impressions 2011 (pdf) - Mohonasen Central School District

Impressions 2011

Marrissa Laven: Art Editor, Allison Thayer, Danya Benson, Amanda Herbert, Cory Keegan, Christian 

Keegan, Theresa Whittemore, Tia Guarneri, Becky Quinn 

Mohonasen’s 

Art and Literary 

Magazine 

Tia Guarneri 

Art Editor 

Mrs. Rowbo 

Art and 

Layout 

Advisor 

Theresa Whittemore 

Chief Art Editor 

Danya Benson 

Chief Literary Editor 

Mrs. Burega Literary Advisor 

Becky Quinn 

Photographer

Mrs. Lang 

Each year Impressions dedicates its pages to great teachers who will be leaving the halls of Mohonasen 

for the well earned respite of retirement and the new opportunities afforded in that next phase of their 

lives. This year, we dedicate our pages to Mrs. Latefa Lang for her many years of inspired teaching with 

her students and her sassy, dynamic persona that has been cherished among the faculty. She will be 

missed greatly. 

This year we also dedicate our pages to others who will be missed. The economic impact on education 

for the coming year is immense, and there will be far too many dedicated teachers affected by the cuts to 

education funding. They are not retiring to a well afforded break; they will be facing uncertainty and, 

hopefully, new beginnings in other places. The truth remains, however, that they will not be here in our 

halls, our classrooms. With work left to be done and years left to be teaching students, many of our 

teachers will be taking their gifts with them when they pack their classrooms in June. For this, we can 

all acknowledge a sense of loss. It is important to know, however, that this loss is not absolute. For every 

moment that these teachers have inspired creativity, provoked deep thought, and opened the doors of 

understanding for a student here at Mohonasen, they have left a lasting impression. Part of these teachers 

and their work will remain in the memories of the students here, their hearts and their minds. No matter 

where the uncertain future takes them, it is important for them to remember what they’ve been a part of 

and to feel, with the loss of leaving, all that they have gained. For the time spent here at Mohonasen, to 

have taught is to have touched lives forever. Best of luck to many great teachers as you take new paths. 

“Langisms” 

Langism’s are: 

“too funny” 

& 

too many to list:) 

“The Queen” Latefa 

1 

DEDICATION 

The Louvre is the book in which we learn 

to read. We must not, however, be satisfied 

with retaining the beautiful formulas 

of our illustrious predecessors. Let us 

go forth to study beautiful nature, let us 

try to free our minds from them, let us 

strive to express ourselves according 

to our personal temperaments. 

-Paul Cezanne 

1839-1906

Portfolio Day 

Nov. 2010 

at sage college 

Mohonasen and area Art students showing their art portfolios to US Art College Reps 

2 

2

J. APPLEGATE, A. BROWN, DOMINICO 

NANCY, B. McKEON 

Class of 

2010 

SENIOR 

SHOW 

ART 

SHOWS 

3 

J. GLASSER 

DAN SABATINI 

Art is either a plagiarist 

or a revolutionist. 

–Paul Gauguin 

1848-1903 

M. DEMIDIO 

I consider a work of art 

as a product of calculations, 

calculations 

that are frequently 

unknown to the author 

himself. 

-PABLO PICASSO 

1881-1973 

STEPHANIE HEWETT

2011 Capital Regional Media Arts Festival and Competition 

Thirteen area school districts participated in the Media Arts Festival 

hosted by Niskayuna. 

Tommie Burch accepting her award in: Digitally Enhanced Photography at 

the art reception 

Jenna Zaborowski 

Lea McClain 

4 

Melissa Piscitella 

Jenn Gagne 

Lea McClain 

Tonmmie Burch 

Reba Greene

HS students viewing Video and electronic 

music created by the students. 

Reba Greene 

Antonio D’Elia 

Evelyn Bohl 

This year Mohonasen submitted 20 hard copy - media art pieces, Theresa Whittemore 

submitted a music video and Christian Gunn submitted an electronic music 

composition. Niskayuna did a great job hosting this event. 

Clip from Theresa Whittemore’s video, “Whose gotta ya money” 

Kelsey Shive 

5 

Linda Thompson 

Allison Thayer 

Marissa Laven

The Capital District HS 

Regional Juried Art 

Exhibition 

HOSTED BY SAGE COLLEGE AT ALBANY 

Sierra Woodard 

My My Lieu 

6 

…one doesn’t really work for oneself. 

That’s a myth. Artists have to show 

their work. It doesn’t mean they have 

to sell it, or peddle it, or use it for anything, 

but they have to show it. 

