The Mosaic

Spring 2009

The Mosaic

Student Literary and Creative Journal of

Motlow State Community College

Editors:

The Literary Club

Faculty Advisor:

Jay Stringfield

Cover Photo:

Erika Betschart

Copyright 2009

All rights to publications of the contents of this volume return to the author after publications of subsequent

reprints during 2009

Motlow State Community College is an equal opportunity institution and welcomes applications for

employment or admission regardless of age, disability, national origin, race, religion, sex, or veteran status,

and is committed to the education of a non-racially identifiable student body. For assistance or information

concerning compliance with the Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990, contact the Human Resources

Office for employment assistance; contact the Student Services Office for student assistance.

Table of Contents

Prose

“Literary Club Group Story” Literary Club

“Untitled” Rod McClellan

“Principals are People, Too” Kenny Bottoms First Place Winner

“The First Days of Fall” Tracy Walls

“You Can’t Judge a Book by the Cover” John Barnes

“Red Is Not My Color” Colton Simmons

“My Story Could Be Yours” Jeff Woodside

“My Spiritual Quest” Ricky Vinson

“Out of a Void of Darkness” Casey Curtis Second Place Winner

“The Raging River” Lawrence Fry

“My Almost Death Experience” Cassandra Davenport

“Buddy and Me” Frankie Rice

“Sight Unseen” Charlie Hickerson

Poetry

“The Upside-Down Clown” Jeff Woodside

“From Then Till Now” Jeff Woodside

“Music” Kelly Hanwright

“Unsung” Kelly Hanwright Third Place Winner

“Rare Rose” Kelly Hanwright

Photography

First Place Winner Erika Betschart

Second Place Winner Amy Hutchins

“Literary Club Group Story”

The following story contains several fragments by several authors. The Literary Club

worked on this chain story throughout the year, adding a little bit and passing it on to

another. Contributors include Paula Hennings, Robyn Cawley, Sandy Hayes, Jay

Stringfield, Ricky Vinson, and Jeff Woodside.

I was walking down an old country road with a couple of buddies on a crisp, cool

fall afternoon. We were looking for a trail that led into the woods to an old abandoned

house. We had been walking for over an hour and still could not find the trail. Maybe it

has grown up I thought to myself. Or maybe we are not meant to find it.

All of a sudden, I heard a rustling in the leaves. Soon, out jumped a rabbit. We

were all very relieved to see the cute, fuzzy bunny, but just as we turned away, a huge,

wolf-like creature sprang out and ripped the bunny to shreds. Then, the creature stood

up, smiled, and said, “Cheers, fellow travelers! Would you like a rabbit’s foot for luck?”

As we all looked at each other, amazed, we took the foot. Within minutes, we

found the trail that lead us to Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. Once we were in, we

partied with the Oompa Loompas like there was no tomorrow.

Ah, but there is tomorrow. I thought to myself, Was that a dream? No, here is

the rabbit’s foot, and boy does my head hurt! What was in that chocolate? Oh well, who

cares? Back to the business at hand. I’m going to find that house even if my buddies

don’t go back with me. I will prove to myself and to all the people who doubt about the

secret room and the power it contains.

But how was I going to find that miraculous room? The emerald songbird sang

only one hint before bursting into flame:

An old travelled path past the trickster’s deceit

Of candy-sweet dreams soon the true guide will meet

Follow to find the room’s long hidden secret

But peril awaits from those longing to keep it

I kept on down the path with my friends close behind. We were a small group,

but we knew the responsibility for finding the ancient power was a great one that we had

been raised to pursue. I paused for a moment to let my friends walk ahead for a while.

When the last companion passed by, I started walking behind her, watching the small line

of people zig-zag along the path. I jumped when a finger tapped me on the back.

Startled, I froze in my tracks. There stood before me an old crone. She had hay-

like hair and gnarled hands with long, curved fingernails. She frightened me. I couldn’t

help but notice the beautiful yet haunting necklace she wore. My eyes were fixed on the

black stone in the center of the necklace. I couldn’t move; I was in a trance. I tried to

speak, but my mouth failed me.

The crone told me that my curiosity was going to be the end of my friends and

me. My heart told me that her power was in the black stone of her necklace. She came

towards me and, as fate would have it, she stumbled. I reached out and jerked the

necklace from her neck, and she fell to the ground, dead. The black stone had a map

inscribed on it and led us to the house and room we were looking for. The splendor and

magic there made our wildest dreams come true. Later, we were amazed to see a door to

another room appear. A bodiless voice beckoned us to enter. We decided to take a

chance, and thus, another mysterious adventure began.

Untitled

Rod McClellan

“There’s someone coming, people, someone’s coming to take me away,” declares

the smallest puppy in the pen. “Get outta my way, I’m gonna make my break with these

people,” she snarls at the rest of her brothers and sisters. “I have to get out of here! You

guys are boring and this pen is just too small for me. Okay, if you’re not going to get out

of my way, I’ll just climb over all of you and these people will just have to take me out of

here, “she yells at her brothers and sisters as she climbs over all of them.

“Look, people, looky, looky, looky! She’s looking right at me and smiling!”

sings the little puppy. “I’ll just give her my best smile and she’ll have to pick me. Oh,

boy, oh, boy, oh, boy, this is gonna be fun.”

“Ouch, get outta my way you stupid boy! You’re blocking her view of my pretty

smile. If you don’t move right now, I’ll bite your ear so hard you won’t be able to hear

for a month. Get out of my way,” snarls the small puppy. “Okay, if that’s the way you

want it, then that’s the way it’s going to be,” she snaps while she bites down on his ear.

“Yipe, yipe, yipe,” the biggest boy of the litter exclaims, “hey, that hurt, you

stupid girl! What makes you think they’ll take you anyway” You’re the smallest one of

the litter and people always want the biggest and bravest boy of the litter, and that’s me!

Everybody knows that! Stupid girl!”

“I might be the smallest of the litter,” she retorts, “but I have the prettiest smile of

all you chumps. Besides, people always go for the most active, so get outta my way so

she can see my smile!”

“See, she’s looking right at me and telling that other person to take me outta

here!” exclaims the little girl. “I told ya’!” as the owner of the pen steps inside to pick up

the little girl and put her down on the outside. “I told ya’ she would pick me!”

“She hasn’t picked you for sure, yet stupid girl,” exclaims the big boy puppy,

“they always want the biggest and bravest of the litter, and that’s still me”

“Ha! Says’s you,” the little girls snarls at him, “besides, who’s outside the pen

and…and…and look at me! She’s picking me up.”

I’ll give her my best smile and I just know she’ll take me home with her the little

girls says to herself. I know. I’ll lick her face! That’ll do it. That will clinch the deal and

she’ll have to take me with her.

“Hey, wait a minute, little girl,” the new person says to the little girl, “not so

many kisses yet. You’re really an active little girl, aren’t you?”

“Active? You bet I’m active,” the little puppy drools. “I can run around and

jump and play all day long. I take short naps and then I’m always ready to play. You’ll

just love having me around.”

“Okay, I’ll take this one,” the new person says as she puts the little girl on the

ground. “I think she’ll be a lot of fun and she’ll have a really huge backyard to run

around in. She won’t ever take the place of my baby, but I think she’ll be okay.”

“Duh, hey guys, what’s going on?” asks the biggest puppy of the litter as he

strolls out of the puppy house. “What’s all the noise and commotion about? I’m trying

to get some nap time in and you guys are making such a fuss out here.”

“Hey, what about that one,” the new person asks the pen owner. “He’s really big

and look at those eyes! They’re just beautiful! So different from the rest of them. He

looks like he’s still half asleep, doesn’t he?”

“You stupid boy,” the little girls snarls at her new challenger. “If this new person

takes you home instead of me, they’ll be taking a three legged dog home and you know

no one wants a three legged dog.”

“Three legs?” the big boy puppy responds, “Whadda’ ya’ mean three legs? I have

four legs, dumb girl.”

“You won’t have by the time I get through with you,” the little girls snaps. “You

better not have messed up my chances for getting outta’ here, you dumb boy! Besides,

you know nobody wants dumb boys! They always want the active little puppy with cute

smiles, and that’s me! Stupid boy!”

“Could we look at that one, also,” the new person asks.

“Sure, let me get him,” the pen owner answers.

