni Boatright 57 The Way to CCGA (Computer-enhanced) - - -- - -- - -- - -- - Jeremy Black 60 One Particular Caterpillar - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Jeremy Black 61 Swing Low - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Sonni Boatright Washed Up - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Pamela Westcott 62 A View from the Pier - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Brittany Fulkerson 63 Dinner Time - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Mary Keane Lighting the Way Through the Mist - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Kaci Coleman 65 Waiting for My Kiss - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- Chelsea Spivey Snailâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Pace - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Emily Ryan 68 Misty Mountain - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Valerie Goldner 69 Naptime - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Tanya Powell 72 Sunset at the Lake (Computer-enhanced) - - -- - -- - -- - -- Katherine Sawyer

Prose Austin/Garner Prose Contest 19 46 66 58

First Place Reflections - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Becki Cowatch Second Place Baghdad Unicorn - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- Jonathan Parker Third Place The Darkness of Joseph Kines - - - - - - -Cobe Wilson HONORABLE MENTION The Wonder That Never Left - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Lauren Smith

14 Kidnapped - - -- - -- - -- 22 Intermission - - -- - -- - -- 26 When the Love Falls â&#x20AC;&#x201D; Yiruma - 70 Butterfly - - -- - -- - -- -

-- -- -- -- -

Courtney Smith Tib Dunncan -Cameron Griffith Shawntay Rivers

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Art Seaswells Art Contest 51 First Place Brown Bagging, Pencil - - -- - -- - -- - -Lauren Smith 71 Second Place Silky Smooth, Charcoal- - -- - -- - -- - -Alicia Hurd 64 Third Place Platinum, Acrylic - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- Major Filer 28 Bathed in Blue, Acrylic - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Major Filer 40 Fearsome Fantasy, Charcoal- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - Heather Wilson 53 Sleeping Angel, Charcoal on red paper - - -- - -- - -- - -- - Alicia Hurd

Notes from the Seaswells Team For these past few months, the staff and I have dedicated our hearts to working on Seaswells. We have really enjoyed looking at all the art, poetry, photography, and prose that were submitted this year. This magazine is a place where people may express their feelings or their ideas to the faculty and students, and it was truly amazing to see how many talented students are here at the College of Coastal Georgia. As layout coordinator, I hope that all readers will enjoy this 48th issue of Seaswells. Shakara Working on the Seaswells 2014 magazine was a very daunting task at first. It demanded a lot of effort to identify and collect all the resources needed to make this edition possible. However, it was a very rewarding task in the magazine’s completion. I got to work with a wonderful group of people, talented and creative, who were able to produce this year’s great work. Humbled and thankful, I have learned a lot from them all and appreciate the many contributions of each individual. To all readers of Seaswells 2014, I implore you to enjoy all of the content in this year’s magazine. Explore the fruits of the team’s labor in producing the pages before you, and may your hearts be gladdened by the great photography, art, poems, and prose from all those who contributed. Benjamin Being a member of the Seaswells staff has been one of the most memorable things in my life. It has opened my heart up even more to loving to read and write. Seaswells is a great place to come unwind and relax. If you want a place to feel like family, become a part of Seaswells—and I am not saying it just because I’m a member. Alesha

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At the beginning of the semester when I signed up to work on Seaswells, I wasn’t really sure what I was getting into. However, as the semester progressed, I really started to understand what it meant to be working on the magazine. The hours lost over weekends and spring break all become worth it in the end once you see the works of other students compiled in a wonderful magazine that over the years has truly become the heart of the campus. I’m very glad that I made the decision to join the Seaswells team, and I look forward to working on it next year. Duncan Being a part of something as amazing as Seaswells has been a wonderful experience for me. This magazine stands as the heart of our campus, and the legacy that I will leave behind as both a contributor and as a staff member will last longer than my tenure as a student. Every moment that I spent working on layouts and editing will stay with me forever. I enjoyed reading the words by my colleagues and admiring the artwork and photography. I am proud to have been a part of this publication. Melissa This year’s issue of Seaswells had a lot of amazing submissions, but it was the pictures of the lake and the signs around campus that really caught our attention. We felt that we were making CCGA the heart of the magazine and of our town as we surrounded it with pictures and prose of nature and from people that live in our community. As a team, we had a lot of fun putting the magazine together, learning about our fellow students through their work and trying to organize the pieces in such a way as to convey the spirit of the College of Coastal Georgia to everyone else the way we see it. Sincerely, we hope you enjoy it and agree that it represents the best of our college. Jessica

SEASWELLS Sea sounds — surf — gull cries and sandpipers Ever near us here — if we but seek And let the sound and sight inspire. Sun and shadow, song and sorrow Wander in the heart — awaiting utterance. Eagerly the wind supplies the melody Lest the song be lost, — and we, Longing for a fragment of the universe, Sing, — before our voice is swallowed by the wind. Phyllis Barr

Palm Trees in the Wind Computer-enhanced by Stephanie Scott

Lost in Thought by Melissa Stanton

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Be the Dew or Dancing Rain The darkness comes to those who weep, And those who stand alone, Do not be that lonely leaf, Who falls on solid stone. Be the drop of morning dew, That gathers with its friends, Upon the ground, all around, Helping earth renew. Do not be the dreary rain, That falls only to be wet, Be the rain that dances forth From clouds in the sky at sunset. If sunlight comes, bask within The rays that meet the earth, And if the day then turns to night Bask within the starlight. So if you are the lonely leaf, You have no need to be so. For you can be so many things, Like dancing rain or a drop of dew. Cobe Wilson

Backyard Delight by Pamela Westcott page 8

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Heralds of Spring by Melisa Elder

On the Suffering of Beauty

by Bennett Rainey

FIRST PLACE

Barr Poetry Contest

The hardest thing to witness Is the suffering of beauty. A delicate rose being crushed By the harsh grasp of sorrow. The joy of a perfect sunrise, Darkened by ominous clouds. Warmth of softly glowing embers Dampened by rains of cruel fate. The dulcet sounds of a wondrous melody Drowned out by crashing despair. A golden meadow dotted with violet Blanketed by cold, unyielding snow. Yet beauty has great strength that Must be found buried deep within. Wild roses will grow red anew. The sun shall rise again tomorrow And deep embers burst into flame. The quiet symphony will endure forever, And the meadow return in the spring.

Per fectly Pink by Katherine â&#x20AC;&#x153;Katieâ&#x20AC;? Wellington Morse

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The Picture It sits there and watches me each morning I awake. It keeps me in line for my own name’s sake. It listens to me intently, no matter the time of day. It absorbs quietly every word I say. It reaches out to calm me when things are going bad. It stretches out a hug when I am feeling sad. It speaks to me in a way so easy to understand. When I need guidance it holds me by the hand. It causes me to smile and have warmness in my heart. It’s able to remind me we will not always be apart. It is full of laughter, sadness, and tears. It holds so many memories of all the past years. Its 4 inches by 6 inches and stays in a frame. It never changes, it’s always the same. To me it’s worth more than all the world’s gold — simply priceless never to be sold.

Nice ‘stache by Jeremy Black

You see my prize possession is of Papa and me — a picture before he passed for all the world to see. He was a special person and still watches over me. Sonni Boatright

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Learning Mockingbird Hill

Serendipity Destiny leaps to Intercept destination — Detours alter plans. April Rose

Workin’ Man’s Shoes by Lorea Hiers

Like an artist stroking a masterpiece, Grandaddy caresses his Ibanez guitar. He’s mastered every note on all six strings And serenades Nanny with all his heart. Silver hair, calloused tips, and ringing ears Haven’t stopped his fingers from getting what it wants To push itself against the rugged strings, Grip a pick and find the hidden chords. Such stubborn hands run in this family, My calloused fingers just had to be like his. I hear the highest form of flattery Is imitating what God has blessed him with. Growing up this man could do no wrong! I seem to have it in my mind . . . That if I could copy pieces of his songs, Then I could copy pieces of his life. So tell Mama I’m studying at his knee Watching his fingers dance away To Nanny’s favorite song “Mockingbird Hill” So when he’s gone, a part of him will stay. Cristen Roberson

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Best Color Photo

“Leave Me Alone”

Seaswells Photography Contest

by Chelsea Spivey

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Breakthrough Where can I go to fly high? Among eagles, and vultures, and hawks. To take my place In a world where much clamor and clanking, and clash. Air hunger, I feel, A breakthrough I need; See the blue, feel the gold. Stay alive, be a Dove, Among eagles, and vultures and hawks. Linda McZeal

Godâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Colorful Creation by Sonni Boatright

