Archive for April, 2015


27 Apr

By ThatSynGirl

I love you with every ounce of soul in my body that I have left.
Even though you took my heart and tore it through my chest.
You’ve done this before, you’ve stolen my heart, and you’ve beaten it to a pulp.
Then you’d hand it to me, and beg and plead to say we still had hope.
Then I’d run back to you, my heart still black and blue, and throw myself into your arms.
Knowing damn well, that I’m running to my end, that my heart was again to be harmed.
But I stayed with you, for so long, I did.
As I watched out relationship turn to shit.
I watched us fail with my very own eyes.
But they must have been blurry from all your lies,
Cause’ I never stepped away, or when I did, I crawled back.
Cause’ you’d spit your lies at me, and I’d take them for fact.


Bio: I don’t waste time telling people who I am. They’re going to form their own opinions regardless of what I’ve said. And so I leave that conclusion up to the individual.


27 Apr

By Clint Theron

Whispering wonderfully, we reminisce over the time
when you were casually mooning
over that Mexican boy wearing a green
hoodie.  Hur-rawr-doh?  I never can pronounce it right.
It beats lying sprawled out on the couch, eating Sun Chips
and getting stoned.

But hey, I don’t throw stones,
and if you ever make the time
for me, we should go out and get some fish and chips.
Or play miniature golf when the moon
is bright, like when we were kids.  But right
now I’m lurking outside your house in my green

Ford Escort.  Just kidding, I’m not that green
with envy.  Instead, I’m at the beach, kicking pebbles and stones
with someone less entertaining than you and pretending everything is all right.
I look at my watch to see the time.
Midnight?  The moon
is way too bright, it burns my flesh.  I need ice chips

to cool my temperature.  I realize you’re a chip
off the old block, you dyed your hair green
to rebel, like your mother did when she listened to The Dark Side of the Moon
to her parents’ dismay.  Now she rocks to The Rolling Stones
when she thinks no one is looking.  Ashamed to defy time
because it’s just not right

for a 50 year old woman to sway left and right
to the tunes of yesteryear.  It must have chipped
away at you to realize you’ve been so similar all this time.
But now you’re living with Hur-rawr-doh in his green
house and picking out matching Tombstones
when you haven’t even had your Honeymoon.

There was that night when the moon
was full, and we sat right
on top of your car and wondered who built Stonehenge,
and who was the better rodent: Chip
or Dale?  And if we would see the grassy green
European plains tomorrow, or some time.

The moon shines all the same with craters like chocolate chips,
but we were right not to eat them, we’ve already eaten those green
éclairs.  And like a stone wall, our friendship is weathered but sturdy with time.


Bio: Clint Theron is a Library Assistant at the SCF Bradenton campus.

My Father’s Mother’s Father’s Cousin

27 Apr

By Gonzo

My grandmother’s father has
a cousin who kept a diary.
On it is scribbled an odd looking star
and the first word in it is “Agony.”

It tells of seeing the body of his brother
mangled and pale in the snow
as a German soldier shouted out
“You reap what you sow.”

He lived on scraps from the table
taking their sad dog’s place.
Soon enough they ate the dog, too.
His mom told him to eat at a slow pace.

There are a few words about a camp
with a drawing of a high metal fence.
His uncle left a month before he did and
he learned why they hadn’t heard from him since.

There is a great deal of talk
of being sore and rather cold
and sharing beds with six other boys
as the floor was reserved for the old.

A page is torn out in the middle
and I later learn why.
It was used as a bandage when
his former grocer lost his eye.

He made it out alive
sometime the following year.
Though his mother was lost he was
strong for his father and shed not a tear.


Bio: My name is Logan Gonzalez and I am a freshman at SCF Bradenton Campus. I’m currently trying to obtain my A.A. and figure out what I want to do as far as a major. I have a great love for writing and have been something of a story-teller for as long as I can remember. I’ve used those skills for making up excuses as to why I’ve been late to class or forgot a friend’s birthday in the past, but hopefully wish to make a career with them some day.