“Oh, he’s so cute,” the new person exclaims as they picks the big boy up. “Look

at those eyes! All the rest of the puppies have brown eyes, but this one has beautiful

yellowish eyes, doesn’t he? I think he must have some wolf in his DNA, don’t you?”

“Yeah, it’s just great,” the tallest new person says with a great deal of sarcasm,

“he’ll be able to see in the dark with those eyes. Hey, I thought you had already decided

on the little girl?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, she’s already decided on me” the little girl exclaims at the new

person as she gives her the best smile she has. “Don’t pick that dumb boy! He’s so lazy

and totally out of touch with his body that you’ll be sorry if you pick him. All he wants

to do all day long is to lay around and sleep. Pretty dumb, huh? Pick me up again and

I’ll show you that I’m really active and will keep you entertained all day long.”

“Well, what would you think if we took both of them home?” the new person asks

the grumpy person. “We have a really big back yard and they can run and play a lot

together. I really like both of them!”

“Both of them?” the grump exclaims. “I had not planned on having two more

dogs around!”

“I know, but I really like both of them,” the new person says in her sweet soft

voice. “I like the little girl because she’s so playful and I think she’ll be a lot of fun, but I

like the little boy because his eyes are so unique and beautiful. What do you think?”

“I think it’s already been decided,” the grump says not so nicely. “Okay, we’ll

take these two home with us.”

“Oh, boy, oh, boy, oh, boy!” the little girl practically squeals, “they’re taking us

both home with them! This is so great! We’ll have so much fun together, won’t we?”

“Duh, what ya’ mean take us home with them?” the big boy asks with a sleepy

voice.

“This is home! All our brothers and sisters are here. Why would I want to go

someplace else?”

“Stupid boy!” the little girl yells, “We’re going to get out of this tiny place where

everything is always the same and go someplace new. Isn’t that exciting?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” the big boy puppy says with a quiver in his voice. “I don’t

wanna go anyplace! I like it just fine right here! I get more than my share of the food

bowl because I’m the biggest and baddest of all you babies, so I’m not going anywhere.

See, I can hide under this tree and they won’t know where I am, so they won’t take me

anywhere.”

“Boy, you really are stupid, aren’t you,” the little girl laughs, “they can still see

you, and besides, there’s only two of us outside the pen, so that means both of us are

going to a new home. Dude, it’s going to be a great adventure…and besides, there will

only be the two of us now and we won’t have to beat up the rest of the litter to get to the

food bowl. I promise I’ll leave enough in the bowl for you, okay?”

“You promise?” the big boy asks with a quaking voice, “You really promise?”

“Yeah, I promise!” the little girl says to him. Behind his back, she uncrosses her

front paws. Dumb boy she says to herself. Everyone knows a promise doesn’t have to be

kept if your paws are crossed when you make it. I’m not leaving him anything in the

bowl, and he’s so dumb he probably won’t even notice. I don’t know though, he’s so

big…well, I might have to leave him some crumbs.

“Wouldn’t it be great if we could have a food bowl for each of us?” the little girl

asks hesitantly.

“You’re crazy, girl,” the big boy barks at her. “Everybody knows all puppies eat

out of the same bowl! Whoa, wait a minute! What’s going on? What’s happening?” he

squeals as the new person lifts him off the ground.

“We’re going to our new home,” the little girl exclaims as she is lifted off the

ground too.

“This is the start of our big adventure, big boy, and just remember, if you mess up

my big chance with this new person, you’re going to lose a leg. Understand?”

“No, I don’t understand,” the big puppy says, “and I don’t really know what’s

going on. First of all, you say we’re going to a new home, then I’m going to lose a leg,

then you’re going to leave enough food in the bowl for me to eat…how could that be?

I’m bigger than you and…and…and I get to eat first. Don’t I?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” the little girl says with disgust, “I’ll let you eat first.

Maybe!”

He’ll be so easy to trick of his food she thinks to herself. “It would be so great to

have our very own food bowls, but I can always make him think he’s just not hungry.

Stupid boy.”

“Hey, what’s that big yellow thing they’re taking us to,” the big boy asks.

“I don’t know,” the little girl squeals with delight, “but it must be something to

take us to a new home. Isn’t this great?”

“I don’t think I’m going to like this,” the big boy answers with a shaking voice.

“It’s really scary!”

“Oh, come one, you big baby,” the little girl responds, “don’t be such a spoil

sport! Just chill out and take in this great adventure. It’s already a lot of fun, and we’re

just getting started.”

“Ya’ think it’ll really be okay?” the big boy asks. “Aren’t you going to miss all

our brothers and sisters?”

“Nope, I’m not going to miss them at all,” she responds, “besides that’s just five

less mouths in the food bowl, remember. It’ll just be me and…and…and sometimes

you… in the food bowl. Okay?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” the big boy responds, “hey, I gotta go pee!”

“Not now, stupid,” the little girl snaps, “can’t you hold it until we get to our new

home? I don’t want you to show these new people that we aren’t civilized and can’t hold

it!”

“No! I gotta go now!” he squeaks with desperation. “Now!”

“Stupid boy!” the little girl retorts, “Don’t you pee on this new person! She might

not want either of us if you do! You better hold it! Remember the three legged dog?

You won’t even be able to get to the food bowl if you pee on her! I promise!”

“I can’t hold it anymore,” the big boy says desperately, “I can’t! Look, she’s

putting me down on the ground. Ah, what a relief! See, I told ya’ I had to go, and this

new person let me.”

“Yeah, this grump person let me down so I could go, too,” the little girl snaps.

“See, they know what little puppies need. They picked me, so they’re not stupid!” Not

like someone else I know, she thinks to herself.

“Look at that,” the big boy exclaims, “something on the side of this big yellow

thing moved and…and…and the grump is putting us inside with the new person. We’re

sitting in the new person’s lap. I don’t think I’m going to like this.”

“The big yellow thing is how we’re going to get to our new home,” the little girl

exclaims loudly, “so just chill out, relax a little, and have fun.”

“Uh-oh, we’re moving! Everything’s shaking.” The big boy exclaims, “I don’t

like this! My tummy feels funny! Look at my tongue! It’s dripping and I can’t stop it!

What’s happening to me, sis? I don’t feel well at all.”

“Well, don’t drip on the new person,” the little girl snaps at him, “She might decide to

take us back to the pen and leave us there. Just tell your tummy to remember the story of

how the three legged dog could never get to the food bowl.”

“I can’t help it,” the big boy sighs, “I’m gonna’ be sick! I’m gonna’ throw up!”

“Don’t you dare,” the little girl yells at him, “I don’t want to go back, and everyone

knows people don’t let puppies throw up on them. Tell your tummy the story about the

three legged dog!”

“I can’t…,” the big boy says as he throws up all over the new person, “it’s the

moving and shaking! My tummy can’t take it. Oh no, here comes some more!”

“You stupid boy,” the little girl gasps, “look at what you’re doing! You’re

throwing up all your breakfast on her, and she’s trying to catch it with her hand, but you

were such a glutton this morning. Man, you’re disgusting! You better not get any of that

on me! Remember the three legged dog? I hope they turn around and take you back to

the pen. Pretty eyes my rear end! You’re just such a wimp!”

“I can’t help it,” the big boy whimpers, “all this moving and shaking is upsetting

my tummy. Hey I think we’re stopping! My tummy feels better already!”

“Yeah, whatever,” the little girl sighs, “just don’t get any of that disgusting throw

up on me. Wow, look at all the big buildings. This area between the buildings is sure

bigger than the old pen, but it’s still not much room for us to play in, is it? Wait a

minute, what is this? The board fence just opened up and, oh my goodness! Just look at

all the room we’re going to have to run and play in. Hey, big dummy, do you think this

is all for us? I can’t believe this, man! Look down there! Just look! There’s a big bowl

of water for us and then there’s a huge bowl of water a little further. Can you believe

this? Two food bowls would just make it perfect, huh? Hey, I’ll beat ya’ to the water

bowl.”

“I can beat you any day of the week,” the big boy says as he takes off down the

hill to the big water bowl, “hey, sis, something’s happening to me. My rear legs are

catching up to my front legs. Oops, I’m tumbling down the hill. This is fun! I think I’m

going to like this new place after all.”

“You just can’t control the back half of your body, can ya’ bro?” the little girl

says sarcastically, “you sure looked funny when your rear legs caught up with your head.

Just look at all this room. And trees. And grass. And huge water bowls. Bro, would

two food bowls be just too much to ask for?”