Creepy Crawler by Mairely Garcia

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Kidnapped by Courtney Smith The sunlight shone through the crack in the curtains, leaving a small sliver of light that caressed my face. I slowly opened my eyes and stretched out my body taking in a breath of air. I rolled over onto my back and laid looking up at the ceiling thinking about what lay ahead of me. I sat up and moved to the edge of my bed. My feet slid down to the floor and the coolness of the hardwood felt good against the souls of my feet. I stretched my arms above me and stood up. I walked over to my window, pulled back my curtains and let the sunlight flow in. I pushed open my window and walked out onto my balcony and let the cool ocean breeze flow through my hair. I closed my eyes and lifted my head up towards the sky. I smiled because today was the day that I was getting married. I had been waiting for this day for my whole life and now it was finally here. I was getting married to my best friend and nothing in the world could ruin this day. I looked out into the vast ocean once more and realized there was a dark ship on the horizon. I squinted and leaned forward to get a better look and it appeared that the ship was moving closer to the shore line. I questioned it but then shook my head, put a smile on my face, and walked back into my room. I walked over to my dresser and took out a pair of shorts and a t-shirt to put on. After I changed, I heard a soft knock on my door and my mother poked her head in. I smiled and told her to come on in. I sat on my bed against my headboard, pulled my knees in to my chest and looked at her. She asked me how I was feeling about today and we talked about the wedding for a couple of hours. I was excited about the wedding because I was marrying my best friend and would be happy forever, but deep down I was really nervous. I’m not the type of person to get nervous, so I couldn’t really tell anyone how I was truly feeling. I remembered the ship that I saw earlier and asked my mom about it. She said that there is an old legend that whenever the day has come for a young bride to get married, a mysterious black ship will appear on the horizon and stay there until the wedding is over. I laughed and knew that she must have been joking, but she had seriousness

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on her face, so I knew what she had just told me was true. My mom grabbed my hand and smiled softly at me. I smiled back and she stood up and walked out. I sat on my bed for what felt like an eternity, just hugging my knees and thinking about that story my mom told me. Of course it couldn’t be true. I mean it was just a silly story right? I grabbed my pillow and curled up on my bed and laid there. My mind was flooded with thoughts and before long, I fell into a deep sleep. Darkness surrounded me when I opened my eyes. I sat up quickly and started breathing very heavily. I couldn’t see anything. I tried standing up but my hands and feet were bound with what felt like rope. I started to freak out and realized that I was moving. I sat there thinking that it was just a dream and that everything was going to be all right. I took a deep breath and tried to slow my heartbeat. All of a sudden I heard a loud crash and then a faint light came from above me. I looked towards the light and saw a shadow looking down on me. I asked who they were and they replied with a deep, rough laugh. I heard the stairs squeaking and realized that the shadow was moving towards me. I tried moving away from it, but I hit the wall and couldn’t go anywhere. The shadow finally reached me and pulled a string above me and the room filled with a rusty yellow light. I noticed that I was on a boat. There were barrels all around me and it smelled of something sour. I now could see the face of my kidnapper. He was tall and gruff looking. Reminded me of a pirate. His face was dirty and his hair was long and knotted. He smiled down at me and his teeth were yellow and gross looking. I asked who he was once more and what he wanted with me but he just responded with that same deep laugh. I heard the stairs squeak again and tried looking around the huge man in front of me. He turned around and I leaned over and could see another figure standing at the top of the stairs. The other shadow figure yelled out and told the man in front of me to leave me alone and that the captain needed him up on the deck. The man looked at me once again, leaned down and caressed my face and told me that he would be

back. I was happy to see him go, but once he got to the top of the stairs, the other figure started making his way to me. I couldn’t take all of this. I started breathing heavily again and knew I wouldn’t be able to take this much longer. When the other figure got to the bottom of the stairs and into the light, I noticed that he was a younger man and was around my age. I tilted my head sideways in curiosity and he came closer. When he got right in front of me, he squatted down and we became face to face. He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen in my life. His hair was long and brown and his eyes were a deep green like the forest. His face was chiseled and the shirt he had on was hanging loosely away from his body so I could see down it. He had muscles everywhere and my mouth gaped open. He smiled at me and my heart stopped. His teeth were white and straight and he definitely was not meant to be on this ship. He introduced himself as Bradley and reached behind him and brought out a knife. I flinched and squeezed my eyes closed. He laughed and grabbed my hands and cut the rope. I opened my eyes and looked down at my hands. When I looked back up, he was just staring at me. I told him my name was Rose and he held out his hand for me to shake. I took it and felt safe for the first time since opening my eyes in the darkness. I told him that I had to get out of there that I was getting married today and he told me that he knew. I looked at him with question in my eyes. He sat down in front of me and put his knees up. We sat there for a little while just staring at each other until I finally told him that I really needed to get back home. Bradley told me that I would get home soon enough but that I had to first see the scenery above me. He stood up and reached out his hand for me to take. I looked at his hand and after a moment, I slowly took it. He grasped my hand and pulled me up to a standing position. I stumbled a little and fell right into him. He caught me and wrapped his arms around me. I looked up into his beautiful eyes and froze. We stood there in each other’s arms for what felt like an eternity. I finally snapped out of it and pushed away from him. He looked at me with wonder in his eyes and I knew that I could not fall for him. I was supposed to be getting married today to my best friend, but I felt

this weird attraction to Bradley and I could tell that he felt it too. After a couple of minutes, I asked if he would take me to the deck so I could see what was above me. He smiled and held out his hand, I took it and we walked up the stairs. The light made me shut my eyes for a second so my eyes could adjust, but when I opened them, I saw the most beautiful thing in my entire life. The scenery was breath taking. My window looked out onto the ocean, but it was nothing compared to this. I walked over to the edge of the ship and gripped the side and peered over. The boat was cutting through the waves like a knife. I peered down into the water and was just captivated by the scenery. I noticed someone beside me and I looked over and Bradley was smiling at me. I told him that I had never been out into the ocean before and that this was amazing. He told me that I could stay with him if I really wanted to. I frowned and turned around and leaned against the side of the boat. I asked why they kidnapped me and he told me that my husband to be set everything up. I couldn’t believe what they were saying. Bradley said that my fiancé approached them on the docks one day and said that he was going to marry this beautiful rich girl and that he could inherit all of her money if something happened to her. So he set everything up and was going to make it look like I had gone missing. I couldn’t believe what he was telling me. I stayed leaning up against the railing for a long time and Bradley stayed by my side the entire time. I could tell that he felt bad and I finally looked up at him and I looked into his deep green eyes. He took my hand and I told him that I would stay with him as long as he didn’t leave my side. I could feel deep down that there was something between us. It was like a spark and I never felt that way with my fiancé, or ex fiancé now. In my heart, I knew that I had found my soul mate. It was weird how we found each other but it was destiny and I could tell that we would be happy for the rest of our lives, even if it meant that we lived on a boat in the middle of the ocean. Maybe one day we’ll go back to the mainland and I’ll introduce him to my mother and live in my house there. Maybe one day, but until then, I was going to enjoy every moment I could out on the sea.

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Petals of Gold by Ali Pullen

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“Jump! Jump!” by Mary Keane

Similes for an Unknown Love Like a delicate leaf of a budding plant that opens itself to a whole new beginning and savors the cool morning mist, I hope for a day when the earth is kind and will bring us together as nature intended and that this love, we will not resist. Like a violin ready to play its tune under the skillful hands of a maestro who will find where my harmony belongs, I know that precious day will come when the music in our souls will unite and create the most romantic of songs. Like a flower turning toward the sun to soak in its glowing warmth and to breathe in all its essence, I long for a chance to absorb you deeply, to grow and move as you rise and set because, in your light, it will all make sense. Like a masterpiece waiting to be painted, to have beauty and life given to its shape to be exposed and open down to its core, I yearn for your hand to brush my outline, to add color to my eyes and flesh, and to never be afraid to give me more. Like a rock awaiting a fresh stream that carries its promises to the end and anticipates that sudden and sweet rush, I yearn for the moment when our spirits collide, when you bring me the good that you hold, and when the noise around us falls to a hush. Like a book that hasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t been penned with an amazing tale of connection and hope and all of the dreams I wish to come true, I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know who you are or when you will come but in all of the ways that are possible, I know I will truly love you. Becki Cowatch

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Coy Coy is the color crimson that radiates off your cheeks Coy sounds like your laugh after every complement Coy tastes of the forbidden fruit eaten Coy is the smell of sweet perfume you wear Coy makes me feel giddy Megan Nash

Pblttttt! by Trisa Chancey

Warning! Stilettos look great, But don’t walk too fast, While you’re trying to look sexy, You’ll bust your ass. Scarlet Bell Powell Decker