Human Seed

27 Apr

by Donald Reich

The drops of rain came down like a torrent against the window. The rushing sound like a snare drum counting down, varying as the belts of rain subside and roar. Carleton sat on his favorite chair, a firm green armchair with a floral pattern. The floral pattern was an eyesore but the chair was so comfortable. In his periods of wakefulness, he would confine himself to the chair, resting in its firm caress. The chair faced the window from which he could watch the long dark road in the distance. To his left was the fireplace, it never burned very hot, Nilec would not allow it. She was fearful of the harm which could come to her children in his home. To his right, within his reach, was one of Nilec’s children. She stood two feet tall in a pot with dark soil around her roots. Her branches reached out like hands towards his chair. He would frequently put a mason jar with homemade hooch in her grasp. He could feel her imagining the taste and burn running down her trunk. He had begun to call her Helen, after his first wife, the only one he ever loved. Helen loved him with every fiber of her being. Helen was the first child of Nilec, her sapling had sprung shortly after his offering.

“Helen, how many times have I told you how much I love you?” asked Carleton. He stared her up and down longingly, remembering the curves of her body and the smell of her perfume. Her lingering touch seemed to rest on his heart even after the last one hundred and fifty years.

“Many times, dear, when you sleep it escapes from your lips with every breath.” He could hear her voice in his mind. A secret they both hid from Nilec. For if Nilec ever knew their love continued to burn like fire, she would end Helen’s life. A life he had stolen, for his own selfish gain.

He rose up from the chair and grabbed his watering pail. Four times a day he must water Nilec’s children. Each one a soul, taken by Carleton at the behest of Nilec. A task which confronted him with his guilt concerning their deaths. He always tried to start with a different child every day, their branches reaching forth, beckoning for water. His farmhouse used to be a very spacious and inviting place.

“I think Timothy has waited the whole year to be first. Fitting you should be chosen on your birthday,” said Carleton. He bent down and lightly grasped his son’s leaves. A loving gesture, the only present he could afford his son. He bent the pail ever so slightly, rushing the water out of the spout and into his pot. “I love you, son.”

The weight of the air turned dark and unholy. The moon lost its light and left the glow of the fire in the house. “Nilec is coming,” said Helen. “Her mind is afire with jealousy.”

“Let her come,” said Carleton.

The door seemed to groan inward as Nilec approached. Her dark hand turned the knob as it screamed against her unnatural, perverse touch. The closer she grew to achieving her full strength, the bolder she had become. The door opened slowly as the visage of Helen entered. “Carleton, my love,” said Nilec. “Why have you neglected me? My children can survive for a few days without water. I need another heart.”

“I have run out of children and wives to supply the hearts,” said Carleton. His eyes looking downward in submission. “I cannot find another wife of suitable ancestry. The women of this generation of childbearing age are self-absorbed and more concerned with having careers.” A half-truth in all honesty.

“The fruit of our labor is almost in fruition,” said Nilec. Her dark, sultry eyes tore into his heart. “I saved your life all those years ago. The least you can do is fulfill your end of the bargain. You wanted to live forever, all I ask for is hearts of British descent.”

His mother had saved his life by begging Nilec to grant him a long life as they faced starvation. Nilec is the guardian of the forest which surrounded his family farm. His family had been secluded from the Protestant religion of the earliest settlers from Europe. Nilec granted them food and shelter as they built their home. She had just been a large basswood tree in those days. As the years past, Nilec had begun to have a corporeal being as the number of hearts in her roots grew. During the Revolutionary War, the British had burnt down a large portion of her forest. Her hatred would be eternal for those of British ancestry. A British heart being the toll was her way of revenge.

“Why must you assume Helen’s form?” Carleton asked.

“Her body excites you. Her smile makes you long for me.”

“You torture me!”

Her eyes grew furious at his accusation. “I love you. How could I torture you?” Nilec said.

“How could I not be tortured? My soul is so corrupt, new life dies under my feet as I walk,” said Carleton. “You want to become my Helen. You will never be my Helen!”

“I will be your Helen. She is a part of me just like she is in your heart,” Nilec said. She moved toward his chair. Her eyes rested on Helen as she stood near her. “I have brought every aspect of Helen into my almost complete body.” Her clothes fell away to reveal Helen’s nude body as she ran her hands down it. Inciting his body to action.

He moved toward her as he longed for her body but Helen’s voice stopped him cold. “No, Carleton!”

“What is this?” said Nilec. “Your wife is dead. Just like the others and all of your children! Buried to give me a body for my perfection. You married those women, killed them and their children… for me!”