Ad Reinhardt 

1913-1967 

Art Reception at Sage College 

Emily Reutter 

Kelsey Shive

M AD 

o mohonasen 

art department 

mohonasen art department 

ART CLASSES 

Marissa Laven 

Lea McClain 

Lea McClain 

Fine art is that in which the 

hand, the head, and the heart 

of man go together. 

-JOHN RUSKIN 

1819-1900 

7 

Tia Guarneri 

2011 3D Regional hosted by Mohonasen 

The minute I sat in front of a canvas. 

I was happy. Because it was a world, 

and I could do as I like in it. 

-Alice Neel 1900-1984 

Gianluca Puorto 

Marissa Laven

Aaron Giummarra 

Aaron Giummarra 

Ms.Rowbo’s 

Adv. Drawing and Painting 

Observation Drawings 

& Portfolio Paintings 

Mrs. Rowbo Reba Greene 

Zack Smith 

8 

Haley Macherone 

Felicia Wingle 

Great art is art that strips you of words, and 

then allows you to find the new words to 

describe that experience. 

-Eric Fischl 1948- 

Zack Smith 

Kailee Roderick 

Zack Smith



Art is a language of symbols. 

-Pablo Picasso 

1881-1973 

Art does not reproduce the visible, 

rather, it makes visible. 

-PAUL KLEE 

1879-1940 

Rachel Sulflita 

Reba Greene 

9 



Aaron Giumarra 



The artist begins with a vision - 

a creative operation requiring an 

effort. Creativity takes courage. 

-Henri Matisse 

1869-1954

Michelle Baldwin 

Amanda Bartik 

Ben Scarff 

Emily Reutter 

Adv. Drawing and Painting 

Observation Drawings 

& Portfolio Paintings 

10 



Stephen DiLorio 

Things are not difficult to make; what is difficult is 

putting ourselves in the state of mind to make them. 

Constantin Brancusi 

1876-1957 

Victoria Moore 

Ben Scarff 

Michelle So 

Ben Scarff

Emily Reutter 


Michelle So 

11 


Emily Reutter 


Ahmed Wise 

Stephen DiLorio

Samantha Hall 

Samantha Hall 

Sapphire Stefaniak 

Rebecca Fortune 

Drawing 

& 

Painting 

12 

Morgan Miller 

Morgan Miller 

Kindra Dunsmore 

Santana Rorick 


Abby Hess 

Kindra Dunsmore ZacK Stoddard

Allen Collins 

Adam Mahan 

Shayla Brewer 

Shane Connell 

Samantha Hall 

Imagination Drawings 

Still lifes, 

Self portraits 

Josh Thomas Sierra Woodard 

13 

Alex Ciralo 

ZacK Stoddard 

Sierra Woodard 

Matthew Miller 



Samantha Hall

Christian Keegan 

My My Lieu 

Jenni Gagne 

Drawing 

& 

Painting 

Sarah Van der Wouden Chelsea Reed 

14 

Amanda Herbert 

Kirsten Burroughs 



Serena Cascarano 


Kaley Thapa 

Serena Cascarano

Alexis Tasso 

Nicole Valley 


Nicole Valley 

Found I could say things with color and shapes that I couldn’t 

say in any other way- things that I had no words for. 

Georgia O’Keeffe 1887-1986 

Aislinn Elmore 

15 

My My Lieu 


Serena Cascarano Ryan Haake 

Kaley Thapa 

Ben Scarff 

My My Lieu 

Kaley Thapa

Robb Ogilvie 

Haley Simpson 

Christine Love 

ADVERTISING 

& 

DESIGN 

CLASS 

16 

Tommie Burch 

Courtney Garry 

Brea Bielecki 


Ashley Horn


Kelsey Shive 


& Now I Know Why All The Trees Change In The Fall 

I Know You Were On My Side Even When I Was Wrong 

& I Love You For Giving Me Your Eyes 

Standing Back And Watching Me Shine 

& I Didn’t Know If You Knew, 

So I’m taking this chance to say... 

Best Day 

That I Had The 

With You Today 

Marissa Laven 


I‘m 5 years old, It’s getting cold, I’ve got my big coat on. I Hear your laugh, I look up smiling at you, I run and Run 

Past the pumpkin patch and the tractor rides, Look now, The Sky Is Gold. I hug your legs and fall asleep, on the way 

home. I don’t know why all the trees change in the fall, But I know you’re not scared of anything at all . Don’t know if Snow White ‘s 

I‘m 13 now, and don’t know how my friends could be 

so mean, I come hold crying and you 

hold me tight and grab the keys 

and we drive and drive until we find a town far enough 

away, and we talk an window shop ‘til I’ve forgotten all their 

names, I don’t know who I’m gonna talk to now at school 

But I know I’m laughing on the car ride home with you 

Don’t know how long it’s gonna take to feel okay ... 