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First Place

Austin/Garner Prose Contest

Reflections

by Becki Cowatch I see you. You’re young – or maybe not so young, impressionable, scared of not fitting in, and anxious about losing yourself. You’re nervous about taking those first steps towards a future. You want desperately to become part of something and wish someone would want you for who you are and, even, for who you are not. I see you. You’re sitting in the corner, hiding behind your glasses and hair, eating by yourself, and pretending to be engrossed in your studies. You look up every now and then, hoping the person passing by will notice you and want to make you a part of his or her life so you can finally have that connection, friendship, or even love that you crave. I see you. You’re hoping for a human bond to help you through the loneliness of being amongst people you feel you will never connect with. You attend events and community service projects. You set up meetings, study sessions, and social hours. You do it all in hopes that people will appreciate your enthusiasm, adore your personality, and want to be with you. But, all too often, you find you still don’t fit in. Ever. I see you. You’re being overly nice, setting your needs aside to make someone else happy, and searching for similarities between yourself and everyone you meet. You think it’s your fault that making connections is difficult. You damn yourself for being studious, for wanting to impress professors and faculty, for not partying constantly, and for growing up. You strongly consider setting aside your morals, values, and beliefs because not being a part of the crowd that goes against most of those hurts as much as the thought of doing so yourself. I see you. That face in the mirror looks like a stranger, doesn’t it? You’ve colored and cut your hair. You’re wearing clothes you swore you’d never buy. You spend more time building layers of makeup than you do building your self-

esteem. You gossip and use foul language. You listen to the music everyone else enjoys and hide the CDs they would laugh at. You’ve lost and gained weight – often in unhealthy ways. You’ve changed so much about who you are just to be what everyone else considers better. I see you. You’re giving in to the opinion of the masses, backing down from your own stands, and following paths you can’t always find your way back from. You forget that, sometimes, by fitting in, you are fading out. In your efforts to avoid rejection, you set aside everything that makes you unique and become just another one of the crowd. I see you. You’re positive that being popular, known, and wanted will make you acceptable. You fall for the jerk who says you have to give your body to him to keep his love. You trust the liar who says the only way to free your soul and be a part of her group is through drugs. You believe it when those around you say just one drink won’t affect anything. You start questioning the choices you have before you, wondering which paths to take, and asking who will go with you. Sadly, to remain true to yourself, you find you often walk many roads alone. However, if people allow you to be a part of their worlds only when you follow their rules and give them what they desire, have they truly accepted you? Do you really want to be someone else in order to be loved? I see you. You’re unique and extraordinary. You are exactly who you are supposed to be in this moment. You have years, if not decades, to figure out who you will become. Don’t lose yourself in the chaos of trying to fit in and stand out at the same time because who you are – with all your passions, talents, and integrity – is what will make a mark, a difference, and a change in the world around you.

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Three Letter Word Excuse me ms, what's your name? where you from? Can I come? And possibly, Can I take you out tonight? Girl you fine That's an understatement because your soul is truly beautiful From the way you walk and talk To the paint that's on your cuticles not tryn to make you uncomfortable with me but I'm tryn to make you uncomfortable with the regular, Dat status quo Dat average joe Last time I check my name wasn't "average" It was Neco But back on topic Cuz girl you are the target of discussion Must be hard to live in a world where you're Obama asking for change running against Mitt Romney's, Hmmm . . . . Aren't they tired of the same? In world full of haters and impersonators Trying to get the weight up Steady getting that cake up Wishing they would wake up And see being original is the best policy.

But ummm . . . . Dropping the politics . . . Is it safe to say hello? I know I'm not the outspoken type Shaken in my boots when you hand me the mike . . . Spotlight . . . Is this delight? Or a false sense of security I briefly allow myself to have? A nervous wreck by my own stress what else do I have to grab? Because the words kept slipping And I was left looking like a fool in my head, Although I've said nothing . . . It was time to make my move. I want to start by saying that I’m not interested in being your lover, I’d rather start by being friends, Heck who knows if we could become greater than, Less than or equal, I’d rather the latter of three, No longer known as you and I but we, Two parts like two hearts that have united, Complete Only time will tell . . . And numbers don’t lie First impressions are lasting And you impacted me Neco D Trimmings

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Love at First Flight by Mary Keane

Wanna Race? by Jeremy Black

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Intermission by Tib Dunncan He fell to the floor with a thud, groaning softly as his arm twisted uncomfortably beneath him. He blinked slowly, taking in his surroundings. How’d he get back in the house? Where were the wheat stalks, and the night sky? It was midday out, what had happened? He picked himself up and gazed around the living room, trying to figure out how he’d been magically transported from the old house to here. Where was here, come to think of it? Certainly he lived here — but the house in the wheat field, he lived there with his Lady. . . . His gaze traveled around the room as he spun slowly, trying to recollect what had happened. The line of events just didn’t make sense. . . . His plug lay on the couch, half wedged between two cushions, poking out at an odd angle. Oh. The realization left his hard drive somewhere at his feet. It’d been one of those dreams. He’d had to charge and he’d had to plug himself in because — He found that he was absently staring out the back window. He tore his eyes from the tree in the back and the sleek white stone that lay under the meager shade it offered, physically turning his body so there wasn’t the slightest chance of looking at it. He wrapped his arms around himself and sat back on the couch, reaching for the plug. He backtracked, correcting himself. He did not live in the house in the wheat. He lived here, in the empty suburbs of the scavenging city. It was not night time, there were no stars. It was the middle of the day, one in the afternoon, by the looks of it. He did not live with his Lady, not anymore. He lived alone. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, squeezing the electrical lead between his fingers to ground him in a way. It was okay. Everything was okay. He checked his internal clock; thirteen days had gone by since he’d plugged in for the night. It caused an uncomfortable feeling in his circuitry that felt like he’d been cased with lead, but he stood and tried to shake it off. He’d

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considered turning his clock off, like he had during his years alone, but he couldn’t bring himself to — not after how much work she’d put into getting it running again, getting him fixed properly. He worried at his bottom lip as he paced back and forth through the house, pointedly avoiding her room, the door to which was still closed from her day. He paused in front of it every so often, having to remind himself that she wouldn’t be there if he opened the door before rushing down the hallway, not to return for the space of an hour, or until his blind optimism and his relentlessly repetitive programming got the better of him and he found himself meandering down the hall, fingers itching towards the doorknob. He refused to open the door, knowing that nothing but bitter disappointment and a fresh wave of coded sadness would greet him. He found himself in the living room some hours later; the sun was setting over the horizon, painting the sky the familiar pink and gold they used to watch together, waiting for the stars to grace the sky. He looked away. He didn’t want to watch anymore, he didn’t want to remember. He wanted everything back. Things had been so good between them, everything had been perfect. Why did it all have to disappear? That was his luck. Having her find him, having her forgive him for betraying her, turning on her in the few hours he’d known her before he was cast out into the empty, dangerous world alone, it was too much and he should have known it. When she offered to share her home and her life with him, all those years they spent together, perfectly happy — happier than he’d ever remembered being — he should have known it was only so that it could be taken away later. That was his luck. He was alone, possibly more now than he’d been at the factory. It had certainly hurt less then. He hadn’t known what it was to have someone who cared. He hadn’t had her. He rose from the couch and moved directly across to the bookshelf, spindly fingers plucking

Machiavelli from the wooden shelves, most of which were covered in a fine layer of dust. He’d been in sleep mode for almost two weeks. He supposed he should at least try to keep the house. For her, if nothing else. He doubted that she would have liked to see her home, everything she’d worked towards in twenty years of freedom, fall to shambles around him as he slept, only waking every so often when the plug in the port in the back of his neck accidentally came loose. He couldn’t sleep forever, he knew that, but it was a tempting notion. There were plenty of memories he could revisit. Granted, not all of them were pleasant, but they were all better than the reality of things, merely because they included his Lady. He sat back with a plop, cracking open the book to where the little gold ribbon had marked his place. His eyes skimmed the pages quickly — he’d become a voracious reader since she’d taught him. A dark part told him it was just another way to prove to himself that he wasn’t a mess of faulty programming, but he genuinely enjoyed reading, once all the hurdles were conquered and he’d gotten a proper dictionary. For a few moments, the only noise in the house was the rustling of his pages before even that stopped. He went still, completely unmoving and one might think he’d shut down if it weren’t for the rapid whirring of the fans in his chest constantly keeping him from overheating. His head snapped up and he looked out the window, right at her grave and he forced himself to keep eye contact with it no matter how much he wanted to look back to his book. He stood quickly, uncertainly, convinced that his programming was acting up again because this was the dumbest idea he’d had in a long time. The glass of the back door slid open and he kept going until there was soft grass beneath his feet, beneath the synthetic skin of his palm, beneath the seat of his pants as he sat, pressing his spine into the bark of the tree, his hard drive uncomfortable in his chest, and there was that new, alarming sensation of not being able to cry. He bit down hard on his lip, a habit he’d picked up from his Lady over the year, and opened his book, staring down at it unseeingly.