“Okay, let’s go back to the house,” she demands, “and try to keep your body

together this time, okay? Wait a minute! They opened another door and what’s that

thing coming out? Man, it’s hairy, huh? That dude needs a haircut! Look how he walks,

bro! Like he owns this place! Okay, he’s walking over to us, bro. We gotta’ be tough

and show this guy who’s the boss, huh?”

“Yeah, we gotta’ show him who’s boss,” the big boy exclaims, “ and I think he’s

going to be boss, sis! He’s gotta’ be a bull mastiff, or maybe a Doberman or maybe a

beagle, but he looks so mean. I’m gonna’ try to be friends with him. Maybe he’ll give us

the low down on our new home. Good morning, mister, I’m the new boy puppy and this

is my sister. We’re glad to make your acquaintance.”

“Don’t talk to me, you wimps,” the hairy dog growls at them. “I’m the master of

this house and don’t you ever forget it. Whenever I’m in your vicinity, you will get on

your bellies and, even better, on your backs. Don’t you ever let any part of your body be

higher than mine. I will not play with you, nor will I even acknowledge your presence

here. Any time you want to take me on, just remember the story of the three legged

dog!”

“Sis, he knows about the three legged dog,” the big boy gasps, “so it must be

true!”

“I don’t know about that, bro,” the little girl exclaims, “but he’s so mean. I don’t

think we want to tangle with him, do you? He’s just mean enough to make both of us

three legged. Wow, I’m going to stay a long ways from him. But, it don’t matter, bro! It

looks like he stays in the house most of the time and we get to stay outside and run and

run and run. Hey, let’s run down to the big water bowl, and this time, try to make your

rear feet stay in line with your front feet, okay?”

“Okay, first one to the water bowl gets to, gets to, gets to do what, sis?”

“They get to play some more and then maybe we’ll get fed,” she says disgustedly.

“Hey, look, they’re bringing us food. And it’s two bowls! My very own bowl! I have

my very own food bowl!”

“Well, we need to name them,” the new person says, “what about Sheba for her

and Shadow for him?”

“Yeah, that seems to fit them,” the grumpy person replies, “she acts like a queen,

and he’s been your shadow since we’re been here. So, Sheba and Shadow it is.”

“Hey, bro, hear that?” the little girl says, “we’ve got names now. I’m going to be Sheba

and you’re going to be called Shadow from now on.”

“Duh, what’s a shadow, sis?” the big boy asks.

“It’s your new name,” she replies as she rolls her eyes. “Man, you sure can be

dumb sometimes.”

“Principals Are People, Too”

Kenny Bottoms

It was January, 1973, and the small, two-bedroom mobile home Mom rented was

different in many ways I was not accustomed to. The outside was a nauseating blend of

blue and pale green with a rust stained white stripe running its length. At least that’s the

way it appeared in the dim light of the early morning and late afternoon. That’s when my

sister and I would be leaving for, or returning from school. Mom told us after the second

day she couldn’t keep making the 25-mile journey required to take us to different

schools. She had taken us away from our new three-bedroom, brick home with its 10

wooded acres of almost endless places for an eleven year-old boy to play. She told us she

wouldn’t be living with our father anymore and that we were going with her. My sister

and I didn’t understand very well what was happening. I always thought it was just for a

while and we would be going home in a week or so like once before.

The trailer was a small, cramped place with an ever-present odor that couldn’t be

identified. I would later learn that it came from the propane stove in the tiny kitchen. It

was many miles farther from my school than the bus route covered. How would I get to

school if mom didn’t take me? Would I have to go to the big school in the city? It was a

dark, intimidating building with huge walls. It looked more like a prison than a school,

and worst of all, I didn’t know a single person there. These questions would be answered

the next morning when Mom told me that I would be riding home with Mr. Bolding, the

new principal. I was mortified… panic-stricken!

“M-Mr. Bolding is taking me home?” I blurted.

“Yes, he is and there’s nothing to worry about. He’s a very nice man,” She replied

calmly, “If he hadn’t volunteered to do this you’d be going to the city school.”

Throughout the entire day I had bizarre thoughts of how it would be, riding in the

same car with the principal. I had been in the principal’s office the year before when his

predecessor, Mr. Stanley, held the position. My friend Harold and I had been caught

riding the encyclopedia case (it was mounted on casters) between classrooms as if it were

a horse, throwing chalked-up felt erasers at the girls as they franticly ran from our path.

That visit with the principal was not pleasant. Principals are never pleasant. It’s their job

to be mean and nasty! What had my mother done? I had been betrayed.

At 3:30, as class ended in my final period, Mr. Bolding’s tall frame filled the

classroom doorway.

“You ready, Bottoms?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” I mumbled sheepishly. I grabbed my books and followed him out the

door.

“That’s it,” he said, pointing to the super-slick, two-tone green, 1967 Ford pick-up

in the corner of the parking lot. Sitting there sparkling with gleaming chrome and fat,

white-letter tires, it looked like a centerfold from one of the motor head magazines in my

locker. I was fascinated by hot rods; however, my closest contact with them had been at a

drag strip my uncle had taken me to when I was very young. I climbed in and sat down

on the warm, smooth vinyl, still in awe. From his pocket he pulled a matching green

rabbit foot key chain and fired the engine. The seat transmitted the vibration from the big

V-8 under the hood to my backside as the chrome dual exhaust rumbled a low pitch

warning to the other vehicles in the lot to not even try.

“Wow, this is cool,” I squealed.

“Oh yeah, check this out,” he said as he switched on the 8-track deck. The

speakers behind the seat immediately began to belt out “Proud Mary”, a big hit at the

time, and I was in heaven.

Seeing I was unable to contain my excitement that evening, my mother arranged for

me to ride with Mr. Bolding for the rest of the school year. It was not far out of his way,

and I was always ready and waiting to go. We soon moved from the old trailer to a

nearby house, and it slowly became apparent we weren’t going back to our true home

with my Dad – I would miss him terribly.

As time passed, Mr. Bolding connected with me in ways that Dad was not able

since he was gone much of the time and a bit short on patience. During these trips to

school, he had all my attention and stressed the importance of staying in school and

getting into sports. I remember him once saying that I was smart and capable of great

things. This sounded strange to me since I had committed myself to being the class

clown, interested in nothing but fun and mischief. Stranger still was the fact that after I

began to believe this just may have some truth to it, my grades improved and I learned

there was more to school than recess and lunch. My elementary school principal was not

the overbearing, tyrannical, disciplinarian I had imagined, but a very inspirational figure

to me at a critical point in my young life.

Photo by Amy Hutchins

“The First Days of Fall”

Tracy Walls

It was a cool fall evening in the small town of Tulsa, Oklahoma. A place where

there was wide open country for all of the wild animals to roam. The grass on the prairies

was still green, but the leaves on the trees were beginning to turn to their normal fall

rustic colors. All of the animals were beginning to scurry around, struggling to locate

enough food to supply their homes for the long harsh winter months. All animals except a

lonely whitetail buck who was in search of his long lost whitetail doe who was separated

from him during a severe late-summer storm.

Desperately seeking to find her before hunting season and the harsh winter

months arrived, he would wander around aimlessly, not knowing which direction to go.

Yet he would always come back to the place where they were separated, in hopes that she

might return there in search for him.

In an attempt to lure her back to him, he would leave his scent among the trees

and ground with his urine. He also tried to leave a familiar mark for her by scraping the

bark off of the trees with his antlers. Desperately sniffing around in search for her

familiar scent consumed him day after day.

He would stop and rest every once in a while to drink some water and eat some

grass or berries. Days went by and the leaves were beginning to fall from the trees so he

knew it would not be long before the opening day of hunting season. Frantically, he

started to grunt loudly in hopes that she will hear him and run back to him.

One morning when he stopped to get a drink of water, he could vaguely hear in

the distance some dogs barking. Knowing that it was now the first day of hunting season,

he knew that he would have to seek the safety and shelter of the woods very quickly. He

did not want to seek safety and shelter without his long-lost doe, but he knew if he stayed

there waiting for her, the hunters would find him and kill him. Afterward, they would

make a wall trophy out of his head and eat him.

Reluctantly, the lonely whitetail buck commenced to head toward the woods for

safety. On his way there he noticed several other animals were headed the same way in

search for their own safety as well. The dogs’ barks were becoming more audible so the

animals knew they were quickly getting closer by the minute. At that time the animals

became spooked and started to run frantically toward the woods. The buck glanced

around hoping to see his long lost doe amidst all of the stampeding animals, but yet he

still did not see her.