but i had the best day with you today 

i have an excellent father, his 

stronger 

strength is making me 

17 

Carley Mulley 

God smiles on my older 

sister, inside and out 

she’s better than 

I am, I grew up 

in a pretty house 

and I had space 

and i had 

to run 

the best 

days with you 

there is a 

video I 

found 

from 

back when 

I was 

three, you 

set up a paint 

set in the 

kitchen and 

you’re talking to 

me. It’s the age 

of princesses and 

& Daddy’s strong and 

pirate ships and seven dwarfs 

you’re the prettiest lady 

in the whole wide world 

smiling 

house is near or far away, but I had the best day, with you today 

not scared of anything at all 

Tommie Burch 



Haley Simpson

Liana 

Liana 

Walter 

Stephanie 

Ms. Farry’s Class 

18 

Tim 

Lindsey 

Steven 

Dylan 

Jeffrey 

18 

Ryan

Mrs. Empie and Mrs. Murray’s Students 

Cassi Stefaniak 

John Wilson 

John Miller 

19 

Sarah Jackson 

Kaylee LeBuis 

Hannah Willey Gabby Domain

“ A picture is 

worth a thousand words...” 

-Napoleon Bonaparte 

Will DiIonio 

Sarah Jackson 

Cati Hendron 

Taylor Valley 


Cati Hendron 

20 

Jennifer Ziobrowski 

Megan Reese 

Deanna Boiani 

Alexis Gage 

20

21 

Thomas Shuler 

Brooke Demarest 

Tiaja Harris 

Megan Reese 

Deanna Boiani 

Alexis Gage 

Taylor DelNegro 

21 

Taylor Piscitella 

Will DiIorio 

Megan Reese

John Miller 

Andrew Barndt 

Shanti Boghe 

Sylvia Mach 

Rayshawn Jones 

Morgan Papa 

Rachel Lambert 

22 

Saviaon Parson 

Jennifer Ziobrowski

Alicia Hottois 

Morgan Papa 

Brooke Doherty 

Paul Witckitch 

Monica Supal 


23 

Amanda Peart 


Shanti Bhoge

“Good art is not what it looks like, but what it does to us.” -Roy Adzak 

Hannah Willey 

Ryan Corbitt 

Mrs. Empie Mrs. Murray 

24 

Grant Massaroni 

Velma Monroe

Sylvia Mach 

Nina DeLoreto 

John Miller 

25 

Vittorio Stoccheti 

Danielle Crandall 

Alexis Gage

Julie Riley 

Kaylee LeBuis 

Kelly Moran 

Shyanne DeLancey 

26 

Ryan Corbitt 

Cameron McDermott

“A picture is a 

poem without 

words...” 

Cameron McDermott 

-Horace 

27 

Vittorio Stocchetti 

Selina Dunn 

Tiaja Harris Jess Deweese

“Never leave this world without first leaving a few 

impressions....” 

Julie Riley Rachel Lambert 

Kayla Boniecki 

28 

Jessie Alescio 

Vicky Hsu 

28

Mrs. Empie & Mrs. Murray’s 

Jessie Lombombard 

Will DiIorio 


Deanna Boiani 

Will DiIorio 

Gabby Semento 


29 

Studio and Drawing and Painting 

classes... 


Megan Reese 

Kaylee Le Buis

The 23rd Annual Capital Region BOCES Art Show 

17 Participating Districts K-12 

Reception shown above April 26th, 2011 

Rachel Nardareski 2nd grade 

Ryan Corbett 10th grade 

Nicole Marsh 7th gr. 

Gianni DiCocco K 

Victoria Wasiak 

Gregory Fiozzo 1st Grade 

Jessica Stewart 4th grade 

30 

Megan Reese 10th grade 

Gordon O’Hanleon Draper 

Olivia Cafarelli 8th grade 

Michael Redmond 9th grade 

Nicole March 7th grade 

Rachel Suflita 11th grade Antonio D’Elia 12th grade

Mrs. Rowbo’s 

Classes 

Tommie Burch 

Amanda BartiK 

Steven Dilorio 

Sarah Van der Wouden 

Advance Drawing & Painting, 

Drawing & Painting, and Advertising &Design 


31 

Stan Piasecki 

Emily Reutter 



Cassie Chamberlain 


Gianluca Puorto

Mr. York’s Pages 

Amanda Bartik 

Selby Smith 

Chris Cimino 


32 

Presentation at the 3-D Regional 

Trevor Ballo 


Amelia Izzo

Andrew Celmins 

Emily Reutter 

John Gage 


33 

Robb Ogilvie 

Eddie Santamaria 

Tynashia Parson 

Tia Guarneri 

Critics, mathematicians, 

scientists and busybodies want 

to classify everything, marking 

the boundaries and limits.... 