Un-easy Escape by Tanya Powell The world was quiet, the absence of noise bothering him, making his fingers twitch restlessly. Not even the birds sang. Everything was waiting for him to speak first. He looked up slowly and made a hard swallowing motion. His voice came out quiet and strained. “I . . . I just thought I’d come out here and . . . read. Just read. Thought maybe you’d like some company. You must be . . . lonely.” He said, bringing his knees to his chest, unsteady fingers intertwining around them as he rested his chin at the peak. The book closed, temporarily forgotten. He felt his voice chip give a jump with an inexplicable tension. “I know I am.”

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Best Black & White

Empty Houses

Seaswells Photography Contest

by Megan Nash

The Birth of Ursula In a house made of shells by the ocean, A beautiful girl drank a charmed potion, She drank it, became pale, Lost her legs, grew a tail, And disappeared into the sea with no notion. Scarlet Bell Powell Decker page 24

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A Fungus Among Us by Jessica Ahl

“Billy Brown-Eyes” (for W.H.) Was it déjà vu Or was it precognition? “Deep calls unto deep.” Jan Osborne

Mountain Hideaway by Pamela Westcott

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When the Love Falls — Yiruma by Cameron Griffith In the middle of night, when the cares of this world slumber, I fade into my fantasy and dream of lost bliss. I remember her kisses and her hugs, I remember her thoughts and her love. I feel a happiness I could not find since infancy. I dream of a time now abandoned in infamy. Tears. . . . We held life. We protected it. We made love. We perfected it. And yet these things I have once adored now haunt my memory. I flash back; lust and greed taunt my psyche. I sleep; nightmares of yesterday disturb my peace. I am bewildered. I am fatigued. I am alone. My heart and soul are as a void. Without that past embrace, I don’t know solace. I don’t know reprieve. I don’t know love. Tears. . . .

womb. My love falls into nothing. So what difference do these tears make? No one knows my pain, and no one hears these sobs. But still, even in Hell, I pray every day and any night that I might be redeemed. That I might go to heaven. That when the love falls, my love might be felt. That love might heed my call. That one might know this shallow bosom. No tears. . . . When the Love Falls, I pray for No Tears.

I prayed. I prayed for her. I prayed for others. I prayed for tomorrow. I did not pray for me. “All that has become of this, let me shoulder. All that has defeated me, let it scar. And the darkness that surrounds me, let me walk into. Do not abandon me, but let me suffer. For if anyone should say I am a monster, let them know they are wrong. I found heaven in her arms. All else is Hell.” Tears. . . . In the middle of night, while the children of this world slumber, I fade into recollection and dream of another world. I cry. I let my tears fall in sorrow. But no matter how my love falls, I am the only one to see my tears. I am the only one to know my pain. I am the only one I hold in the darkness. I am the only one who can know. This is the fate I chose. Tears. . . . When my Love falls, it falls to nowhere. It falls into the void. It falls into my nightmares. It falls into that deathly

I Go to the Hills by Thad Saunds

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Going in Circles by Megan Nash

Carried Away

At Last We Meet by Harvest Hale

I am seeking so desperately To find who I am As if I even knew before But it just exists Just out of my grasp Like Pandora’s Box, never Experiencing the warmth of possession Maybe if I stop looking It’ll come to me Like a fleeting dream I don’t want to be like you But I might be trapped Inside this whirlpool I can sing The Anthem all day long But I just keep living out An Anthem of our Dying Day Brittanie Morgan

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Bathed in Blue Acrylic (16â&#x20AC;? x 20â&#x20AC;?) by Major Filer

Dreams of Madness Wake In nights of madness, we dream, Oh what seething visions bombard the resting eye, For with our waking, they vanish as the dew, Lost forever to the morning sun, Lost in sanity reign, But into what dark world do we wake, Thrashing about as the drowning fish, We know not where to stand, For we do not mold this dark world with our fancy, Thus, we are broken by it, In submission and chains we walk about, For this is a world of sanity and its devout, So we suffer these days, Not thinking, not wishing, Waiting for the sun to set, Waiting for our darkest meet, So that we may dream, Dreams of madness wake. Sky Coker

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Pier at Dusk by Ali Pullen

Passion for Purple by Patricia Arrevalo

Seaswells 2014

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Second Place

I am from

Barr Poetry Contest

by Alesha Walker I am from R&B to Hip Hop I am from frowns to smiles From crying to laughing From shy to intriguing colloquies From rock bottom to believing I can persevere I am a survivor. From Caria to Ti From roots in ‘Bama to the dirty south From Grady’s to Decatur From old school to new school From Mariah Carey to Bow Wow I am midnight train to Georgia I am from a great grandma Enetta Wells to a grandmother Teresa Walker From a grandmother who had 6 to the only child of her oldest From the niece of her girls Sherita, Tina, & Eboni to niece of her boys Kelly and Terry I am Lele I am from Atlanta metro seventh day Adventist to believing in god’s glory From loving kids to wanting to teach them From teaching kids while they’re young to watching bloom I am a future educator I am from the mountains to the oceans From A’s and B’s to traveling of the seas From losing 4 people in 3 years to maintaining a 3.3 I am graduating with honors I am from a mother who had me young to a mother who is going for a master degree From red and black to a mother and father who’s against the home team I am a falcon I am from collard greens to fried green tomatoes From TGI Friday’s to my great grandma’s house on Saturdays I am soul

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Hats | Computer-enhanced by Tib Dunncan

Three Rivers by Shawntay Rivers

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Snow White by Kaci Coleman

Zen Garden in June The tendrils of the mandevilla reach out to touch the upright leaves of the ginger while below a glistening rosary of pearl colored buds bend to the Earth in supplication

Bridge to Serenity | Computer-enhanced by Valerie Goldner

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Bonnie M. Tobias

Beach Grass by Trisa Chancey

Strange Beauty by Lorea Hiers

A Day at Jekyll Blue skies and white clouds Soft, shifting sand beneath my feet And the sun shines down on my face You hear gulls call and The waves crash upon the shore A symphony of sounds that Soothe me to sleep. Before long the sun has made its cycle And itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s time to leave the beach That trek back is longer But my heart is lighter after a Long day at Jekyll Island. A place that has always Provided me with a sense of fulfillment and solace. Nichole Herrin

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Full Moon by Mary Keane

Since a thousand years before Moon Melt The midnight moon melts Lustrous liquid light upon The wavy water. Jan Osborne

When the moon is full, I’ll venture onto the moor, That’s not been visited on this night, Since a thousand years before. With my cat Aurora at my feet, I’ll collect the herbs, whose roots are sweet, And conjure up those who have been asleep, Since a thousand years before. Scarlet Bell Powell Decker

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The Illusion of Horology Many answers, a single day holds, Tucked away like stories untold. Their inevitable presence soaks a stain in the mind, Of possible outcomes we are yet to find. The future itself, awaiting in blank face, To deliver its message at a constant but strenuous pace. Its recipient can only hope of good news to come, For a message is needed for the battle to be won. A day can be counted, but we think of time as only an illusion, The same can be spoken on timeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s behalf as it sees us as only a minor intrusion. Can one truly state that time is on his or her side, When time shares no allegiance and has no rules to abide. Patrick Brown

Better Late Than Never by Ali Pullen

Seaswells 2014

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Best Overall Photo

Barriers

Seaswells Photography Contest

by Alyssa Keeve

Hypocrisy of Society The world wants peace and love, Yet a large portion continues to dress themselves for war. Not for a war of revolution; But instead, for a war of distasteful retribution. Patrick Brown page 36

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From: Stand your Ground To: George Zimmerman Your cries are felt in the law of these lands, intolerable are the acts that have formed my hand. Too long have suspects slipped through your wet fingers, swagging and laughing at my kin as they loiter and linger. I was juried in by your four fathers, so in god we trust, animation of deadly force to your castle is a must. Through the aggressor they display such a thug, don't let 'em run, grab your flashlights and gun and confront the justice your people once knew, for I am your "HELP!" Go ahead, I got you. Jared ONeil

The Real A-Team | Computer-enhanced by Jeremy Black

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Burning Bush Computer-enhanced by Yulia Roby

Silver Linings by Hannah Jones

My Beach, My Home Staring at the ocean alone Because this beach is my home And the only one I've ever known Soaking up some sun rays Relaxing on this lazy day Every day is a summer haze The salty warm breeze Puts me right at ease Time to catch up on a couple of Z's Even though I'm alone today When I think of my beach I'll always say I love you St. Simons in every way Aimee Gordy page 38

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Jekyll Sunrise by Valerie Goldner

Wooden Dancers by Lymaira Agosto

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Dragons of Home When we think of dragons, We think of beasts and fire, But dragons are not so dangerous As legend so requires. Dragons come in shapes a plenty, And sizes small and large, Breathing fire they do not, Though some are found in places hot.