When he finally made it to the woods, he knew that he would still have to travel

deeper into the woods to make sure that he would be safe. The woods were somewhat

dark with the shade created by all of the old trees but off in a distance he could see some

light coming into view.

As he approached the lighted area he saw streams of crystal blue water sparkling

like diamonds reflecting from the sun. There were animals of all kinds seeking new

shelter from the hunters and the harsh winter months. Amidst all of them he saw his long

lost whitetail doe he had been longing for over the past few days. He could not believe

his eyes. He walked toward her to reconcile with her, but her scent was unfamiliar. This

was not his long lost whitetail doe. So, the hunt for her ended with hopelessness and the

lonely whitetail buck walked away devastated and mourning his loss.

Photo by Amy Hutchins

“You Can’t Judge a Book by the Cover”

John Barnes

Old sayings get to be old sayings for good reason, and I became aware of one in

particular because it came to make sense to me as an individual a few years ago. The

expression “you can’t judge a book by its cover” had been one that I had been familiar

with my entire life, but I never had as much of a reason to actually apply it to people as I

did while working during the last year at the factory where I used to work. Two distinct

events involving a young Hispanic man named Daniel Rodriguez helped me to recognize

how true this old saying really is. To this day, I can still remember the first and last times

that I saw him. These two things normally would not be that significant but for the fact

that he had a smile on his round, friendly face. The occasions that I mentioned shared

other distinct characteristics as well.

The first thing that he did when we met was to extend his hand in greeting and

friendship. This is also the last thing that he did after we said goodbye. At first, I was

hesitant to be outgoing toward Daniel because I had dealt with a lot of other Hispanics

with less than favorable results. One of the most generous of the many things that Daniel

willingly did to be my true friend was to help me to learn to speak a very functional

Spanish. This on its face may not seem like that big of a deal, but he and I literally spent

weeks when figured in hours as we spoke to one another and took turns finding words or

expressions in my now well-worn and dog-eared Spanish-English dictionary.

I remember with perfect clarity how welcome he and his family and friends made

me feel the first time that they invited me to their home. I do not know that I have been as

well fed or more warmly greeted anywhere in my life. As I mentioned earlier, through

my previous dealings with Hispanics I had found deceit and hard-heartedness, but not so

with Daniel. In one of the most perfect examples of soft-heartedness that I have ever

seen, Daniel wept after having found out that he had accidentally forgotten to turn on his

cell phone to receive my message that I had arrived at a pre-determined place from which

we were supposed to go to his wife’s birthday party. Although he had grown up poor and

very tough, the thought that he had hurt my feelings completely overwhelmed him with

sadness.

There are many other examples of how he taught me about not being able to judge

someone else by prior experience, but by far the one that stands out foremost in my mind

is a time involving his expectant child. Right after finding out the sex of his child, Daniel

had been informed by his wife that a potential serious complication had arisen with the

pregnancy. As luck would have it, I had gotten my Mom to go buy something appropriate

for a little girl to wear since I knew virtually nothing about little girls and even less about

little girl clothes. Daniel had been beside himself with gratitude when I had given him

this small, inexpensive gift, and his happiness was radiating from him like a flashing

neon sign. In a few short hours, however, his joy was turned to panic and sadness at the

thought that something horrible might be wrong with his wife or baby. After I had calmed

him down from his sobbing, incoherent state to one in which he would be safe to drive

and not upset his wife any further, he went home for the day.

I spent the following night worrying that my gift may have been ill-timed,

considering what had transpired in the following hours, but I need not have worried at all.

The next morning as soon as I arrived, I asked Daniel how his wife and baby were, and

he told me with one of his characteristic smiles that they were both doing wonderfully. I

then asked him if his wife Anna had liked the outfit that I had gotten for the baby, and he

once again broke into tears while smiling from ear to ear and nodded in the affirmative.

Daniel then said to me for the first time “I love you, my friend.” When Daniel told me

this, I was surprised and honored, but I didn’t really know how big the honor actually was

until later. In a subsequent conversation with Daniel I learned that it was unusual in the

Mexican culture for a man to form extremely close and trusting relationships with any

males outside of his immediate family, and lifelong friends are almost unheard of to form

these relationships with a white American male. I recall this very fondly and with great

pride, but with great sadness as well because, although I did not know it at the time, this

was to be the last time that I would ever talk to Daniel again. He died in an automobile

crash involving a drunk driver. Even though he is gone, his last words to me will always

be with me. “I love you, my friend.”

“Red Is Not My Color”

Colton Simmons

Would you ever imagine that father knows best? Lessons of understanding and

responsibility were gained during the following adventure. I was the ripe old age of

twelve when boys have no fear and know most everything. It was on a sunny Sunday

afternoon in early winter, a day most kids love - no school and no homework. A day

created for exploring outside, and I was soon looking for an adventure.

I explored the pond for a while with the not-so-friendly geese we had! They

really were not happy to see me and gave me a long chase back to the barn. I thought

about going fishing then realized I did not have any bait. Being a twelve year old, I did

not want to dig for it either. Looking around, I realized my dad was in the barn working

on something, so I stopped to visit him. Upon entering the barn, I saw my four-wheeler,

but it was out of gas; therefore, riding it was out of the question. The next moment I saw

a can of red spray paint on the ground. I thought the can was empty, and I started kicking

it around. I picked it up and shook it thinking I could get a spray or two out of it. I tried

to spray a board, and nothing came out. I threw it down and started kicking it again.

Then, for some crazy reason, I picked up a shovel and started hitting the paint can with it.

My father immediately looked around the side of the barn and yelled, “Don’t do that! It

will explode!”

Yeah, yeah, I thought and hit it again; nothing happened. I decided that if it were

going to explode, it would have done so by now. My father returned and warned me that

I would be sorry. Hitting the can was very dangerous, and I should stop immediately. I

had to prove him wrong; I had to hit it one more time.

I hit the can one more time as hard as I could. Bam! It exploded with an

unimaginable force and a deafening sound. I was so scared that all I could do was close

my eyes and scream! With my father’s words ringing in my ears, I opened my eyes; my

vision was surely gone. No, not gone; everything was red.

Fear had me in a death grip. My father came running. I heard him yelling, “I told

you! I told you! I told you! Are you all right?” To me, my dad’s behavior seemed

like a typical parental reaction. I get yelled at for scaring them and then hugged if I were

all right. My vision was not getting any better. I screamed, “I can’t see! I can’t see!”

My mother came running out of the house. I heard her voice, so I ran toward it. She told

me to take off my glasses. I did and the red disappeared, but I still could not see

normally. My eyes were burning like fire. Mom said that I was okay because I could not

see anything without my glasses. If I did not see red anymore, it was a good sign.

Then, instead of that hug I mentioned earlier, mom began to laugh. She tried not

to, but she said she could not help it. My mother said she could not have dipped me in a

bucket of red paint and did a better job than what I had done. She took me into the

kitchen and tried to wash the paint off. No surprise, my bad luck was holding. Soap and

water were no match for spray paint. My father brought in some gasoline to take the

paint off. Mom worked on me for two hours, stopping every few minutes to laugh at me.

She said it was so hard for her to look at me without laughing, but she still loved me. It

was not easy having to stand there for that long knowing I looked like an idiot. The only

white places on me were two round circles where my glasses had been. My ears were

red, my hair was red, my neck was red; I looked like a big red lollypop. I wanted it off!

It burned and stung. It was worth going through the gas bath to get back to normal.

Worst of all, Monday I had to face my friends at school with not only red glasses

but burn marks from the gas we used to remove my mistake. When my coach asked what

happened, I told him. Naturally, everybody in school found out. I was the joke of the

day, and they never let me forget it.

The truth was I never again took it for granted if my father told me not to do

something. I was still a curious boy, but in the future I always listened to my father’s

advice. My mother and father still aggravate me about the day my world turned red. I

am more cautious today than other kids I associate with. The incident of my childhood

taught me a good lesson. I laugh about the incident still today; however, I will never

forget.

“My Story Could Be Yours”

Jeff Woodside

It was a cold day when I was born, but even colder when I died. I could see

everyone and no-one even cried. The scene was quite amazing as souls flew around and I

wished my time wasn’t over, but was alone, not anyone by my side. I guess I should tell

you it wasn’t always this way. I used to have a story that others liked to hear. I might as

well to tell you my best friend was beer.