In art, there is room for all 

possibilities. 

- Pablo Picasso 1881-1973

Rebecca Singh 

Kendell Maliszewski 

Nick Drago 

Emily Montayne 

34 

John Gage 

Tabitha Reutter 

Victoria Wasiak

Theories are 

patterns without 

value. What 

counts is action. 

- Constantin 

Brancusi 

1876-1957 

Angela Dagostino 

Rebecca Davis 

Michael Redmond 

Brittney Fusco 

35 

Sarah Kress 

Nick Drago 

Matt Glasser



Kariann Newcomb 


36 



Sarah Reilly

Art Club 

(President) Theresa Whittemore, Aaron Giumarra, Allison 

Thayer, Lianna Dineen, Amanda Herbert, Tia Guarneri 

Tiara Kruzinski 

Trevor Ballo 

Ryan McCrum 

37 


Tom Beerle 

Linda Thompson

Rebekah Bolton 

Deanna Pfau 

Mike “Giraffe” York 

- Christinae Love 

38 

Patrick Flouton Johnson 

Eddie Santamaria 

Amanda Bartik Gretchen Almeida

Garrett Sisson 


Chris Cimino 

39 

Liana Dineen 

Gretchen Almeida 

Jessica Casso 

Sabina Longo

Chris Cimino 


Samantha Pouchak 

Riley Kenyon 

40 

Paula Longo 

Frankie Mastroianni 

Emily Reutter

3-D 

Art 

Regional 

At 

Mohon 

Participating Schools 

Averill Park Bethlehem Guilderland Mohonasen Niskayuna 

Schenectady Shaker Shenendehowa Voorheesville 

41

42 

42 

Evelyn Bohl

Behind The Mirror 

That girl in the mirror 

Is only a mask 

There’s more on the inside 

So take a walk through the mirror 

And see what I have to hide. 

See the scars on her face 

And bullet holes in her heart 

No physical abuse, not a single violent action 

But emotions run wild 

Leaving her to be a bruised up child 

Frantic shooting 

Of every painful mood 

Words slicing like a blade 

Self hatred screaming hurt me 

Does not a happy girl make 

Mischievous feelings 

Crawling down her back 

She itches to find a cure 

To this dangerous alter ego 

With thoughts so un-pure 

Carley Mulley 

artwork by: Kelsey Shive 

43 

Utopia 

Patchwork skies, butterflies 

Are all found in this meadow. 

I often lay here 

Running my fingers through the young tendrils of 

grass 

A brush through knotted hair. 

I think I’d like to gather bushels of it 

And build myself a nest. 

The wind blows like a deadbeat sigh. 

It’s such a perfect place. 

This beautiful utopia of my mind. 

So serene ,untouched, so cloistered. 

So sheltered and so tame. 

I’m trapped here, a butterfly under glass 

The wind changes. 

Bringing with it the scent of rotting flowers 

The grass crawls up to choke me. 

The butterflies turn to stony eyed crows. 

“You’re Ours.” They caw 

“Forever Ours.” 

Danya Benson 

I’m truly flattered you would pick someone like me, 

so I will take this award with dignity. 

And although I do not have much grace, 

(I’ve already broken my mother’s vase.) 

I will stand up tall in front of the crowd, 

and voice my opinions way out loud. 

The paper in my hand should be read at this time, 

the award goes to the girl who cannot tell a rhyme! 


Poetry

Sugar or Spice 

The white gown every girl dreams of 

A line of blushing attendants 

Picture pretty 

Roses and baby’s breath 

On tuxedoed arms 

Wide, glassy, smiling gazes. 

Telling me how perfect this all is 

Yet now, I’m not so sure 

A moment ago 

I was ready 

To commit myself 

To the supporting, faithful friend. 

Who has always been here 

Then Jimmy showed up... 

Now it’s all become a question. 

I wonder; who will I be? 

Do I let myself be swayed 

By this bad boy? 

Sugar or Spice? 

Naughty or Nice? 

A moment of truth. 

My heart speaks, 

I listen. 

I choose Jimmy, 

Jimmy Choo. 

Setting aside my safe and sane, character shoes. 



Moonlit Dancing 

Children of the moon, 

44 

The Unforgettable Walk 

God, what is life? 

It is a new feeling every day. 

Is it a reality or an illusion? 

Some things aren’t as they appear. 

God, how did you create such things? 

From the birds in the sky to the fish in 

the sea. 

I hope I will fly one day. 

Lea McClain 

And swim in search of my destiny. 

break from celestial slumber and dance in our mother’s light. 

Let allure pull you from reality and beckon you from a paralyzed existence. 