They live in the sandy desert dunes, And the blades of grass in meadows, They live on the islands far away, And some may be in your shoes.

Some eat veggies, some eat meat, And some prefer, a cricket treat.

They grow as large as alligators, Though some stay small like geckos, But no matter what they are, They do not fly, they do not soar.

Some are tame, And some are mean, But don’t be scared, They’re rarely seen.

So next time dragons come to mind, Think not of the stories, For there are dragons close to home, In the water and the forests. Cobe Wilson

Fearsome Fantasy | Charcoal (18” x 24”) by Heather Wilson

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A Horse Out of Water by Katherine â&#x20AC;&#x153;Katieâ&#x20AC;? Wellington Morse

Seaswells 2014

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Third Place

Futile Men

Barr Poetry Contest

by Sky Coker A wonder's woe, the minds of futile men. What dreams are crushed and defiled tonight? Listen, listen to the cry of the weary, listen to their cry, trust not to mortal men the sweet fantasy of thy hidden mind, wait not to run and fly tonight, look to the midnight sky and see the stars we wish to dwell alike, do not go far for fear of banishment, listen to thy heart and soar high tonight, wake not, my dears, for with the morning, we become futile men.

Coping with Caffeine by Derek Pak

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Sweet Dreams When time proved to be generous to our eager spirits we stood as something to be envied. Two lost hearts with no sense of direction, but between us sat one common ground: love. Young and indifferent we burned down bridges that carried myths declaring our happiness couldn't exist. Do you remember how every day was filled with a new adventure that played out like a fairy tale? Life was our playground and we, two curious children with nothing to offer but time. In spirit you were mine and my heart, though occupied, beat fiercely for a fix that only you could supply. I remember the intensity of your eyes, like glass mirrors reflecting my innermost worries and fears. Sin never peered through my soul with such passion while Your devilish touch would tap dance its way across my skin in the hungriest of fashions. I remember the static your lips created in my mind. How the borderline between reality and fantasy wore down so thin I could never remember where “truth” began I remember it all crashing, burning, and coming to an end . . . . You'd think time could heal all wounds but my heart never learned to; it just became good at forgetting. Memories do no justice, and erasing them only leaves bigger holes than what was started with. I wish I never left you, NO I wish I never met you. Wait. I'm glad I got the chance to ‘cause regrets don’t change the past and yet still, forgiving is the hardest to do. Besides, you have someone else and I, myself so there's no need for each other anymore. Fate has shoved our journey out the door and you're nothing more than a familiar stranger. Though at times I long to reach out to you, revisiting what we used to know could only be a danger. Utter silence now replaces the connection our hearts used to share. I wonder if at night guilt strikes you like lightning and sadness still echoes your thundering chest. Tell me, is it easy to bear? If I'm lucky, maybe one day you'll become the ghost I never knew I'll awake to realize you were only a part of a dream; a figment of my imagination that hopelessly grew. Na’Chanelle Brown

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Sea Oats | Computer-enhanced Hopper Face to Face by Pamela Westcott

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Seaswells 2014

by Yulia Roby

Points and Stripes Computer-enhanced by Megan Nash

The Marshes Within by Jeremy Black

Seaswells 2014

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Second Place

Baghdad Unicorn

Austin/Garner Prose Contest

by Sergeant Jonathan Parker United States Army Veteran Operation Iraqi Freedom I & III The water flowed over my freshly shaven head, ran through my eyes and down the front of my shirt soaking it instantly. I closed my eyes and wished for the refreshing sting of cold water rushing out of a shower head but ultimately settled for the lukewarm liquid that trickled out of my water bottle. I applied a small dab of shampoo from the same generic bottle I had lugged around for almost five months now and began lathering it onto my scalp. As the water ran over the top of my head, I swore that I could feel my pores opening up to drink the water in as it flowed over them. I also found myself drinking sips of the soapy water to wet the sandpaper that had become my tongue. The bitter taste of the liquid made me grimace but it served its purpose. The heat was excruciating and rose every minute it seemed. The reality of the situation was settling in and I couldn’t think back to a time when life was normal and the search for a shower was such an undertaking. My convoy had a few more stops before we reached the Baghdad airport, but I was getting anxious and tired. I needed three things to make this trip better: food, sleep, and a true shower. The first two I could manage, though in very small rations, but the shower was my unicorn. It was my mystical beast, just out of reach, and the one thing that I wished for. It had been almost a month now since clean, cold water had touched my skin and every minute without it seemed like an eternity of grunginess. Up to this point, I had been using my ration of bottled water along with packets of baby wipes I stock-piled prior to deployment. The downside of this tactic was that I was always dying of thirst but at least I smelled like a new born baby’s butt. That smell

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only lasted a few minutes due to the heat and then it was back to the stench of rotten onions as sweat seeped from every orifice. Needless to say it wasn’t my finest moment. The next few days on the road had me excited like a Chihuahua on crystal meth, wishing and hoping that I would find the right place, the right shower and the right temperature of water. It was crucial that I find my unicorn to bring me back to sanity and to cleanse myself and my soul. We arrived at the airport in the sweltering heat of the afternoon and after a few minutes, set off towards the residential area. A short time later we were clearing the inside of a run-down and bulletridden house. Once inside, I turned the corner, entered the bathroom and saw my unicorn in all its rusty bacteria-ridden glory. There were only two things in the bathroom. One was a small hole no bigger than a fist, inset in the floor, obviously a primitive type of toilet, and the rustcolored shower head with a chain connected to it. I approached slowly and with a slight tug on the chain sand colored water sputtered then flowed out of the head. I thought about how vulnerable I was as I frantically stripped naked and yanked on the chain again but it soon disappeared from my mind as the water hit the crown of my head. The water was not the desired temperature and I suspected it had some type of fecal matter in it but it was running water. After a minute or so, I leaned against the wall and finally felt a sense of relaxation. In that moment I thought about the gun shots, explosions, dead bodies, and families that were dragging their loved ones down the road to safety. I thought of the constant fear

that any minute I would have to take a life and the fear that mine would be taken in return. I thought about the fact that once I returned home from this deployment, I would never be the same man again. The water ran down my body, collected on the floor around my feet and travelled across the room where it swirled down the toilet hole along with my thoughts. With my thoughts drained away, I dried off, put my uniform back on, laced up my boots, grabbed my rifle and headed out to relieve the others. While outside I turned towards the

sound of a small bird perched on the roof of my crack house and noticed a large metal drum on top of the roof, directly over the bathroom. The top of the drum was open and exposed to the elements allowing the Sun to heat water inside and I suspected that this was the source of my bacterial shower water. I stared at this drum for a long while and realized that even in war we need something that feels familiar to us to keep us sane. My sandy water shower brought me back to reality and every so often I would revisit it and let my thoughts swirl down the drain.

1964 | Computer-enhanced by Chelsea Spivey

Seaswells 2014

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Fiesta de Colour by Alyssa Keeve

That Tap That Clap What is that? That tap, tap, tap, The tap I hear, so loud and clear. I hear it like a metronome I see it solid as a stone. It burns my ears with sound, And makes my head spin ‘round, Like a Ferris wheel, or gears of steel. Is this the end of sanity? Or the sound of death’s own drum. Is that tap, that tap, that clap, The clinking of bottles of rum.

No, not rum nor any drink that’s known, Nor any drum that beats a song. Insanity is that tapping sound, That sound I hear, so clear, so sheer. A musical embodiment, Of all I hate, and all I fear. It fills me up, and knocks me down. It paralyzes me, that sound. That sound, that tap, that clap It will not go away, It will not cease, it will go on, Just like yesterday. Cobe Wilson

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The Clock Writes Timely Pages No longer are we written on the morning. Time came with whiteout and erasers to delete our names from afternoon. Thus we stand interjected into Now — together — ensconced in the strawberry light of sunset — oh, glory! God outsmarted us again! Upon a rainbow-tinted clock face, numbers take turns being pointed at — Someone flips a switch or lights a candle — Day defers to twilight, takes a bow and urges, “Write me,” before it takes its leave. The challenge may be answered by a faithful diarist or some crazy old poet — or woven into someone’s yearning billet-doux. They are all forever a united, reunited ours — our journal, our history, our poem, our love letter. Eventide tiptoes gently in — its light is kind, its words soften to a whisper, its inkstains fade to sepia. A soul held together by scar tissue might lament, “It’s almost over,” but the eternal child inside breaks out in song that won’t be hushed — and the ticking thing on the wall joins the child in joyful harmony! “Record me,” says the clock. “Your day is not yet done — and when I shall have been aptly punctuated, put down the pen, turn out the light and never fear to dream before you sleep.” Jan Osborne