When I was five my uncle gave me my first taste of booze, and it seemed to be

the worst tasting stuff in the world. I think the seed was planted as with all my kind, and I

didn’t know that it was just a matter of time. I grew up pretty normal (whatever that may

be) there were a few instances that foretold what I would be. I started drinking in the 8th

grade with some friends. The taste by then had changed; after all we had the hip drink of

vodka and orange juice, better known as a screwdriver.

I used to be so innocent, shy, and timid, but I found my courage in the bottle. The

taste got more tolerable, and I liked it more and more, but something new happened. I

sometimes wound up on the floor. I reached high school and had some hippie friends, and

it wasn’t long till the pot joined in. I made good grades and still held my life together.

The girls in school were lovely and they were the only thing that competed with partying.

The majority of the girls partied, too, and I had a lot of girls in those days.

The next few years things got worse. I drank every night. I was married with

children and often got in fights. It wasn’t long till different drugs joined in, and my

extended family was complete. Things ran smooth for awhile and good times were had

by all, at least that’s what I thought. There wasn’t much thought or attention paid to the

ones who really meant the most. Yes, my family paid the price for my rough and rowdy

ways, but I couldn’t see that because I was too busy with the bottle and always in a daze.

The good times won’t last forever is what people would say, but I knew they were crazy.

After all I knew everything.

The troubles started slowly, but just as sparks fly upward they started. My family

and job were the first to suffer and that was just a taste of the bitter pill I was about to

swallow over and over again. The troubles ranged from declining health to a declining

marriage, even though we struggled through for 20 years and it ended only after I

straightened up, go figure, but that’s another story. Soon the most devastating event of

my young life happened to me. This truly changed me as a person. I ran with a man that

had more money than sense, but I had neither. He was a pretty odd character and my

other friends didn’t have much to do with him. One night there was an incident and I took

a whisky bottle and went after a couple of men he knew, one being his brother, my

brother-in-law. He ran after me and was hitting me with a slap jack, like the cops carry. I

turned around and put him on the ground bleeding and his brother got it, too. The other

man ran, and I also was after the man I was with for not helping me.

I should have realized my life was out of control. A month later this man and me

were back out running around and I was admiring the 44 magnum he had with him. Later

that night he shot me with that gun and while I was on a stretcher being loaded in an

ambulance in the midst of 7 cops he pulls back up. Everyone took cover and left me in

the middle of the parking lot on the stretcher. I saw my life flash before my eyes when he

shot me and again after that. He had enough pull in the town that they didn’t arrest him

that night and I lay in the hospital knowing that he might make good on his promise to

finish me off.

I was never the same after that all I wanted to do was fight and drink and I did lots

of both. The years kept passing and my body, mind, and soul was in a terrible shape. I

had a lot of run-ins with the law. There were fights almost every week. I got to where it

was fun. I grew my weed, drunk my beer and traveled quite a bit. The house of cards

finally came crashing down. I had a shaky marriage at home and I stayed in court as

much as I stayed at home. I broke a set of hand cuffs in my house and whipped two cops

and that was when I realized that the old song was true. “I Fought the Law and the Law

Won”.

The years of drinking and drugging had destroyed my body. I had found a steady

source of moonshine and I drank that chasing it with beer day and night. The only thing I

could eat or wanted to eat was soda crackers. The blood flowed from both ends and my

doctor said that I had first stage sclerosis of the liver. I had almost died from taking too

much bad cocaine and I was ready to give up. There was a moment of clarity just when it

seemed all hope was lost. The will power I mustered and the grace of a loving God gave

me the strength to go on.

It was then that I started on the long road to recovery physically, mentally, and

spiritually. The challenge was great and the road sometimes rough. I have lost many

friends and my marriage fell apart, but I still got my family and my true friends. I know

what I am and whose I am and try to live a life that will help and not hurt. I want to build

up, not tear down. The first two sentences of this story are the beginning of a nightmare

that I had long ago, but I am convinced that it was more of a premonition what would

happen if I didn’t change.

There is hope for the hopeless and redemption for all. If you find yourself on the

destructive end of life, take advice from someone who has traveled that rocky road. The

good times will end and there won’t be a fair weather friend left. You will be beat and

feel the heat. Don’t look back on a wasted life filled with regret, get direction and

purpose. Live to help others and you will surely help yourself. Don’t let my nightmare

come true for you.

Photo by Jeff Woodside

“My Spiritual Quest”

Ricky Vinson

As of August 2007, my relationship with religion was, at best, casual. In fact, the

only conventional church I had attended with any degree of regularity was during my

grade-school years. Back then, my family resided in Cedartown, Georgia, an hour or so

out of Atlanta. During the summer break from school, my twin brother, Randy, and I

would travel to McMinnville, Tennessee, approximately seventy-five miles southeast of

Nashville, and spend a couple weeks with our paternal grandparents. While vacationing

with our grandparents in rural McMinnville, my grandfather Carlos Vinson, grandmother

Myrtis Vinson, Randy, and I would attend services at the local Seventh-Day Adventist

church, where our grandparents were members. Still, Randy and I particularly enjoyed

attending Vacation Bible School, a five-day event (Monday through Friday), which the

church featured every summer. While we did study scriptures, the fondest memories I

have of Vacation Bible School, actually, are the games we played and the snacks and

refreshments we indulged in afterward. It is important to remember that I was in the 8-12-

year-old age bracket during the Vacation Bible School era, and my priorities, then, were

of a physical-sensory nature, not spiritual.

The 1990s through early 2000 proved to be the proverbial roller coaster ride for

me. An abysmal amalgam of a failed try at college, time served in jail for an alcohol-

related infraction, lengthy stays in more than one rehab, employment in the adult

entertainment industry, and, ultimately, stranded at a dead-end factory job where near

slave labor output was demanded—a job I loathed—I found myself standing at a critical

crossroads. I was in my mid 30s, living with my mother, and, as the old country adage

goes, it was root-hog or die. With that, I made the decision to return to college and

succeed—at all costs! Utilizing commitment, determination, focus, and countless hours

of cracking the books, I graduated from Motlow State Community College with an

associate’s degree in May 2007, with a 3.85 GPA to boot. While achieving my 3.85 GPA,

I was fortunate enough to be inducted into the prestigious Phi Beta Kappa Honor Society,

a crowning moment for me. With my Phi Beta Kappa membership, I applied for and

received an academic scholarship to Lee University, a Church of God, liberal arts

institution located in Cleveland, Tennessee, just above Chattanooga.

On August 13, 2007, I arrived at Lee University and settled into my campus

apartment. Granted, before arriving, I was aware that Lee was a highly religious school

that frowned on worldly behavior, but I readily admit that I wasn’t ready for the life

altering experience I was about to undergo. For example, I was use to smoking two or

three packs of cigarettes per day and, also, having an occasional cocktail. However, such

were forbidden on Lee campus; failure to adhere to these protocols could result in

expulsion. After a period of trial and error, I made the necessary adjustments, and I

honestly can say that, these days, I “do not drink” at all and have cut back on my smoking

tremendously. Now, I go off campus to have a smoke, and as time moves on, my desire

to smoke lessens. With my new lifestyle, I am much healthier; thus I am more in tune

with the spiritual theme prevalent at Lee University. In a sense, my enrollment at Lee

University demanded that I abandon my liberal do-as-I-please attitude and turn to a

conservative go-by-the-rules approach. And the beauty of it all is that as time goes on,

this transition is becoming more of a joy than a chore.

Further, this transition has left me no choice but to take a closer look at

God/Deity/Higher Power, whatever your choice of words. We all—most of us, anyway—

have been taught that we were created in God’s own “image.” If we are to prescribe to

this particular theory, then it makes sense that God is a Homo sapien-like being that

walks upright on two legs. Moreover, if you and I do as the Good Book directs, we will

walk eternally with God in the New Jerusalem, a place where it never grows dark, and the

river flows with “milk and honey.” I don’t know about you, but for me such a place

sounds enticing. However, if we are to approach this issue with objectivity minus

personal whim, we must consider that we draw our guidelines, our inspirations, from the

King James Holy Bible. So, rudimentary reasoning tells us that the King James Holy

Bible was translated under the supervision of King James of England. Was King James

biased in his translation of Hebrew and Latin scrolls? While no one can say he was

biased, no one can say he wasn’t. History is told by the victors, the old saying goes.

