Selected Submissions 

Adult First Place Winner

HEAVY ANGEL, by George Ghiorse

Not sure how all this came to be.  She was so light and delicate long ago.  Born of the finest translucent material were her wings, ready to float and soar on the mere whisper of zephyrs across azure skies.  Borne by the warmth of drafts high above the most expansive of crystal oceans…up, up, up to atmospheric nothingness, to a place where only angels are free to arc the perfection of heaven.  So quiet.  So silent in its tender acceptance of her ethereal being.  This transcendence brought her a weightlessness unknown to gravity and things physical and profound and objective.  Spirit only.  A purity beyond essence. 

Then, suddenly and without warning, cresting and falling in a dangerous and uncontrolled tumbling and swirling, she descended perilously toward the tangible world of heaviness and mass.  Fearful of the dangers of that unknown place which lay far below her, she fluttered her tiny wings briefly and then conceded to the powerful downward pull of a new, undeniable destiny.  With a sad adieu to her precious aerie, she breathed a final silent sigh, freefalling with innocent vulnerability toward the depths of matter and mass.

            But to where?  Toward what unknown abyss fell those translucent wings, that most delicate silver tiara, that flowing silken auburn hair, that gown of perfect effervescence?  Down, down, down through an atmosphere laden with wind and rain and cold to an unknown lair of wet and weight and worry.  Carefree no longer, she spiraled to a place far away from her airy domain, so distant and dissociate.  Now, chambers of fear and dread.

            Darkness.  Deep and cold and relentless in its presence and pressure.  Fluked and weighted now are her most cherished fragile wings.  Their dainty ribbings now heavy with the metallic solidity of zinc and steel; her dazzling tiara now dulled and blue with worry and wear; her perfect angelic face now blurred and shanked in rust; her snow white bodice and gown now cast into an autumnal russet dissolving into the nothingness of faded cobalt.  Yet, how profound and purposeful is this new world; how deeply immersed is she in this new and different watery elegance and, daresay, beauty. 

Gone is her lofty grace.  Gone are her fragile, willowy arms and luminous gossamer gown.  Gone is her former life of capricious, carefree ascendance on diaphanous wings.  Here lie deep challenges and a singular purpose.  Here exists a place of mass and strength and fortitude.  Here there are lives to protect, discoveries to be made, and weighty duties to perform.  Here, she can still hover and maybe even take flight, but only in her imagination and only after her important work is done for her “Atlantis.” 

Still not sure how all this came to be.  But it did.

Adult Second Place Winner

THE SEA FAIRY, by Taylor Friedlander

“Look,” Bee said, pointing to the side of a boat. “It’s a fairy!” 

Ali smiled. This was a bit of a game they would play when she was a girl. Her grandmother might notice hoof-prints on a trail and explain them to be evidence of a baby unicorn. Or present an oval rock, with the claim that it was a dinosaur egg. 

Ali leaned in to investigate. A steel bolt mounted to the boat’s hull had corroded, bleeding out rust stains that bloomed into a shape with striking semblance to a fairy. She seemed to be floating above the mercurial waterline, a gossamer dress trailing just beyond her feet. Even the chips in the paint created an illusion of celestial dust.  

The two women leaned in closer as if expecting it to spring to life. 

“Fancy meeting you lasses roamin’ around here!” A voice called.  

“Callum, come here,” Bee said excitedly, “We found a fairy.” 

“Aye, a sea fairy, quite rare,” Callum replied, easily slipping into the game. “And quite powerful, they are.” 

“Do you think she has the cure to Corona?” Bee wondered.  

“Let me ask.” He murmured a few unintelligible words, which Ali could only assume was a string of Scottish slang. He shook his head. “She doesn’t, and she sends her deepest regrets. But she said there was somethin’ we could do to feel less peely wally.” 

“What’s that?” Ali asked. 

“She said look at the ocean. That it can make us feel more hopeful.” 

The three of them shuffled to the side of the boat, giving them a clear view of the sea’s horizon. It was freeing, to look at this endless expanse and then towards the sky, knowing that above there was no limit.

Ali meandered back to the stain. It reminded her of that iconic optical illusion. A drawing, which one moment, was of a young beauty with her head turned away, and then the next, of a worn, haggard woman, head tucked to her chest. The stain itself seemed to alternate between two forms, from boat-side stain, into mystical fairy. 

"It's kind of enchanting, isn't it?" Ali said. The longer she looked, the more life it seemed to possess. 

"It is. The sea can do some wondrous things. Yeh should see some o' the boats in Scotland. The scum line – that's where the water hits the boat's hull – it causes both a build up and a break down. Barnacles attach, paint chips away, bits o’ algae start creatin’ a home. It's a nuisance mostly, but sometimes, the result can be quite strikin’. Almost like a landscape."