Dizzy Dancing Lights by Valerie Goldner

Seaswells 2014

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The Journey Begins by Jessica Ahl

The Heroes, Zeros, and Neros There’s a song that is sometimes played when the unbecoming are tasked to do impossible things. I forget its name, but never its triumphant trumpet fanfare. In youth, this tune would echo in my head while sitting on a cardboard throne, As a seemingly destined pauper, starving for one second as prince, It would be immoral or unjust to deny such a thing, Because deep down, we all wish to be kings. Certainly it wouldn’t be now, If indeed, I was meant to fly. Insane? Yes. But no more than you, I assure. Now, I’ve tended my fields, performed my duties, and kept a clean nose, as is expected. Though these days, what is “expected,” seems almost like above and beyond. There is something I want to scream aloud, though I’ve no idea what it is. Should I simply settle within safer boundaries? Adoration, and then that “L” word: the only necessary goals? Is ambition always accompanied by reckless abandon? The air seems thinner now, and my mind and body have become weak, But heard are the voices and spirits of those who believe, then that song plays again, I can conquer. I will conquer. Those stairs climb dauntingly, endlessly towards Olympus. But with each step comes a larger and larger victory. One day, it’ll be my image adorning the statue at the apex of these steps. Mike Ganten page 50

Seaswells 2014

First Place

Brown Bagging

Seaswells Art Contest

Pencil (18â&#x20AC;? x 24â&#x20AC;?)

by Lauren Smith

All in My Head I guess it was all in my head The shadows of words that you said They put all my visions to bed They transformed my heart into lead So write me a script of your meds To hide all the tears which were shed

For the future and present will wed The past is the time that instead We focus on daily for bread But that is not all we are fed Those bullets were bloodshot and red I guess it was all in my head Nick Bryant

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Carry You I can see what you’re going through, for me it’s nothing new. We all wear different masks to hide our face, a tear stained disgrace. We act like we're all okay, And move on with our day. When really we're crying, really we're dying. The pain we face is unthinkable, unbearable. God is here, helping us through the pain. He knows what we're going through, All because he has been there too. Carry you, Carry you. Facing pain and taking all the blame, It’s so much we go insane. We all wish we could change it, And avoid the pain. We act like we’re all okay, And move on with our day. When really we're crying, really we're dying. The pain we face is unthinkable, unbearable. God is here helping us through the pain. He knows what we're going through. All because he has been there too, Carry you, Carry you. We hide, we cry, We wish we could change The past, the last ounce of pain we feel. We hide, we cry We wish we could change, The past and bring back the joy again. When really you're crying, really you're dying. The pain you face is unthinkable, unbearable. But God is here helping you through the pain. He knows what you're going through. All because he's been there too, All because he's been there through it all. He knows what you're going through. All because he's been there too, Carry you, Carry you. Mackenzie Thurmond page 52

Seaswells 2014

Bonaventure Grave by Katherine “Katie” Wellington Morse

Relationship Hard to find, Yet easy to start Oh, how sublime! The feeling of being loved It can come briskly For some it is hard to grasp Just how deep this relationship can go To the heart? To the mind? No, in a book bound by a spine Not enough, there must be more This world is too vast to not explore Some call it religion, Some call it a cult. To those who believe, ‘Tis a relationship An unconditional relationship

The Dancer She is as beautiful as a red rose in early morning. She dances with the passion of a loving mother who knows No heartache and grief, who is pure and untouched. As she dances she does not care who sees, All she does is dance. She is surrounded in the sweet splendor of His love. As she gets closer she hears the harps play and She keeps on dancing to the gate. When she enters in she sees His sweet face. The music has stopped, but she dances, dances with her Father in glory behind those pearly gates. Sonni Boatright

Monica Kratz

Sleeping Angel Charcoal on red paper (19½” x 19½”) by Alicia Hurd

Seaswells 2014

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Shining Path by Derek Pak

See Me Now? by Thad Saunds

Hungry Eyes For all that we see, The world is not enough, It is not enough for our hungry eyes, These eyes that devour the beauty in the world, Yet they desire more, They desire the beauty that cannot be seen, They desire the beauty that is felt, The beauty that is experienced, They search on for the hidden beauty that they cannot attain, Thus, they weep salty tears, For much of the beauty in this world is lost and hidden away in shadow, So we search on, blindly, for the beauty that our hungry eyes cannot see, For it is this beauty, this hidden beauty, that makes life worth living, Despite all that is unsightly. Sky Coker

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To Pass Time Give me a big tooth grin my friends! Cuz we’re cookin! Cookin! In this sun! We don’t blow in the wind, Like the way the leaves run. We’ll be mortified when we’re petrified, But we did it to ourselves. We’ll be letting loose for the holidays, Because we only live once. We will journey, we will learn. We will work, and ride gurneys, Into the sun. Distract us! From those evil things we love! Crack us! From our weary habits, Our love. Diana Carrasquillo

Tree of Life by Tib Dunncan

You Know You Love Me by Sonni Boatright

Breakaway How do tumbleweeds Know it’s time to break away From their mother roots? April Rose

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Chasing the Rainbow Long journey everlasting days Trudging facing judgment Carrying bags weighing me down, baggage Lost deep down in a soul unfound. Found the many pieces of my heart Scattered, blown in the wind Resting in hands, backtracking my sin, skin. Skin kissed by too many lips The same lips that once opened to caress my ears With words too sweet, too kind, and too patient Are now blatantly waiting to tear me down. Down, held steadfast strongly to what I believe But, I have been glued and stuck in the place, time, and presence of the never forgotten A choice not taken A decision not worth making Re-making memories Buried, engraved, underneath graves Secrets metamorphosed my thoughts and thinking Into precisely of what really troubles my making. Sinking into holes that lead to the end of nowhere Reality is only made in black for me There is no white and black contrast My mind matured much too fast So that I now judge others, not based on facts, but on their character in their past. So, I pass, I opt out Pretending to know everything with no doubts Chasing towards the end of my rainbow Too ignorant to confess what I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know. No is not an option Moving forward consists of chains Chains consist of torment and torment consists of tormentors Someone is master to the slave and I am the captain of cowards compared to one who is brave. I am continuously running in a time where things do not move Endlessly reaching destinations that lead to cages, closed caskets, and brick walls My existence is merely a shadow mimicked by ridicule Televised am I as brilliantly a fool. Choosing to see what is invisibly there My dreams appearing in thin air. These long journeys and everlasting days Have led me to a path to find my way To LIFE and my own rainbow Chasing and trusting in a purpose that I now know. Shamara Thomas

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BEST COMPUTER-ENHANCED PHOTO Rainbow Fountain

Seaswells Photography Contest

by Brittany Fulkerson

The Way to CCGA Computer-enhanced by Jeremy Black

Seaswells 2014

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The Wonder That Never Left by Lauren Smith I don’t belong. Or at least as a young child, that was the only way I could describe the feeling. It was a strong sense of not being content where I was. I just didn’t feel quite right, and it disheartened me. Remarkably enough, the origin of the idea is unknown. Ever since I can remember, that feeling has been like a whisper in the back of my mind. It was the faint calling of uninvited apparitions of thoughts that I’d rather have kept locked away. While I was only a little one at the time, I was a deep thinker. I carry that trait to this day, and it has now proven to be both a blessing and a curse. My mind often wanders and drifts for miles like a feather on the ocean. Although one day, just as my thoughts, I found myself unsure of where exactly I was going. On that wondrous day, I got lost, and I don’t think I was ever entirely found, or perhaps I found the pieces that I thought I were missing. My enlightenment began when my family and I anchored on a small chunk of land that we had dubbed “Smith Island.” In fact, this was the last time I remember ever setting foot on that beach. I was only a small child, and this particular seaside was one of my favorite to visit. Smith Island consists of a sloped narrow beach that leads upward to minute dunes and tall strands of gentle, swaying, green grass. The weather was hot and the sun’s rays danced in golden beams, scintillating off of the warm, murky water of Georgia’s coast. Vast blue skies had an abundance of sunshine; the air tasted of a salty mist and smelled faintly of the marsh. Uninterested in fishing at the time, my sister and I went exploring for crabs. As we walked along where the sea met sand, I remember keeping the gentle rocking boat in sight as we were careful not to go too far. As we ventured further on our quest I realized that we were heading towards where the shoreline took a sharp curve left.