You are her child, drink from her as she is you and you are she. 

Mother to child, you share lunar blood. 

Embrace the rays that ignite the darkness around us, 

luminescence. 

Alexis Willey 

Felicia Wingle

With My Button Eyes 

I am in the dark 

A light appears, and you take me out 

You are happy. 

Your eyes light up and you hold me up. 

You bring me up to your room, and I sit on your pillow. 

I look around with my button eyes and I see your friends. 

We all play together. 

We have fun. 

You grow older, inch by inch, year by year. 

I grow older, stitch by stitch, tear by tear. 

I break 

You fix me 

The sun goes down and I am in your arms 

I see you smile in your sleep dreaming of wonderful things. 

You wake up 

I sit high on a shelf, watching you. 

I watch you as you grow older, you get new friends, 

Dust settles on me. 

My stitches are frail; my insides peek out from my skin. 

With my button eyes, I watch over you. 

Sad days, happy days drag on as I sit high on the shelf. 

You hold me, you smile at me 

And you put me away. 

It is cold. 

I am in the dark. 

Amanda Bartik 

Danya Benson 

45 

Broken Compass 

I hold a compass in my arms 

The needle spinning wildly. 

Where is my direction? 

My magnetic north. 

There is no wind for these tatter torn sails 

I am stuck in the cross current 

Idly floating on my crystalline future. 

Are we lost without direction? 

The power of the powerless 

The knowledge of fools 

Swim beside me like golden koi. 

Lifelessly I dip my fingers in the water 

Trying to grasp something beyond my reach. 

We are failed helmsmen. 

Reading the fickle faced stars 

In hope that one day we might all find 

Our own personal Polaris. 

Danya Benson 

Amanda Bartik

Cigarettes 

I met with God on a street corner, 

In a dark city, at night. 

Standing in the shadows, I saw 

Two grey orbs fix upon my face. 

I knew it was God, 

I didn’t want to insult, 

So I decided to ask questions 

To get answers that 

Wouldn’t offend. 

“What should I call you?” 

“Whatever you’d like.” 

“But you have so many names.” 

“Pick one.” 

I was stumped. I tried to get closer 

God backed away. 

“Why wont you let me see you?” 

“You haven’t decided what I look like yet.” 

Je Zsa Nay Stevens 


46 

Never Lose Your Youth 

I remember all 

The long summer days 

All we did was ride bikes and 

Think of new games to play 

We would steal cans of 

Soda from the shed 

Make beautiful music 

And paint the whole town red 

I remember all those 

Nights under the stars 

Chasing fireflies around 

Watch the headlights of the cars 

Oh how I wish 

I could go back to my youth 

Find out all those secret meanings 

And discover the truth 

Nick DeOrio 

Indecision. It’s a prison, 

Just like a maze of long division. 

It’s not about a lack of vision, 

It’s a need for real precision. 

Fearful of ever making mistakes, 

It’s enough to give you a bellyache. 

Thoughts racing keep me awake. 

What’s the real you? What’s fake? 

Always the chance of being wrong, 

The whole way trying to be strong. 

Staying afloat and playing along, 

Like forgetting the words to your favorite song. 

How do you find out what is right, 

When all you want is your future bright? 

You’re staring at a canvas of white, 

And you feel like you’re stuck at a red light. 

Just waiting to see what the future will be. 

Maybe someone could wait it out with me. 

Although the picture is still unforeseen, 

Say you’ll stay with me ‘till the light turns green. 

Valerie Tommasone

Breathe Again 

Time is running out. 

The days are going by so fast. 

I have lost sight of what life is about, 

Get me back on track. 

Get me back on track... 

I fall so often now. 

I should walk before I run. 

I know you are trying and teaching me how, 

Please just let me go. 

I just need to get home. 

As I find it harder to breathe, 

And the good gets harder to see, 

I stop and I search for the good all around me... 

I see you. 

I breathe for you. 

I can’t see the sky... 

It looks like empty space to me. 

I don’t quite know the reasons why, 

But I want to be free. 

I want to be free... 

I wake up each morning alone with myself. 

I feel like a doll that’s left up on the shelf, 

Or a guitar that’s never been played. 

It seems to me they feel the same way. 

As I find it harder to breathe, 

And the good gets harder to see, 

I stop and I search for the good all around me... 

When it feels there’s nothing to lose, 

And it looks as thought there’s nothing left but old news... 

I sit and I wait for the dark to recede. 

I sit and wait for you. 

I sit and breathe for you. 

Jenni Gagne 


47 

Lil’ Robot 

He is a robot and people think he cannot feel, 

But deep down inside all of these feelings are real. 