He thought of those hulls now, unintended art pieces. Man's hard labor beaten down by nature, but sometimes with startling results. It was frustrating to watch his own boat deteriorate, but even so, there were moments when he couldn't help but be in awe of the beauty that emerged, even in the midst of the decay. He might even dare call it magic.

(Kathrine’s journal)
 

I’ve lost track of the days. They all blur together in some sort of misery. The pain is unbearable. We’re just waiting, waiting on a hopeless hope, that will never come.

 I think it’s been two and a half years, but none of us really know for sure. I’m part of a National Geographic expedition, we set out to study Blue Whales in the Pacific Ocean. But a major hurricane hit and we were swept off course. All of our radio equipment was destroyed, and we were left to fend for ourselves by fishing and desalinating water for us to drink. 

There were twenty-two of us, but we lost Alexis to the hurricane, twenty-one. Then Jake, twenty. Evelyn after that, nineteen. Another storm, eighteen. Now seventeen of us remain, every time someone has passed we write the number that was left next to the angel on the hull of our boat. We knew it was not actually an angel but none of us really knew what it  was for.  

But that’s not the important part. We’ve become divided. Not too long ago an argument began between Evan and Zoe on whether we should go south or west in an attempt to find a boating lane. Over the weeks this conflict escalated to the point where there’s two sides. The people who want to go south, and the people who want to go west. These groups, well I’d say they’re more like cults, completely worship their “leaders”. Who are as you may have guessed, Evan and Zoe. I personally think we should go west, but my opinion doesn’t seem to matter. 

Well, Jasmine, my closest friend, and I plan to escape with the dingy boat. Why hasn't anyone tried this yet? You may be asking, one word, Evan.

 Anyway, it’s basically going to go like any other cliche movie escape. We’re going to wait till everyone’s asleep. We both agree we probably won’t survive, but we just want to enjoy what left we have of our awful lives without people like Evan.


            Neither friend batted an eye as the others nodded off to sleep. They sat upright at the edge of the cabin. 

Without a word, they slowly slipped out and onto the deck. Kathrine took a deep breath of the crisp air before they began the painfully slow process of lowering the dingy without making a sound. They got in and rowed out to sea. At that moment a weight was lifted from their shoulders, like leaving their only chance of survival was the answer all along. And as the sun’s rays began to bleed along the horizon, the two looked at one another and Jasmine said, “You know, Mae West once said that ‘You only live once, but if you do it right once is enough’” Kathrine smiled. And at that they dropped the paddles into the ocean and let fate decide where they go. They didn’t even bring their stuff.

Child Second Place

THE SCIENTIST SCUBA DIVERS on THEIR AMAZING ADVENTURE, by Conan Kracke Age, 4.9

Once upon a time there was a man on a boat. But then he crashed into a rock and there was a big hole in the boat and it looked like a giant water filter. Then the boat sank and a hurricane came but the people were doing a scientist experiment trying to track some dolphins. They tried to figure out what was wrong with the dolphin but then it just swam away with its broken fin. It knew the hurricane was coming! All the dolphins went to their secret hiding place. The people on the boat put their scuba suits on to escape the hurricane and the dolphins showed them the way to their secret spot and they were safe from the hurricane. But then a giant whale came and ate them all up and shot them out from its spout! But then the construction workers heard the commotion and they put on their construction worker diver suits and they saw the people and dolphins begging for help and they tried to fix the boat. But they lost one of their hammers inside a deep pit, so they had to call their little dolphin drone that could go inside the pit and used its drill on its nose to find the hammer. It was with a giant jellyfish and it tried to attack the drone but the jellyfish actually had a tentacle stuck inside a shark so the scientists helped the jellyfish and put a bandage around its tentacle.

The end. 

Honorable Mention

By Peter Cahill and 9 year-old grandson

Captain George was a good Captain - a member of the Wampanoag Indian Tribe, he was a spiritual man, but he also believed in Science - after all he was the Captain of the S/V Atlantis Research ship out of Woods Hole owned by WHOI.

Captain George was going on a long journey to Peru in South America to try to find and salvage an ancient Inca warship.  It was an important trip because some of the cargo on the ship was believed to be Inca religious things that were very important to the tribes still existing in Peru.

It should have been an easy voyage through the Panama Canal, but then suddenly things suddenly turned nasty.

Captain George had never seen anything like it - 40 foot waves and 100 MPH winds; he pushed on but he knew the ship was doomed.  The last thing he remembered was the ship going under the water and a very bright light coming from the clouds above the ship.