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To our excitement, right on the water’s edge, we discovered a tide pool that was full of water fresh from the ocean. We continued our search for any crustacean sea life there. Realizing that the tidal pool was vacant, we gave up on our endeavors of finding any clawed creatures and instead began playing in the water. The playful atmosphere was interrupted when something in the water startled my sister, causing us both to quickly evacuate the pool. I didn’t know what scared her, but it was enough to send her suddenly running back towards the small boat where our father and stepmother resided for the day. As she hurried off down the beach I was left completely alone with the curving seashore’s allure. I didn’t grow frantic at the sudden solitude. From where I stood, the small white boat was still in sight, but it was a lengthy walk away. The thought occurred to me that I was supposed to go back to my family, but it was easily pushed into the back of my mind because I was staring, mesmerized by the island’s sharp curve that disappeared behind the dunes. In that moment, any concern in my mind was pushed aside. My cautious nature was replaced with curiosity. I really don’t know what took over my better judgment, but I can’t say I’d be surprised if it were supernatural. I don’t know if I was curiously chasing a white rabbit or if I was blindly being led away by the Pied Piper. Either way, I began strolling along the beach’s bend. I was quickly distancing myself from the boat, my family, and, unbeknownst to me, my sentiment of the world. A few minutes had passed, and my view of the boat faded away as I headed down the island’s fascinating bend. I was in a state of bliss, and it felt as if I had not a worry in the world. I sang to myself a forgotten tune from the Piper’s pipe as I marched on top of faintly

glistening sand. Rising above the sound of the wind and the whispers of the quivering grass was a low, deep rumbling. The unknown origin of my determination did nothing but encourage me. I ventured onward; my interest grew as the rumbling increased in volume. Without hesitation, I decided to abandon the path along the beach and cut through the dunes. I hiked further up the steep sloping beach until I was trudging through Smith Island’s hills of sand. It was a slow walk as I forced my small feet over the thick mounds of white sand and my body against a wind that was growing ever stronger. As I hurried and gained ground, the low rumbling turned into a fierce roaring. I had no idea what I was about to find on the other side, but my newfound fascination was too strong to stop me. When I emerged from the grass I beheld another world. It was like I was an explorer that unexpectedly stumbled upon the lost city of Eldorado or Atlantis. For here, the ocean looked nothing like where we had anchored, and it was the complete opposite of the calm and gently rolling waves beside where my sister and I had played. Laid out before my eyes was the dark, indigo, roaring open ocean. There were thunderous waves that seemed large enough to move mountains. Layers of these magnificent waves were constantly rolling in, heavy and loud as they crashed violently into the sloping bank, only to be torn back out to sea in swift graceful movements. I walked closer toward the ocean’s edge, coming to stand just a few feet away, but it was when I looked out over the horizon that something inside of me was altered. There were no other islands, people, or anything else in view. I was captivated by where the immense, light blue sky met the tremendous, deep blue and violet ocean. It spanned farther than the eye could see. I looked out over that horizon as far as I could. I had an overwhelming desire to go straight out there beyond that boundary. I understood that resting behind that limit was another world. That sight stirred thoughts I had otherwise

attempted to keep dormant. I don’t belong. I remember thinking, though, that somewhere out there over that vast horizon was where I belonged. Possibly, somewhere out there was me, and if I wasn’t there before, then I sure was now. When I got lost, a piece of me went out to the horizon. It was lost, never to return. Just as swiftly as the tide had taken my thoughts, I was ripped out of my trance. Over the loud, rhythmic roaring, voices began to emerge. I turned around to see my father and stepmother calling my name feverishly. I could tell that they were worried. I’m sure I got a lecture, but the memory is vague because my mind was still drifting in the sea. They led me back over the sandy grass covered dunes and around the bend, back towards the small rocking boat on the other side of the mysterious island. That was the day that my body did as my thoughts had always done, I wandered. The spectacular images of the vast horizon and great ocean were engraved into my mind, and their memory is as precious as a jeweled amulet. The unexpected voyage I had embarked on has made it clear that it is in my nature to drift like a feather on the ocean. As for the feeling, it comes and goes with the tides. It will always be the whisper in the back of my mind. As the chanting calls out the apparitions of thoughts, I rejoice at their appearance. I welcome them with open arms, for I am no longer disheartened at the arrival of the once undesired feeling. The feeling is now a source of inspiration and fascination. Even in my current times, I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing, but I know I’ll end up somewhere. Getting lost that day on Smith Island proved that I don’t need to know where I’m going to end up exactly where I need to be. I can’t be found if I’m not lost, after all. Mentally and physically, I still have the urge to leave and roam, possibly beyond that eternal horizon. Except now I entertain the thought and embrace the fact that I don’t belong.

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One Particular Caterpillar by Jeremy Black

Start of Day I start the day in total exhaustion as if I have not slept during the night or worse yet as if the prescribed period of rest has pulverized me. My head bends my spine curves gravity pulls my chin to my manubrium and beyond. I am led to a turned-in space. I go with barely a whimper. Coiled tight in the first light of morning. Bonnie M. Tobias

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Swing Low by Sonni Boatright

On Not Looking for Love Dating is pointless, Donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t waste your time, True love comes to you, Try not to be blind. Scarlet Bell Powell Decker

Washed Up by Pamela Westcott

Seaswells 2014

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A View from the Pier by Brittany Fulkerson

Imagination, Creativity and Inspiration Imagination is a powerful force. You can imagine winning. You can imagine losing. You can imagine that your group project will come together. You can imagine that it wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t. You can imagine this to be the best day ever! You can imagine this to be the worst day of your life. You can imagine better times. You can imagine worse times. Creativity is a powerful force. It allows you to put your imagination to the best possible use. You create the positive outcomes you imagine. You create pictures, poetry, and even friendships. You create the work you produce. You create your thought patterns. You create how you choose to see the world. Inspiration is a powerful force. Sometimes inspiration comes from deadlines set by someone else. Sometimes inspiration comes from within. Sometimes inspiration comes in the form a kind word spoken or heard. Sometimes inspiration comes from oatmeal raisin cookies. Trisa Chancey page 62

Seaswells 2014

Dinner Time by Mary Keane

Swimming with Sharks I am at your mercy, My body pulsates in your presence, You belittle me with your black eyes, And own me with your speed. Your appearance sends the others away, Yet I breathe in the air that brings life, And go to you, Down, To your world of beauty and silence, The silence you create. Many times have I heard of you, From others I know who bear your mark, That speaks your word. You circle me, Close, My limbs burn to touch you. In legend, a kiss would disarm you, Yet would your presence be as erotic if I knew there was no danger, No, I prefer you this way. Unprotected, I encountered your deadly grace, Your grace that brings a flesh-ripping agony, Your grace that no man can harness. Scarlet Bell Powell Decker

Lighting the Way Through the Mist by Kaci Coleman

Seaswells 2014

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Platinum

Love, my song of Inspiration

Acrylic (16” x 20”)

by Major Filer

Third Place

Seaswells Art Contest

Today my love is just as strong As when our hearts first danced! We took a leap of faith on love, We gave our love a chance! Each day I wake and thank the lord For bringing you to me. Too many times we take for granted What we have but don’t see. So I guess this is me reminding you That our song is my cure. You give me strength to make it through Our dance of love so pure! Rachel Sisson

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Shooting Star Tonight I saw a shooting star And thought to wish upon it, But as I watched its fire die, I realized that for one brief moment How brilliantly it lit the sky.

Waiting for My Kiss

Tonight I saw a shooting star, Flaming brightly across the dark; Then vanishing instantly, Leaving nothing its trail to mark The fiery beauty I had seen.

by Chelsea Spivey

Tonight I saw a shooting star And thought of you and I. How we burned brightly together On our short path in the sky. Glittering afterglow etched forever In the constellations of our lives. Bennett Rainey

Snailâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Pace by Emily Ryan

Seaswells 2014

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Third Place

The Darkness of Joseph Kines

Garner Prose Contest

by Cobe Wilson The darkness, it follows us everywhere. Even in the very brightest of places, the darkness hides in the corners of existence. Within our hearts, the darkness conceals itself within thoughts and desires. Within our lives, it hides within actions. “I’m going to the store. Do you want anything specific or should I just get the regular stuff,” Joseph’s wife shouted through the long halls of their two story townhouse. “No, babe, just get the regular stuff. If we need anything else during the week we can go get it,” said Joseph with a sort of careless attitude. His wife left, leaving the garage door open so that he didn’t have to open it himself. He left immediately after his wife, as was his custom. His job required him to be on time or, even better, early. Joseph Kines was a psychologist who prioritized his wealthier patients over his indigent care patients. This, however, was neither here nor there, and he did not see it as being rude, or inconsiderate. He did after all, still give the poor psychological care, but he just didn’t do it at their leisure. When he arrived at the office, there was no one there. He thought that was odd, but it was not unlike his secretary to call in to work sick. She was one of the few people who stayed with him after the false abuse accusations, and so he gave her a little leeway when it came to sick days. He thought it a more than fair trade, and so did she, as she always seemed to be battling one illness or another. He walked into his office and flicked on the main lights. Everything seemed fine to him and so he just kept on walking over to his desk. He reached his large wingback desk chair, and after setting his briefcase on the floor, he sat down. It was then that he realized he was not alone. In the corner, dangling from the awkwardly placed ceiling fan was his secretary. Her neck