The tears streamed freely from his eyes as the moment had finally come. He and Helen had spent the last few weeks finding a way to end this. “I have spent the last one hundred and twenty years living with their souls in my home. You turned them into plants as you absorbed their hearts. It was not enough to have me take their lives, I also had to water them and hear them grow. They did not lose their humanity until you finished with them,” said Carleton.

Nilec reached out and grabbed Helen’s branches. “Find me a heart or I kill your wife,” said Nilec.

“No. I must let her go,” said Carleton.

Nilec screamed as she tore Helen’s roots out of her pot.  “Do it, Carleton!” was audible as she was cast into the fire.

“I love you, Helen,” said Carleton.

“Love will not save you, Carleton,” said Nilec. She sat in his favorite chair, naked and beckoning him. “You will be mine.”

He looked her up and down as the visage of Helen fell away from Nilec like a shell. She had ended her possession of Helen’s soul by throwing her into the fire. A vague silhouette was all that remained as Nilec struggled to recover from the loss of vitality. Carleton seized upon her paralysis and begun tearing his children out of their pots while flinging them into the fire.

“What are you doing, my love?” said Nilec. Her form faltering as even more vitality drained from her with every burning root.

“Setting my family free.”

“Stop, we could be free together.”

“I am free,” said Carleton. He had run out of her children and had one last life to take. He reached down and grabbed a can of gasoline he kept under the sink. The cool liquid running over his face and body, ensuring his death. The frail form of Nilec was withering away. He grabbed her and embraced her as the fire engulfed the house.



Bio: I was born in Rodchester, MI. I lived there until the age of 14 until my parents moved our family to FL. We bounced around a little bit during the first year but finally settled in North Port,FL. I attended North Port High School and an alumni of their Thespian Program. I joined the Army after high school and stayed in for four years. After my term, I moved back to North Port to go back to college which is where I am now. I will be graduating this semester and moving on to USF, where I will be attaining my Social Science Secondary Education Degree.

Musings on Wordlessness

27 Apr

By Richard Fairbanks

What am I writing?
I don’t rightly know,
With no words to write,
No things to show.

If college-ruled paper,
Could write on itself,
A hundred grand stories,
Would litter my shelf.

But alas! words escape,
They dwindle and die,
Not so very frequent,
As stars in the sky.

If pen touches page,
And ink doesn’t flow,
The words have no story,
No colors to show.

So what do I write?
Well nothing at all,
A poem I write,
I know not what to call.

Space Aloner

27 Apr

by ThatSynGirl

This is Moore.

I’m one of the pilots from the spacecraft that went rogue.

It’s lost all contact with Earth.

This is just a journal entry. Just some thoughts. No one to talk to.

May as well talk to a camera.

It’s quiet up here.

The most solitary silence that you will never know.

You’ve heard the saying “silence is loud,” yeah?


It’s excruciating. And it’s heavy.

It can cause claustrophobia in even the most iron-minded individual.

It’s just me up here.

The other guy is still frozen. He’s as good as being a corpse.

He doesn’t supply much conversation.


I’m alone.


I’d be grateful if he woke up, but that could be well after I’ve perished.

Our cryogenic freezing tubes were set for a millennia in the future.

But, our ship must have been knocked, because we’ve lost contact with earth…and our displays are all flashing incoherent data.

Nothing about the year.

Nothing about what happened to us.

Nothing about our fate.

I question my sanity by the second.

I remain hopeful that I’m sane….because I’ve heard if one were truly insane…they wouldn’t even question it.

So there’s my silver lining on that.

And I really…I really hate this window.

It’s a big, dark, ominous hole.

It gives me sight directly into the heart of the vast, deep and desolate space that is now my captor and home.

I don’t want to see that.

But this ship is small…and the window is looming. Large and imposing.

It encompasses one entire wall of this cabin.

Try to ignore it.

But you can’t help but see it.

I see it.


I see nothing but the darkest darkness, speckled with dots of light.

Cold, unwelcoming, vacuum.

The feeling of hopelessness weighs heavy on heart as I peer out this taunting window.

Hope all but vanished.

The loneliness absolute and ever present.

I am lost in the ever expanding, yet infinitely confining space which we call our universe.


There once was a we. But now, there is just me.

And him. Kind of.

Those people. Those creatures whom I once thought so ill of, and wanted nothing but to be away from…

I now yearn for their contact.

Solitude can do strange things to my kind.