When he awoke it became clear that the Atlantis had been transported to an Alien space ship.  The light Captain George saw was the spaceship.  The Aliens wanted to understand humans and their ways - they were nice enough but there no escape.

Captain George dreamed of his life back in Woods Hole - his family, his dog, and his little skiff - he missed home.  Days became weeks, weeks turned to months and months to years and still no way out – The captain and the crew didn't even know where they were!

One night George prayed to the Native American sprits to help him – he stared at his ship for inspiration - then he realized there was image of Native American with wings on the side of the ship; he had seen it a thousand times but never thought about what it really was.  Captain George was not sure if he was dreaming but as he prayed the tiny image started to come alive!  Those wings started to move and act like jetpacks!

The Native American angel transported Captain George and his crew back through time to Woods Hole where the ship sailed into the WHOI slip to a hero’s welcome.

Some strange stuff had happened while he was gone; technology had changed and Pie in the Sky had been rebuilt, but the strangest thing was Captain George had been gone for 20 years but had not aged a bit!

After a few years, he and the crew of the Atlantis went back to the waters off Peru, and with the help of the Native American Angel on his ship, found and raised the ancient Inca warship.  He was a hero in Woods Hole and in Peru!

Happy that he completed his mission he resumed his quiet life - but he made one change, he renamed his little skiff "Lost in Space"!

Honorable Mention

DRY DOCK, by Andy Hamilton

Hello. My name is Atlantis. I am a 274 feet long, twenty-two year old research vessel who leads a very exciting life, but right now I am resting on land. Every once in a while I have to take a break to rest, so here I am getting all tuned up and refreshed on this comfortable dry dock.  

I love what I do and where I get to go. My job is to help scientists from the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute (WHOI) explore the ocean and research really cool places like the Galapagos Islands, Easter Island, the Everglades, Costa Rica, and all kinds of exciting destinations. These scientists love the ocean and they are working hard to learn as much as they can about it and keep it beautiful. I’m sure you would like them.   

I was named after the first WHOI research vessel of the same name who between 1931 and 1966 made almost 300 voyages and sailed over 700,000 miles. She was the first American ship built specifically for research in marine biology, marine geology, ​and​ physical oceanography. NASA even named the space shuttle Atlantis after her. And that’s how I got my name.  

When I travel to explore the world, I take dozens of sailors, scientists, and technicians to make things run smoothly. I carry a submarine called Alvin, where scientists can go underwater to explore. How cool is that?   

I’ll tell you some other cool things about me. My top speed is about 11 knots (or 12 ½ mph), I have giant cranes attached to me that can lift tons and tons of weight, my gas tank can carry 270,000 gallons of gas; I have over 3,000 sq. feet of lab space, enough storage for six vans, and I can stay at sea for up to two months at a time.  

Thank you for listening to my story. I hope you will come visit me some time. If you can’t visit, maybe you can at least track my voyages and see where I’m going in the world!

Honorable Mention

Blast Off! by Tyler Cutone, age 10

Three, two, one blast off in a rocket just like before a sailor's first time on the water you're excited and nervous when you hop onto the ship both of those feelings pour out of you. You don’t know what you're going to find! Buried treasure, a rare mars rock but you never know! But what lurks in the darkness aliens, an army, pirate hunters you never know but when you put your anchor down you finally feel it all that excitement comes pouring in.  This anchor holding your ship resembles a rocket ship or angel in the sky with new excitement adventure and much more. That rust might make you think it’s outdated but no it means it has led the way for many adventures, fun, scary and maybe even disappointing but all of those things are what makes up dropping anchor on a new spot.

 This photo inspired me because of all of the adventures I’ve had on the water the adventures I’ve had are so awesome I would classify some of them as a holy adventure when my dad sent this to my email I asked what is this an anchor and dad said it’s whatever you want it to be when writing about this it made me think of all of the adventures I’ve had.

Honorable Mention  

By Don Stucke

Our most recent visit was from the Easter Bunny who found himself exhausted from all the turmoil and stress and decided to go on a vacation to get away from it all and try to find some peace.

So, e-bunny hopped on a ship and headed off across the vast oceans, through the gates of hercules to the lost island of Atlantis.  He had read in history books that Atlantis was a utopia full of peace and tranquility and felt that this might be the perfect place.  The ship dropped anchor and e-bunny scampered ashore running off to find peace and quiet but to his dismay he found powerfully wealthy, corrupt people spreading lies and terror amongst the population all for political gain.  He quickly retreated to the safety of the ship and as quickly as possible made the return voyage to self isolate in peace in his own den and nearby thicket to ponder not only the state of his surroundings but that of the whole world.