He cannot say, 

That on this day, 

When he plays out in the snow, 

He can sense happiness, joy, and glee 

And even if his voice won’t show it, 

He claims, “I’m happy to be me!” 

When at night in his bed, 

He dreams of warmth in is head. 

As he strolls down the street, 

He looks down at his shinny feet. 

If only he could just smile 

I would last for a while; 

All day and all night, 

With all his might. 

No matter what happens or what people may say, 

This little robot always has the greatest of all days. 

Tia Guarneri 

Will DiLorio

My Road 

The roads ahead of me, 

Are both beautiful. 

One with roses begging to be explored the other 

With white lilies daring to be picked. 

They’re both screaming to me! 

But how do I choose? 

One promises safe success the other 

Fun and excitement. Where will 

They lead? For a slight minute 

I’m drawn to safe success but like a hand, 

Fun and excitement grabs me by the shoulders and I’m following 

That path. 

I see creatures that guide me to a creepy, 

House with blackness as deep as the midnight 

Sky, did I make the right choice? 

I don’t know, then the wind whispers to me 

“There is always time for fun but more importantly 

there is always time to be taken seriously.” 

Corinne Kochan 

Love sucks 

Every time it starts it seems so good then just as fast I’m left clueless and misunderstood. 

I got to say I’ve really enjoyed every second 

But it’s shame to see this go over a silly text message, 

You leave me breathless, 

Without even a word to speak my mind is going blank while my heart goes underneath. 

I’ve been here for some time trying my hardest, honestly. 

It seems every time I try to go that’s when you notice me. 

I try looking back and seeing everything we’ve done, frowning at mistakes and smiling during the fun. 

No matter how bad the fight we seemed to get by now I realize why the human being cries. 

Baby, I must admit moving on is a crazy nightmare 

Especially when I’m thinking of all the memories that we once shared. 

I only have one regret, I wonder if your love was true. 

I wonder if what you mean for me is what I mean to you. 

Mattia Robustiano 

48 

I loved the kid within him 

So pure and sweet 

The hurt in his eyes 

His rosy red cheeks 

The tender way he spoke that 

Showed me he cared 

The touch of his glowing hand 

That gently touched my hair 

The smiles and laughs we shared 

That filled my life with delight 

When I was with him 

I found the kid in me 

Elizabeth Giacchetta 

Design by: Evelyn Bohl

There’s Something Wrong 

There’s something wrong with the economy. 

The recession, is quite depressin’ 

Remember the 1930s? 

I thought we’d learned our lesson. 

There’s something wrong with politics. 

It makes me sick, 

How we can start a war, 

But yet let the teachers become poor. 

There’s something wrong with the president 

All he does is sit in his chair and make a dent. 

What happened to all the promises you made? 

Oh well, the bombs were a raid. 

There’s something wrong with the Libyans, 

Didn’t you know violence was a sin, 

Against your own religion? 

Think about your revolution again. 

There’s something wrong with the world. 

I wish I were still a little girl who didn’t understand, 

What was going on throughout the land. 

I just wish all the bad things could be banned. 

Halie DeMasi 

Design by: Christine Love 

49 

Life is High school 

Life is high school. 

Facing criticism from all because you’re different. 

Learning Life lessons. 

Trying to get ahead of everyone. 

Life is High school. 

Everyone dressing the same. 

Trying to be popular. 

Trying to win the title “Prom queen.” 

Life is high school. 

The same the kids getting bullied. 

The same comments “you’ll never get there.” 

The same feeling of “here we go again.” 

And “not again.” 

The same exhaustion of this place. 

“Why am I here again?” 

Life is High school. 

Corinne Kochan

artwork by: 


Short Fiction 

That’s All It Takes 

A young woman sat outside and waited on a bench fiddling 

with her long bright blond hair. She sat there with 

dignity and grace. Her bright blue eyes, that seemed as 

if they were glistening sapphire gems, watched the small 

family of birds fly through the trees. This was a good 

spot for her to think, were she can be outside her doors 

instead of staying all day in her boring estate. She closed 

her eyes and dreamed of her dream life, she demanded 

to go outside of the usual routine and visit the world, to 

see Spain, Italy, and Greece, even China. Anywhere but 

here, this town has too much pain for her to bear. A short 

sigh flows out of her as she looks up to find a group of 

young girls walking by giggling under their bonnets. 

Finally they left and it was peaceful again. Her eyes closed 

once more. 

“Ma’am? Madam?” 

Her eyes slowly opened to see a man in front of her, “Yes?” 

He was in total shock to see her eyes, she supposed, and gave an annoyed look. After a moment he blinked 

a few times in a row and then his mouth opened again, “A-are you ok miss? I noticed you were sitting there for 

hours and with your eyes closed.” 