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snapped into an unnatural position, her eyes a dull grey from loss of life. She seemed to be staring at his very soul, staring right through him, seeing every sin he had ever committed and every one he will most likely commit in the future. His heart did a series of jumps, tucks and rolls, as his mind registered what he was seeing. His trembling finger moved like a ghost was guiding it as it pressed out 9-1-1 on the keypad. A voice on the other end said, “Hello, 9-1-1, what is your emergency?” Joseph’s voice caught in his throat. He was rendered speechless by the voice on the other end. It sounded strange for some reason, as if it wasn’t truly there. He disconnected the call, and redialed. A voice came on over the phone and said, “9-1-1, what is your emergency?” Again, his voice began to rise into his throat, but it never went past that. He was rendered completely speechless, as if an unseen force had hold of his voice, keeping it in place. He disconnected the line once more and put the phone back on the hook. He looked over towards the corner where his secretary’s body was hanging, only to find that the body was no longer hanging there. It had disappeared from the fan completely, as if it were never there. His mind became clouded, like he had stepped into a shallow creek filled with mud. He searched for clarity, only to find a deeper, darker cloud. Consciousness began to spiral away, his mind becoming enveloped in darkness. He swung his arms around in front of him, searching for anything to hold on to, but all he found was more darkness. There was nothing for him to see, only the dark. When he awoke, his office was just as neat as when he had come in, except the clock was stopped at 7:23. He looked at his watch, and then

his phone, and although he knew it was later than that, the clocks were stopped at 7:23. He got up from his position on the floor, walked over to his desk chair, and sat down. The soft leather of the designer chair made him feel a little more at ease, as if he was being surrounded by peace. He began to contemplate why everything was the way it was. He wondered why he had seen an image of his secretary hanging from the fan, dead and gone. He wondered why the voice on the phone had made his throat catch, and why he had passed out for no apparent reason. His thoughts were still disconnected, and rambling, but he felt better. His heart jumped at the sound of the phone ringing. In his mind, he had all but forgotten the office surrounding him. He reached for the phone and slowly picked it up. His throat trembled and his heart began beating like the pistons of a racing motor. He searched for words to say, and finally, after a minute of silence, he said with a squeak, “Hello.” The voice on the other end said, “Boss, am I glad to hear your voice. I had heard that a psychologist had passed out in his office downtown, and all I could think was that it was you.” Joseph was relieved as it was only Gina, his secretary. He replied, “Yeah, I heard that to. I don’t quite know who it was yet, but I’ll find out.” Gina said, “Ok, boss. Just making sure it wasn’t you. I’m at the doctor’s office right now, getting a check-up. I won’t be in today, but I will be tomorrow.” Joseph told her it was alright, and hung up. For some reason he felt as if he had heard her voice today already. He would take some Advil, and sit quietly for a while. Try to get a hold on what had happened a few hours ago. He was about to swallow the pills, when the phone rang again. Joseph picked up the phone, and said, “Gina, I told you that was fine. Go home and re—” but he was cut short by the voice on the other end. “Hello, 9-1-1, what is your emergency?” said the voice on the other end. This time, however, Joseph knew where he had heard that voice before. The voice was Gina’s voice, but not the Gina that he knew. This voice was not alive in any way. It had a drawn out echo to it, a rolling sound, like the wind in a canyon. And it was cold. Not the

attitude kind of cold, but a dead decaying cold. Like the eyes. Yes, a sound to match the eyes. Joseph heard a shuffle in front of him. He looked up from the phone and what he saw startled him. Floating there, in front of him was the chilled body of his secretary. The dull grey eyes, the cold, colorless skin . . . it was all there. He backed up towards the wall and encountered a bookshelf. His heart began beating like the drumming of the feet of a racehorse. His mind began to cloud again, his thoughts being locked away from himself. He tried to move to the side, to get around his desk and away from the thing in front of him, but he could not. His feet were frozen solid. He reached deep within himself for a scream, only to find that there was nothing there to let out. The wind had left him, as if he had fallen from a great height. The thing reached the edge of the desk, and in a cold, distant voice whispered, “We feel your fear, we smell your sweat, we see your sin. It belongs to us, it feeds us, and it makes us. We do not know rest, or pain, or love, and we never will. You have no way out. This is our realm, our haven, our sanctuary. Do as you will, but we will come for you!” The voice was not alone, as it grew in words, it grew in number. The one voice grew to thousands of voices, all echoing each other in a song of chills. Joseph’s whole body shuddered with the chill of fear. He felt the strength return to his limbs, and with all his might, ran for the office exit. As hope flooded his soul, his hand twisted the doorknob clockwise, and he pulled the door open. However, he was met with darkness; and there was something coming, a form, black, and disfigured, moving closer and closer towards the door. It froze Joseph in place, and fear again took hold of him. He was again frozen in place. He felt nothing, heard nothing, saw nothing, except for the black form. His hand began to retract towards his body, pulling the door with it. It was the thing, the floating body of his secretary, pulling him back towards the office. The voices said, “No, you cannot leave. Try as you might, but you will not leave here. You will feel the pain, the suffering, the anguish that we feel. You are no longer a part of the world you once knew. You are a part of this insanity. This insanity will be your new home.”

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The Connection As I walk through the forest, I feel a connection. The scents of the trees perfume the December air. The morning sun plays peekaboo between the trees. Birds fly over the narrow trail I walk down, then the music drops and all becomes clear. I see a crystal white grid underneath my feet as I saunter abbreviated by the euphoric melodies. Goosebumps elevate high off my arms and an overwhelming sense of peace takes over. My feet are begging to root into this loam which has provided the home to all that surrounds me. Nostalgic thoughts begin to flow. Now sitting in a long forgotten place, my brothers nap in the early afternoon sun. A royal blue sky, a dream within a dream. I am awake now. As I continue my sacred stroll, Evergreens that dance in the calm breeze lock eyes with me and begin to read more stories of my past. Snowy mornings, time well-spent with family, memories locked away. Tingles enchant my body as this violation of memories leaves me feeling vulnerable. In retaliation I read the stories of their lives. Though grossly outlived, I share every single day. A welcoming heart this tree possesses A feeling of oneness A feeling of purpose I feel a connection. Patrick Brown

Misty Mountain by Valerie Goldner

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Snow Bum | Computer-enhanced by Alyssa Keeve

Naptime by Tanya Powell

Seaswells 2014

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Butterfly by Shawntay Rivers I am like a butterfly swatted at and pawed by a bored feline for fun. Each time I get knocked to the ground I am more determined to get up and shake the dust from my wings so that I can fly away. But each time I show my strength, he is more amused and more determined to keep me down. It is not until I learn to stay down a little longer so that my enemy thinks I am done fighting and turns his attention elsewhere that I am able to gain true strength and fully rid myself of the dirt that was heaped upon me to hold me down and reveal my wonderful beauty as I fly over the head of my enemy and into my destiny.

His Anthem He has called us the heirs to His promise — He has clothed us with His righteousness — He has given us beauty for ashes — He has taught us to enter His rest. He created the streams in the desert — He has freed us from weakness and pain — He has flooded us with His forgiveness — He removed every blemish and stain. He has loosed us from prison and bondage — He has given us songs in the night — He has made us His angels’ assignments — He has brightened our paths with His light. He has blessed us with life everlasting — He has set us on high at His side — He has met every need with His treasures — And His Word and His Spirit abide! It is finished! He is risen! Hallelujah! Jan Osborne

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Xiăo húdié (Little Butterfly) 藍色的和紅色花的， (Lán sè de hé hóngsè huā de,) Blue and Red flowers, 裝飾她的头发 (zhuāngshì tā de tóufă) adorn her hair 像一蝴蝶。 (xiàng yī húdié.) like a butterfly. Kaci Coleman

Second Place

Silky Smooth

Seaswells Art Contest

Charcoal (16â&#x20AC;? x 20â&#x20AC;?)

by Alicia Hurd

Endless Ribbon The blankness of a page before ink meets paper The soft breath of awakening at sunrise Endless is the ribbon that binds our time Past. Present. Future. Time is streaming continuously as it touches every fabric of our selves Some of us hoard time as it is precious Others live day by day forgetting time as though an amount of currency To each of us time revolves differently So use your time Put the ink to paper and write your story To some time flies by in the blink of an eye And others know how to make three simple minutes feel like an hour A. M. Torres

Seaswells 2014

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Sunset at the Lake | Computer-enhanced by Katherine Sawyer page 72

Seaswells 2014