While contemplating his next move e-bunny is hoping that his neighbor's newly planted vegetable garden is a great success but until then plans to shelter in place and social distance from the other creatures in his neighborhood.

Honorable Mention

by Dale Hovda, age 15

The sailors aboard the Atlantis were exhausted from a four month excursion at sea. Their weary hands became cut and callused from the daily duties aboard the ship they called invincible. But like the many sailors aboard the returning Atlantis, the ships itself had seen better days. Too many battles with the unforgiving sea led to battered hulls and flooded cabins. The deck, once a beautiful creation of pine and ash , had withered beyond repair. Many months this vessel had been seen in the dry docks. It's captain and crew working tirelessly to restore this bruised beast to its youthful days once again. The process of keeping the boat afloat was a daunting task in itself. However, one item remained true. When the waves towered overhead and all one could do was pray; the anchor stood strong. The anchor aboard this sacred vessel scarred the seafloor time and time again and brought those aboard to shelter. The damaged hull, once a single coat of radiant blue, was overlapped by every color plastered upon itself. Sheets of metal were cut from its majestic form. Yet through all the wear and tear, Atlantis remains in its true form. A boat.While the sea threw everything it had at the boat it remained true. It never gave up on its captain and crew in a time where all hope was lost. The anchor held the masses together and stood firm through the fiercest storm.The anchor bleeds not only with rust but with respect for those who board in search of the sea.

Honorable Mention

THE ANGEL of THE OCEAN, by Ava Glover, age 15

When I lived in northern California as a child during the summer, life was easy. I’d wake up with the sun, greet the day with a deep, arms-above-my-head stretch, then bound of out bed, eager to play in the ocean. Of course, I always had to first get dressed, say my prayers, and eat breakfast, but, without school in session, I was free to go as I pleased, so long as I “stayed out of trouble,” like my mother would say. Those days of surfing and just being a kid were the best, until one bitter day when I suffered a great loss.

It was a terribly rainy morning when my best friend Lyla and I left her house to go to Maverick Beach. We were twelve then and didn’t notice the turbulence of the waves, how high they arched skyward. Looking back, years later, someone should have stopped us, someone should have said, “Don’t go!,” but go we did.

Neither Lyla nor I were incredible at surfing, but we enjoyed it, and we were decent enough that we often went by ourselves. The rain pellets of early morning died down to a light sprinkle as we played, but the ocean didn’t care; the waves rage filled that day. Despite falling off our boards multiple times, we chose to stay there, hoping to catch a big wave. On the horizon, we spotted a monstrous one, probably twenty feet tall- we had to try riding it. We paddled furiously to it, dove in...but got sucked into its violent, churning foam.

I was thrown underwater, held captive by the wave’s energy. I must swim, I willed myself. I had lost grip on my board so I needed to kick with all the might I could muster until I reached the surface. When I broke through, I coughed and spluttered hard. Gathering myself, I spotted my glossy, pink board and swam to it, still feeling dizzy. Looking around me, though, I realized Lyla was nowhere to be seen.

“Lyla!,” I screamed at the top of my lungs. No reply. My head spun as I peered across the endless ocean, searching for a sign of her. Later, when I was back home, I learned her body was found; she had drowned. I sat on my board in the choppy waters, not knowing what to do. I was exhausted, that was for sure, but I didn’t have the strength or will to go anywhere. As I despaired, I prayed silently in my head, Please God, save me. I’m scared, alone, and lost. As if my prayer were heard immediately, a great blue ship chugged in the distance, headed my way. I waved crazily, urgently. As it approached, I saw an angel on the side of the ship’s hull, made of pieces of metal and a rust stain, and I felt consolation then, knowing that I would be okay. 

Swim, I willed myself. I had lost grip on my board so I needed to kick with all the might I could muster until I reached the surface. When I broke through, I coughed and spluttered hard. Gathering myself, I spotted my glossy, pink board and swam to it, still feeling dizzy. Looking around me, though, I realized Lyla was nowhere to be seen.

“Lyla!,” I screamed at the top of my lungs. No reply. My head spun as I peered across the endless ocean, searching for a sign of her. Later, when I was back home, I learned her body was found; she had drowned. I sat on my board in the choppy waters, not knowing what to do. I was exhausted, that was for sure, but I didn’t have the strength or will to go anywhere. As I despaired, I prayed silently in my head, Please God, save me. I’m scared, alone, and lost. As if my prayer were heard immediately, a great blue ship chugged in the distance, headed my way. I waved crazily, urgently. As it approached, I saw an angel on the side of the ship’s hull, made of pieces of metal and a rust stain, and I felt consolation then, knowing that I would be okay.