We overcame all other species, dominating with intelligence, and yet…we are one of the weakest.

The most flexible and changeable.



We can be twisted to do funny things.

Jeff keeps laughing at me and he won’t tell me why.

I don’t know if he speaks English.

He’s stuck here, too. But he can leave when he wants.

I saw him one day…in a corner. In a shadow.

I heard him laughing, and I saw him.

All he does is laugh.

It makes me insane.

But I’m not.

Sometimes I wish he’d just go away for good, but other times I’m grateful for his company.

I tell him all my thoughts.

He doesn’t talk. He just sits there.

He doesn’t eat, which saves me supplies.

The ship was stocked for four years.

If I stretch it, it could go maybe five.

That’s before the other guy wakes up.

Shut UP, Jeff.

Jeff was snickering behind my back the other day.

I saw him over by my comrade.

I bet he isn’t even frozen. I think him and Jeff talk about me… I hear them whispering sometimes, but when I look, Jeff’s gone and my shipmate pretends he’s asleep.

That bastard is a LIAR!

I don’t know what he wants, or why he’s plotting behind my back, but I’m not gonna sit here and the laughing stalk for these two.

There’s an emergency axe in the storage container…

I’ll see who’s laughing at who when I bust him out of his tube.

Let’s see who’s laughing then.



But I’m not crazy. I’m not.

I’m NOT.



Bio: In my day to day life, I am known by Nikki. But in the realm of my creative works, I’m Syn. I don’t waste time telling people who I am; people don’t listen. I show people who I am. And just like any good work of art, people will form their own opinions of you, regardless of what you tell them or show them. And that’s why I leave that up to the individual.

The Culvert

27 Apr

by Anonymous


Curled up in the culvert, I spun the cylinder on my revolver as I struggled to release the last shred of emotions that had once made me feel human. To my surprise and discomfort, a black crow landed by my feet. To me, it was a sign that the loaded gun in my hands was ready to be used. If I wasn’t going to travel outwards, then I would surely either die from the cold or the heartache of infinite solitude.

Although I had no real way of tracking the days anymore, I figured that it had been almost a year since the plague had wiped out humanity. Ironically enough, one could assume that my immunity to this severe, lethal pneumonia would have made me incredibly fortunate, but as it turned out, no one else in the city of Albany had been quite as lucky.

For months on end, I made radio calls that were never answered. I considered traveling south to avoid harsh winters as well as potentially finding others, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave the borders of my hometown. I wasn’t sure whether I was more terrified of impending disappointment or simply feared interacting with strangers again.

It was late February when it happened, right after most of the snow had already fallen and melted for the season. I assumed that it was around late October or early November by now. The weather was becoming crisp and I had an intuition that snow would soon fall. Survival had been slightly challenging without electricity so far, but I made do. The city had an endless supply of candles, blankets, canned goods and water to last the rest of my lifetime. My main concern was the amount of snow that would fill the streets. I could only shovel so much by myself. Soon enough, it wouldn’t matter anyway.

“Goodbye,” I said, holding the barrel to my head and making direct eye contact with the bird.

Just then, something happened that inevitably saved my life. Perhaps the bird was not an ominous sign of death, but God creating a split second distraction so I did not pull the trigger before I was able to spot the beautiful woman walking towards me. Did I still believe in God? I wasn’t sure of anything at that moment. I wasn’t even sure if I had been hallucinating or not. Maybe I had finally gone mad. Although my mind was mesmerized, my body reacted instantly. I jumped out of the culvert and tucked the handle of the gun in the back of my waistband.

A petite, blond and incredibly attractive woman approached me with the sudden movements of a small rabbit. Her appearance was not nearly as grungy as my own, so I assumed that she had remained more secluded.

She was obviously nervous, but I knew that she was just as excited to see another human being as I was. I finally heard the soft, timid voice of this angel say, “Hi there, my name is Angela. You are the first person that I’ve seen in a really long time.”

Angela. Of course, she had the name of an angel too. I held my hands up in surrender and said, “It’s okay Angela, I’m friendly. You are the first other survivor that I have met so far.” I held out my hand for her to shake. “Blake. Nice to meet you.”

She smiled with teeth whiter than those one would imagine seeing in the apocalypse. Then again, I’m sure that she has had just as much access to the endless supply of toothpaste as I have.

“What have you been through, sweetheart?” I asked tenderly.