At this point in my life, I do truly believe that there is a Power higher than mere

mortal man, an energy of some sort that factors into the equation of mankind. In addition,

this Higher Power could take any one of many forms: human, animal, the wind, some

form not yet conceived by man—who’s to say yeah or nay? Some might take me to task

for this belief, but I would like to point out that God as we know Him is a selfless,

benevolent, forgiving God. If what I’ve just stated is my true, firm belief, the best of my

ability, then should God punish me when judgment day arrives? If you feel I will be

punished, then doesn’t this render God barbarically pagan, contrary to how He is

portrayed? The fact of the matter is that neither you nor I know God’s exact profile.

Therefore, how I picture God very well may differ from the way you picture Him.

Indeed, my stay at Lee University—although I no longer attend school there—has

altered how I picture God. It’s similar to a relationship with an acquaintance: The more

you’re around an acquaintance, the better you get to know him/her, thus the better you

understand him/her. As my journey at Lee University continues, I’m confident that I will

have my moments of “doubt and pain,” to quote Mick Jagger from the controversial

Rolling Stones’ song “Symphony for the Devil.” And I challenge you to convince me that

you will not suffer the same doubts cast forth by the Prince of Darkness. Tsunamis,

earthquakes, wars and rumors of wars, disease and pestilence, brother turning against

brother—there’s a thousand reasons to doubt the existence of God and a life better than

one on earth. However, brothers and sisters, we should always focus on the bright light

at the end of the long, dark tunnel.

See, all you and I have are hope and faith. It has been said that with faith the size

of a “mustard seed,” we can move “mountains”; it’s not as though God is asking for a

whole lot. There was a time when I didn’t have much hope nor faith; however, my time at

Lee University has greatly increased my hope and faith, to the point that I now think of a

better life ahead. In my opinion, that’s about as much as I can ask for, and I thank God—

excuse the pun—that I have been blessed with a grain of faith. I can say with absolute

certainly that is makes for a much healthier existence than one with virtually no faith.

Remember this: With hope and faith there is light at the end of the dark tunnel. Without

hope and faith there is total darkness. Which do you prefer?

“Out of a Void of Darkness”

Casey Curtis

As I walked, the cold night air whistled, and a tingling sensation caused me to

realize my face was beginning to numb, but fortunately within my jacket there had

formed small pockets of heat, keeping me warm at least for the moment. When I finally

reached my destination at the middle of the field, I began to look for the most level area

of ground. Once finding it, I continued to set up a telescope I was given a few days

earlier. After setting the massive tripod firmly in place, I looked up toward the sky. I

could see a few spots of light glistening in a void of darkness. The stars reminded me of

the goodness in people and how brightly it seems to shine, although, at the same time I

was reminded of the darkness in people’s hearts.

The opposing nature of good and evil bears similarities to those of positive and

negative, or hot and cold. Essentially, good and evil are like a double bladed sword,

making it difficult to discuss one blade without taking the other in turn. In fact, the

cruelest of dictators have risen to power under the banner of “good,” only to undermine it

in order to further their own agendas. This is not to say that evil triumphs over good, but

that the nature of good is quite different. True goodness is not a means to an end, but the

hope of a better tomorrow. The power of good can save lives as well as change one’s

outlook. It’s difficult to deny that morals influence and guide our actions, ranging from

daily walks of life to events shaping the future of all mankind. The threads of good and

evil are interwoven in the fabric of our existence.

Abraham Lincoln once said, “When I do good, I feel good. When I do bad, I feel

bad. That’s my religion.” Morality and conscience are a closely related duo, softly

whispering and crying out their interpretations of right and wrong in our hearts. This

moral compass can serve as a guide to a place of refuge away from the troubles of life, in

a similar respect that travelers long ago would use stars for navigation. People with good

intentions serve the same role when aiding others, and in today’s society those people are

few and far between. Seeing into a person’s heart, past the aspects of life beyond his or

her control is caused by an honest desire to understand. From this understanding develops

a compassion for people regardless of race, social status, or wealth. Unfortunately, this

frame of reference is not often used. At a time when morals are at a standstill and only

moved by direct incentives, those who have the veracity to show compassion without a

thought of reward should not be taken for granted. As the actions of these people reveal

hints to their true intentions, the more people begin to realize they are not alone.

Stars are held together by their own gravity, in essence making them independent.

It can be argued that good and evil is a byproduct of our free will, or independence. We

have the power to act as we choose, but whom or what is the judge of those actions? The

theological argument asserts that the existence of a moral conscience points to the

existence of a supernatural reality beyond this world. Skeptics of faith refute this by

pointing to sociopaths or psychopaths, claiming they have no sense of morality. In the

future these two beliefs will continue to debate, only separated at the place where white

fades to black. Good and evil is held by some to be nonexistent, but for me it’s a matter

of faith.

Photo by Erika Betschart

“The Raging River”

Lawrence Fry

I was raised on a two hundred acre oasis that has lots of creeks, hills, and fields.

The only way to get onto the farm was to cross a creek that runs along the northern

property line. When I was a child, I would go down to the creek to play; I would throw

rocks, kill snakes, or catch minnows with my feet. On one rainy night, the flooded creek

gave me the opportunity to learn that sometimes life’s problems that seem unsolvable

actually can have simple resolutions.

Our creek was normally about twenty feet wide and eight to ten inches deep. Even

though it was typically the model of tranquility, at times Lower Helton Creek would

grow to be a raging river. Though flooding on our farm was uncommon, it was something

that could certainly change our plans. When the creek was up, we might have to miss

church, school, a ballgame, or not be able to make it home at night. This may sound like a

major inconvenience, but it actually simplified our life because it gave us the opportunity

to stay home and spend time with family. Naturally, my parents would have to decide

whether the creek was safe to cross or not.

One night we were visiting family, and on that particular evening, it had been

raining a great deal. Thinking that we might have trouble crossing the creek, Bob, my

step-dad, decided that it would be best to drive the family box truck home. As we entered

the driveway, I could tell that crossing the creek this time would be different because the

creek was massive.

The headlights cast forward, and all I could see was water. It seemed hard to

believe that this was the same creek that I had played in just days before. The white

capped rapids were raging just daring us to enter the creek that had grown into a river.

Normally I could see areas of rocks and vegetation, but tonight all I could see was

darkness and water. As we approached the creek, a cold chill went through my body. I

could feel the water banging on the floor boards rustling them, seemingly daring us to

cross the creek.

Bob had made up his mind; we were going home on that rainy night. As we

entered the heart of the creek, the truck began the battle against the water. The engine

was gurgling as the fan blade wiped water up into the air. Bob expertly kept the engine

running because if it stalled the consequences certainly would have been catastrophic.

My heart was pounding while I wondered. Would this be the time that we would not

make it? Would someone find our bodies days later? By the grace of God, the tires

gripped a rock at the most opportune time propelling us through the water for it seemed

like the current had trapped us in the middle of the river. My fears were not confirmed,

and we safely made it to the bank. Even though this was a good thing, the water had

forced us too far down stream, and we missed the driveway; consequently, the truck was

stuck against an eleven inch embankment.

Feeling the adrenaline of the moment, I jumped out of the truck into the creek and

said, “I’ll get the tractor.”

While I was getting the tractor, my mom and my sister also took advantage of the

opportunity to exit the sinking ship. With Bob still in the truck, I waded into the water

and hooked the up chain. While I was trying to pull the immobile truck out of the creek,

the tractor actually rode a wheelie at one point. It really seemed like the truck was not

going to budge. I tried both pulling slowing and yanking. The tractor was getting hot and

the truck was not moving.

About that time, Bob yelled to me, “You are not going to believe this, but the

truck has been in park the whole time.”

Of course at this point, I was thinking, “He is a complete idiot.”

Nevertheless, I tried pulling the truck one more time. With a heave and a hoe this

time it came right out of the creek. It seemed funny that once the truck was not in park

any more pulling it out of the creek really was not a problem. At one point I was afraid

that we were going to have to leave the box truck in the creek that night, but it did not

turn out that way. This just goes to show that sometimes life’s tough problems have

simple answers. The waters receded and we continued to have fun in the creek, never

forgetting that it could be a dangerous place for people and vehicles alike.

While we were up at the house out of dangers way, Bob said to me, “Boy I sure

am glad that we all made it home tonight.”