She rolled her eyes then looked back into his dark brown eyes and replied, “I am in perfect shape sir, now, if 

you’ll excuse me, I would like to live the rest of my day in peace.” She shot a glare that made him flinch a small bit. 

His eyes bolted down in annoyance as well. “Well ma’am, I have seen you here for days and I’ve seemed to 

have grown a bit of interest about you.” 

“Hmmm, I’m sure you have, many people do, since I am not a normal person.” she raised a brow surprised 

that he has not run away with his tail between his legs, like a mutt in the streets. 

This young lady was not like other women who would hide themselves as soon as they slip on their corset. 

“I see no interest in myself therefore there is not much to say, I live a boring life day after day there is no change. 

Talking to me is just a waste of your time.” 

He leaned forward towards her with his hand out in front. In it he was clutching the stem of a rose. The petals 

were all close together at the base and loosened at the tip. He went down to one knee and placed it in her loose 

hands lying on her lap. Her eyes widened as she watched him place it. “Just looking into your eyes gives me interest. 

There’s so much beauty I see to just be sitting here so alone, and to tell me you have such a boring life? I wish to be 

here so I may make your life not so... painful.” He stood back up looking at her with a smile, “My name is John Higgins.” 

She looked at John still surprised. He waited patiently for her response. It took time, for his words to soak 

into her she took a deep breath and looked at him deeply bringing up strength, “I... I am Violette Valentine,” she 

was still seated. 

His smile grew larger as he gave a slight bow and took her gloved hand to kiss. “It was a pleasure talking 

with you Violette.” He spoke so sweetly, her heart started to flutter. He grinned and walked down the path and 

faded in the light fog that formed over the large pond in the middle of the park. 

50

Violette looked back down at the rose, “Is he for real?” she mouthed. The children’s chatter start up 

again. Louder and louder it grew as the small group of girls came closer. Their teacher, who seemed too young 

to teach, was flirting with other men. The girls were on their own walking in a small clump. The one girl in front 

seemed to be the most popular while the others followed her every move. Then she spotted Violette’s rose, her 

eyes glistened. Quickly she ran and snatched it from Violette’s hand. “Oh this is pretty miss,” she said in her little 

young voice. “Who gave it to you?” Violette was speechless she watched the girls every move making sure the 

rose was safe, “Um... a man, May I please have that back?” She slowly reached closer to the rose. 

The girl gripped onto the rose tighter stepping back, giving Violette an angry pout. Violette glared back 

reaching more and faster trying to snatch it from the girl. The little girl jumped back and made a heart wrenching 

scream. She held out her finger and on the pad a small slit formed. It was outlined with a red color. She reached 

over and gripped onto the rose. Her long blond hair flowed with the breeze. Her fingers wrapped around the 

rose with an index finger touching on of the bright red petals. She has a terrible secret the must not be told to 

the world. Silent amongst others she sat in the far off corner fiddling with her hair. Her bright blue eyes startled 

most around her. With a large sigh through her black corset, she fell onto the ground and stared at the trees, her 

hair flowing all around her head and over her face, but she didn’t care. All she did care about was this rose and 

the man who gave it to her... 

This rose was something more than a desperate attempt to get her attention, she could feel it. “What 

do you want?” she whispered to the rose. Looking at it desperately as if it could answer her. Spinning it between 

her fingers, she looked deeply into it. The sharp red color was mesmerizing. The wind blew and pulled her hair 

over her eyes. The blond locks blocked her view from this interesting object. The red petals felt like a soft, fragile 

piece of a moist cloth against her skin. At least she remembered the feel, she missed it so. She lightly brushed 

the peddles against her lips Pulling her hair away from her eyes, looked up to see the bright sunset. The horizon 

looked like a painting made by the heart. 

Day after day she waited on the bench the rose in her hair. It was able to stay put and hold back her hair. She 

sat in the same spot and every day, he would come with a smile. He would take her hand and hold it closely. 

Tia Guarneri 

What moves men of genius, 

or rather what inspires their work, 

is not new ideas but their obsession 

with the idea that what has already 

been said is still not enough. 

Eugene Delacroix 

1798-1863 

artwork by: 

Brandy Toler 

51

The Pen Click 

The pen in the next cubicle clicked every seven seconds; she had counted as she read the portfolio that had 

been slapped on her desk this morning. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7...click. She wondered what could possibly be worse than this 

constant sound, maybe water torture she mused as she scanned the paper trying to find the line she had been reading. 