“Well, I’m from Troy. I’ve been held up in my home, for the most part. I’ve only wandered three times. Twice I have filled my van with food and supplies, which lasted me for months. This is my third time. Before now, I didn’t want to leave the walls of my home, for those walls were the only true thing that I had left that made me feel safe and helped me remain sane. I think that I finally faced the fact that I was going to die alone and I also feared the harshness of the winter, so I decided to head south.”

“That’s what I considered doing, but I had essentially given up on trying. Angela, you truly don’t realize what you have just saved me from,” I said, carefully revealing my gun, ensuring that it was pointing at me, not her. She jumped back instantly. I could tell that she was not familiar with it’s presence. “Please, don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you.”

“Were you about to…”

“Yes, I think so. I mean I know so. Either way, thank you. I really owe my life to you.”

She looked at me expressionless, eyes wide. I could sense how terrified she was. I felt as though I was trying to coax over a baby deer in the woods. I unloaded the gun, pouring the bullets into my tattered shirt pocket and placed the gun in the culvert. She had to know that she was completely safe. We stared at each other in awe for a moment. She was so beautiful. Instantly, I was no longer the most unfortunate fellow on the planet, but a man of incredible luck. What were the odds that the first person I found would be this stunning? I wondered if I would have a chance with a girl like her during domestic times. We inched closer and closer together, examining every detail, as if we were reassuring ourselves of each others existence. The sensation I got from being next to her was remarkable. I held my palm to her cheek, craving to touch and taste and smell every bit of her. I pulled her in for a passionate embrace and we held each other there tightly, surging with the longing desire that we each possessed. Angela, the delicate angel, saved me from myself.




From the Depths

27 Apr

By Justin Rifner

Under the ocean blue,
and cast from sight.
Is a place where you,
will find no light.

Where ships do sink,
and creatures creep.
Hidden inside the brink,
all you need is to take the leap.

One ship still stands.
Despite all odds,
the captain asks a show of hands.
Because of merciless Gods,

on a cold winter night
the ship had lost its will to fight.

“The monster inside”
My enemy is
Only to be found inside
The depths of my mind


Bio: I am currently both a full time student and a full time employee. I work full time as a team leader at Chick-Fil-A where I have been employed for a total of three years. As a student, I am currently working on an Associates in Arts degree which I will transfer to USF sarasota into a Bachelors of Science in Information Technology. I draw inspiration from stories that I have been told in the past, both nautical and fantasy, and like to combine those elements with the harsh reality of the world to bring about a lasting impression.


Title of Work

27 Apr

by Whoever


Paste the text

It goes here

and so on…



Bio: include

Staff — Spring 2015

27 Apr

Danielle Dean

I’m an English major currently working towards earning my SCF. Reading and writing have always been my favorite hobbies (bibliophile might as well be my middle name), and working in publication makes it easy to fulfill both of these! I hope to transfer to USF or another state school once I’ve finished my time at SCF to pursue a Bachelor’s degree. After school, I hope to one day become an editor and/or author.

William Goetluck

Everyone knows me by Jake, and its always fun to see teachers reactions when i don’t go by Will or Billy, since those are usually the first two names that are asked first. Im studying to be a Graphic Design major and hoping to run my own business sometime in the near future. I was planning on transferring to UCF once i get my required credits but I’m leaning more towards just getting my two years in and be done with school so I can focus on my business, and if I feel like I need more schooling then I’ll finish up my bachelors later.

Leslie Stanley

In my day to day life, I am known by Nikki. But in the realm of my creative works, I’m Syn.
I don’t waste time telling people who I am; people don’t listen. I show people who I am. And just like any good work of art, people will form their own opinions of you, regardless of what you tell them or show them. And that’s why I leave that up to the individual.

Maria Sacali

I am originally from Moldova, a small, poor country in Eastern Europe. I came to America about 8 years ago and lost most of my Russian accent due to my American friends. I am planning on majoring in either writing or psychology. But I might surprise myself and do something completely different, because I am good at most things I try. I am a strong believer in self worth and it took me almost 20 years to figure out that the only persons’ approval I need in order to succeed is my own, and when people see you succeeding, despite their previous opinion of your success, they will come crawling back and stand next to you. And it is completely up to you to let them stay there, or push them away, just as they’d done to you. But all of that depends on if you care for them, or not.