As an adult I feel like a lesson was learned in that creek on that rainy night.

Whenever I face troubled waters in my life, I try to remember that if I wait for the answer

there will be a simple solution. If I will stay on the right course, the answer will come to

me like a tractor on a rainy night to pull me right out of my own rough waters.

Photo by Jeff Woodside

“My Almost Death Experience”

Cassandra Davenport

It was the summer of 2004, and I had never gone white water rafting before. I was

living in Alabama at the time, and Tennessee was where we had just moved from about

two years before this trip. My mother and I went to church as usual, and I went to the

youth room as she went to her class. We came a little early, so I just sat and waited for

everyone to come in.

When everyone finally came, our youth director stood up. He asked us, “What do

you all want to do this summer?” No one could think of anything. So, he got to thinking

and, finally, he said, “I have an idea. I got this paper in the mail the other day about this

white water rafting place in Chattanooga.”

We all took a minute to think and said, “That’s a great idea! That would be fun.”

The church paid for the trip, and we only had to provide our breakfast and lunch

wherever we stopped. The next week was when we left. I was excited, but since I had

never been white water rafting I had no clue what I was excited for. I have two brothers

that where living in Tennessee at the time who had gone rafting before, but I had never

gone. I didn’t know much about it.

Let’s just say, it was rough water and there was some falling (out of the raft and

going over water falls) involved. I’m getting ahead of myself though, so let me take you

back to “the day.” The day of the trip finally arrived; everyone was to meet at the church,

load the bus, and be on our way. So, everyone showed up, loaded the bus, and headed to

the Ocoee River.

When we arrived, everyone got off the bus and met one of the instructors who

told us what safety precautions we needed to take in order to stay safe. Then, we split into

four teams; each team had two adults and a guide. Our teams guide was so funny. So,

everyone loaded in to their rafts.

Of course, when we arrived at the place I saw this big water fall. It wasn’t tall

length wise, but it was really long across. I thought that the water fall was so pretty until

one of my teammates and close personal friends said, “We are going to go over that water

fall in our raft.” As soon as I heard that I wanted to run, run away, and run home. I didn’t

feel excited anymore. I thought I would die! I didn’t know how to swim and that thought

crossed my mind every second on the trip. I could doggy paddle, but that couldn’t save

my life. I knew what was going to happen to me. I could see my life flash before my

eyes, and I could see me watching my own funeral. I was terrified.

There was a line that everyone had to wait in with their teams to go get their raft

and get everyone on their team in it. Once in, they set the raft off in the water that went

straight for the water fall. Of course, with my luck our team was next. I got in the boat,

my heart pounding back and forth. They set us off in the water, and the water hit me and

everyone as it splashed into our faces. We were coming closer to the water fall now when

the guide was giving everyone directions of what to do.

I closed my eyes and my fear of going down that water fall just got worse. I

couldn’t run away, and I couldn’t swim. I knew it was my time to go. The water rushed

down the rocks. I sat there and just closed my eyes and held my breath thinking it was

the end and that I was over. Then SPLASH!!!! We had made it over the water fall.

Now, we were in the raging waters. I open my eyes and finally breathed, glad the

raft didn’t tip over and everyone was still on it. We were on the raging waters for about

fifteen minutes when the hardest part rushed towards us.

The water was rough, the guide was telling everyone to calm down, and I

couldn’t move. Finally, I snapped out of it and asked, “Are we going to tip over?”

The guide replied, “Probably.”

Soon, the raft tipped over, and I knew I was under water.

I held my nose as I tried to find my way out, but then I figured out the raft was

tipped over on top of me. I thought to myself, “I’m going die.” I couldn’t get out!

Suddenly, I felt something move across my leg, unable to see what it was because of my

contacts. Finally, the guide tipped the raft back over, and I popped up and got back in it.

Everyone was accounted for as they pulled us up out of the water. Soon, we returned to

turn the raft in, dry off, and load the bus. Even though I was afraid I was going to die, I

had fun with the experience, and now that I can swim, I want to go back. I will never

forget the white water rafting trip!

“Buddy and Me”

Frankie Rice

Did you ever know a dog like Buddy? He has blond fur, floppy ears, and a bushy

tail. Then, you might have known my dog. When I first got Buddy, he may have been

three years old. In dog terms, I think that made him twenty-one. He was not like any

other dog I have ever known. He was smart, and I think he smiled at me.

He could run thirty-five miles per hour. Mom and dad clocked him one day, when

we were headed to town. Everybody jumped in the car and headed out. Dust was flying

behind the car. I looked out the window, and there he was running beside the car. I rolled

the window down and hollered “RUN!” He ran faster. I looked at the speedometer as it

reached thirty-five miles per hour.

Sometimes when I played with him, I thought he could sing. If I would sing he

would start howling in this long “Oh-o-o-oh-h-o.” It was comical to see us in action. On

windy days, I would go out and the flag would be waving in the wind. Buddy’s ears

would be flopping, and my hair would be blowing. We had a special relationship that

meant so much. If I went down the slide, then he would come up the stairs, and I would

go down the slide behind him. This dog could do anything.

He could leap across the brook that went through the front yard. He never had to

cross the plank passageway. I felt like we were inseparable. Buddy didn’t age the same as

I did. Even though we spent years together, our world was changing. I was heading for

high school and did not have time to play with Buddy anymore. My routine was changing

and unfortunately, his was too.

Now, I was supposed to take on more responsibility. Mom said that I could get a

job. That meant that the time I was out chasing those floating clouds and playing with

Buddy I could now spend working for Mr. Adcock down at the nursery. This meant I,

too, was getting older. The years seemed like days, and time flew by. Buddy was now

seven years old, which made him forty-nine in dog years. He was still fast, but I did not

have time to play with him anymore. Before I knew it, I was getting married to the

neighbor’s boy. Buddy was lying on the front porch and not running down the driveway

anymore. By the time my first child was born, Buddy was hit by a car. He lived to be a

total of twelve years old, which is eighty-four in dog years, and I was twenty-two. I miss

my dog Buddy. Did you ever know a dog like Buddy?

Photo by Erika Betschart

“Sight Unseen”

Charlie Hickerson

Stuart liked to believe he lived in the lap of luxury when in reality he lived in the

faux-leather seat of a John Deere. He began his day with a pinch between the gum and

the cheek and an All-Star breakfast courtesy of Waffle House. Stuart had to attend the

neighboring Waffle House of Timber Wolf County because he was banned from his

hometown grease factory. The reason behind Stuart’s expulsion was his nasty habit of

bringing spiked Sun-Drop to complement his grease feast. Traveling along the dusty

road, Stuart could be heard almost a mile away, with the blast of Lynyrd Skynyrd blaring

and a muffler that sounded like a dying pig making his presence very evident. As Stuart

pulled into the breakfast emporium that is Waffle House, he could feel a slight tension in

the air. It was the same tension one feels right before a brawl or a NASCAR race. Stuart

expertly prepared his adult beverage in the parking lot. Now he was ready for a heavenly

meal of fluffy eggs, crispy toast, runny grits, and last but certainly not least, a cooked-to-

perfection, maple-syrup-laden waffle.

CLING! Stuart swung the fine establishment’s door open only to find thirty

disgusting faces glaring back at him. Stuart took a familiar counter stool.

“The usual?” inquired a sweaty middle-aged man with teeth that looked directly

imported from Britain. “Yeah,” mumbled Stuart. Just as Stuart dug into his glorious

breakfast, he felt hot breath on his neck and shifted his eyes to see a greasy hand on his

shoulder. Stuart swiveled around in his barstool and was face to face with a man of about

forty-five, his jaw full of chewing tobacco. His stained wife-beater did not entirely

contain his massive stomach and his teeth looked like the remains of World War III.

“You wouldn’t happen to be Gerald Mooneyham’s boy, would ya?”

“Who wants to know?” Stuart hadn’t seen his daddy since that last visiting day at

Brushy Mountain many years ago. A freak accident in the prison welding shop had taken

both guards and prisoners by surprise and during the pandemonium Gerald had managed

to escape. Gerald wasn’t good about keeping in touch.

“An old friend of his sent me. Thought you might be lookin’ to make some fast

cash.” the man said with a toothless grin. Stuart could smell the Redman on his breath as

he spoke.

“Depends,” muttered Stuart half interested. Stuart didn’t trust anyone who was

still friends with his daddy, but he needed money..

“You know much about moonshine, son?” asked his potential employer.

“Enough.” Stuart was working hard to keep up his Clint Eastwood facade.

“The name’s Johnboy.” He held out one of his greasy mitts for a handshake but

Stuart declined. “Why don’t you come with me to my office where we can do proper

business?” Johnboy’s words slithered out of his mouth like a snake escaping from a

grubby hole. “It ain’t far.” He led the way to the parking lot, motioning for Stuart to

follow.

As far as miserable trucks went, Johnboy’s vehicle gave Stuart’s a run for its

money. The bed was completely rusted throughout, with the ancient seats’ exposed rusty

springs making the passenger’s sitting experience less than desirable. On the journey to

his “office,” Johnboy managed to annihilate four squirrels and one possum, the last of

which he considered doubling back for. The dirt road wound through the country side

and made Stuart feel as though he would see his Waffle House breakfast for a second

time.

The pair were soon hidden on a remote mountain top of the Smokies, when

Johnboy slammed on the brakes of the Chevy. A cabin came into view. It was a level

beyond rustic – namely dilapidated. A creek trickled nearby with a worn footpath

following it. Behind the cabin stood an outhouse, and in the clearing a collection of

vehicles in various stages of disrepair -- some still serviceable and some on concrete

blocks. Johnboy motioned Stuart to the cabin. As Stuart stumbled up the hazardous

steps of the abode, there was that same feeling in the air that he had sensed earlier.

Creeeeeek. Stuart opened the ancient door and immediately gasped. The cabin’s

interior was filled entirely with money. Stacks of all denominations formed makeshift

tables and footstools. Beyond the money room, Stuart could see a narrow hallway with

two doors. Stuart cautiously stepped over the stacks of currency and proceeded to knock

on the door simply labeled Chief.

“Open it there, boy.” A smooth Cajun voice resided on the other side of the door.

Stuart did as instructed and found himself in the presence of a blind man, in a white suit

complete with sunglasses, white cane, and straw hat. Fat rolled off the man’s skeleton

like silly putty.

“You Chief?” asked Stuart, humbled by the spectacle.

“Just as sure as you dip Skoal,” replied Chief, in his effortless bayou dialect.

“How you know I ain’t a Copenhagen man?”

“You see, those of us who are sight deprived have a very lovely sense of smell.”

Chief was the only man Stuart had ever seen who could use the word lovely and still be

masculine. “Stuart, please inform Johnboy that his services are no longer needed and that

I’ll call him tomorrow at supper time.” Stuart relayed the message and heard Johnboy

clumsily step from the porch and start his rust-bucket. Once Stuart was back in the room,

Chief continued their discussion. “Here’s the situation son,” Chief continued. “I’m a

business man, some might say a manufacturer. And I pay well for anyone willing to

deliver my product.”

“Keep talkin’.” At the mention of money, Stuart’s eyes lit up like a four year

old’s at Christmas. In fact, that outer room was Christmas, with its tilting, top-heavy

towers of cash.

“Would a fine gentleman like yourself be interested in doin’ some skilled

professional work for my organization?” Chief said organization with a strange chuckle.

Stuart pondered the benefits of the opportunity presented to him. “’Bout how

much you reckon I’d get paid for bein’ your errand boy?” In reality, Stuart would work

for less money than an illegal alien, when he worked, which was highly dependent on

how much he owed his probation officer. However, he felt that since he was negotiating

with a businessman, a salary question only added to his professionalism. Stuart was to

the professional business world what Dennis Rodman was to professional basketball.

“I pay Johnboy out there fifty a delivery, but for a young man like you that’s got

class, I’ll up the ante to one hundred smackeroos every job.” Chief fanned himself with a

stack of crisp twenties as he made his proposition. Chief had Stuart at smackeroos.

“Chief, you got yourself a new employee.” Stuart shook the soft well-manicured

hand, presented at such a level that Stuart had to make a grab for it in mid-air.

“Now there’s a few things we need to address before start delivering.” The piggy

smile disappeared and Chief’s pudgy face was solemn, eyes hidden behind the dark

glasses. “Don’t nobody else know what I look like, where I live, or who I am, and I want

to keep it that way – understand? Not even Johnboy’s ever seen my face, but I knew yer

daddy and I trusted him. When I got hurt at Brushy, it was Gerald that tried to help me to

the infirmary, before the guards came after him. Coulda just as easily been him that got

blinded since he was usin’ the torch right before me. God bless him. Still don’t know

what made it explode like that.”

“Now -- you gonna be deliverin’ about fifty thousand dollars worth of moonshine

-- I don’t deal in none of that hard stuff -- so needless to say son, you better be careful.

Not only is that some pricey product, but you get caught, yer lookin’ at forty years in the

pen.”

A cold chill went down Stuart’s spine at the mention of prison. The moonshine

business started to sound like more trouble than it was worth. He contemplated the issue

of his pay – it didn’t take a fifth grade education like his to know he was getting gypped.

The obese blind man had carelessly laid his cane next to Stuart’s chair. Beads of

sweat dripped down Chief’s multiple chins and his breath was rapid and shallow. He

suddenly looked old and vulnerable. Stuart leaned forward and deftly grabbed the cane.

It was good and heavy, with a solid gold handle.

Stuart admired his reflection in the window as he straightened his tie and placed

the dark sunglasses gingerly on his face. Clumsy footsteps could be heard on the porch.

“Everything goin’ alright in there, Chief?”

“Just fine,” Stuart answered in his best Cajun drawl, “just fine.”

“The Upside-Down Clown”

Jeff Woodside

It could be a laugh, more often it’s a frown

Every time I see them they seem to follow me around.

I know they don’t like me, and I’m scared of the clowns

They run at me at the circus and march toward me at the parade

The clowns rule most parties, but at least I’m not alone

The only time they can get to me is when I make it home.

There on the mantle in the den and even on the tv every afternoon

My father found a drunk one, that my mother helped him save

My mother even threatens me with them when she wants me to behave

Last night while I was sleeping I had an awful dream

A giant clown was grabbing me and I couldn’t even scream

I woke all wet and sweating and safely in my bed

Then out of nowhere Toot! Toot! Went a horn

A thought came to me about what my little brother said

He couldn’t find the clown that had lain upon his bed

I thought I must be crazy when I heard a scratch on the floor

Then as my heart pounded in my chest a balloon rose above my bed

I knew I wasn’t dreaming as I started shaking my head

I scooted across my mattress slowly to the edge

I slid my head downward till the top hit the floor

And there was the upside-down clown that will haunt me evermore

“From Then Till Now”

Jeff Woodside

There was a time when I was on top. I thought I had it all

Parties, friends, and money. Proud and lofty is how I acted

I never thought I could lose it all

Then as quick as raindrops fall

I looked up from the bottom, everything I had was gone

My high and reckless way of living took my money

Then my fair weather friends moved on

Now I’m alone and so empty. I feel like a shell of a man

All my wisdom now departed, I just can’t find a reason to stand

As I lay and pondered about my life from a child till now

It was then I remembered what my grandmother used to say out loud

“There are angels all around us, some we meet unaware”

Now my heart is ready to trust the one who placed them there!

“Music”

Kelly Hanwright

I have music in my soul.

Some is silver,

Some is gold.

But I can feel it.

I know it’s there.

I hear music everywhere:

In the leaves

As the swing on the trees,

In the echo of mountains,

In the whisper of a breeze,

In the powdery flakes

Of the soft falling snow.

I hear music wherever I go.

In the murmuring lake,

In the sighing wind.

I know the music will never end.

“Unsung”

Kelly Hanwright

We all have poems deep within us,

Poems just waiting to be written.

We all have dreams asleep inside us,

Lying in some darkened corner.

And we have songs imprinted in us,

Pounding, scratching at the door.

Spring up, Poem!

Fill my being.

Flow through my pen onto the paper.

Waken, Dream!

Be ever free to become reality.

Rise up, Song!

Fill my mouth.

Fly forth and inspire the world.

For surely it would be a sin

If I should go through life ignoring all these great

And glorious things.

I would truly,

Oh so sadly,

Live my life in vain.

“Rare Rose”

Kelly Hanwright

Mother’s are special,

Mothers are blessed

With twice as much love and tenderness

To share with their children,

‘Cause everyone knows,

A mom’s a rare beauty,

Like a thornless rose.

First Place Photo

Erika Betschart

Second Place Photo

Amy Hutchins