Click. Her brain rattled, she’d been working all day and with the new addition of this portfolio would enjoy a busy night 

at the office. She shot a tired glance at the wool cushioned couch; it would be her only luxury tonight. Dang did she hate 

her boss, that sadistic paper pushing jerk. Not that she had anything exciting to go back to at home, just her one room 

studio, with the paint peeling in the corner. It was just the simple fact that he thought he could take advantage of her 

that pushed her to the brink. After three years of working for the marketing company she thought she’d at least reap the 

same seniority benefits of her co-workers. She was undoubtedly mistaken; she gripped the paper tightly wrinkles rippling 

across the corners of the neatly printed cover. 

Click. 

She wondered who was in the cubical beside her; whoever it was she’d like to give them a piece of her mind. The 

day ticked by, each set of seven seconds outlined by the deafening click of a pen. Was this person ever going to leave? 

She’d never finish this portfolio at the rate she was going. Her mind began to wander, as one by one her co-workers 

clocked out sending a mocking wave in her direction. The pen clicking however, stayed strong. Her head started to outline 

the rhythm it clicked out. Pulse, Click, Pulse, click. A half an hour later she threw down the papers in defeat. She was 

done with this nonsense. Quickly she popped her head over the cubical and began to shout “You know you have some 

fricking nerve what the- nobody was there. The cubical was entirely empty devoid of even the most simplistic office 

supplies. She couldn’t believe it, she must be crazy, overworked, sleep deprived, and this was all her boss’s fault! A soft, 

feather like, chill rested on her shoulders like a gently knit sweater. She got up determined to find the source of the pen 

click. She weaved in and out of cubicles, poked her head in conference rooms, and rummaged through the copy room. 

Her search rendered no evidence of anybody beside herself in the office. Running a hand through her hair she sighed, 

exasperated. Planting herself back in her office chair she tried to calm down by taking deep and slow breaths like some 

sort of yogi. 

The portfolio, yes she had to stay concentrated on her work. However her pounding head had other ideas, frantically 

she searched her drawers for her secret stash of aspirin. With clammy hands she fished out two white pills and 

gulped them down, feeling them fall into the pit of her stomach. Maybe she should lie down? She heard a sound, vibrant 

and loud to her ears which were only accustomed to a pen click. The elevator door had opened. Slowly cautiously she 

took the pair of scissors from her pencil jar and made her way over to the elevator. She thought she had been the only 

one here, that the elevators had been turned off for the night. But there sat the velvet lined elevator, doors open light 

hovering on the 5th floor, nobody inside. The closing of the doors made her jump. Putting a hand on her chest, she tried 

to quiet her fragile heart. In the reflection of the steel-faced doors, she saw something move. Whipping around with a 

fear-given speed she pointed the scissors in a shaky defiance. The conference room loomed before her like a dark mass, 

eager to consume her; she could feel the darkness tugging at the dim lighting that came from her office lamp, a finger 

waving “come here”. Her nerves convulsed, body quaked, and mind spun like broken marry-go-round, unable to stop. 

The pen click sounded louder as if it were in her very ear. From out of the darkness an object rolled to her feel, a small 

blue ballpoint pen. She screamed, clutching at her ears, tearing at her face trying to mentally push back the blackness 

until the dark conference room, the office and the pen clicking ate her up. 

* * * * * 

“How long has she been like this Doctor?” the white-coated lab assistant asked as he clicked open a pen to take 

notes. 

“She gets these fits every so often; I’ve never been able to figure out the cause.” Dr. Garrison flipped through the 

paper attached to his clip board. Sylvia Keller, 28, female admitted for hysterical hallucinations. She had been here for 

over 6 months. The doctor watched the young woman who frantically fought the nurse who tried to deliver a sedative. 

“It’s clicking! It’s clicking! Make it stop!” she cried. The doctor documented this, then clicked his pen closed and exited 

the testing room. 

Danya Benson 

52

53 

Destination: Antarctica 

In fear of what may happen in the time approaching, I 

document it is 1:30:36 on February 3rd 2016. I have been on 

the run from this plague since my freshman year at the university. 

I have spent years running from those who are infected by 

the disease, and no answers have come about on how to stop 

it. I have spent the past eleven months living in boarded up 

grocery stores and abandoned farmhouses, running from what 

seems to have spread across nations. They appear to be weak 

and cold blooded, though they have great strength, a keen 

sense of smell, and seem to travel in packs. I am greatly outnumbered 

by the number of the diseased and I don’t believe 

I can fight for much longer. My research has resolved a safe 

house in the center of Antarctica. I have driven, swam, even 

flown the greatest distance, and battled many herds of infection. 

With the battles I’ve conquered, one would believe I was 

Alexander The Great destined to take over Persia. And now that 

I’m here, at the safe house my studies have led me to, I see there is no one here. At first I imagined I was 

the first to have arrived, now I understand that I am the last one standing. I am the last of the human 

race, the only one with a functional brain and a beating heart. This feeling is worse than the desperation 

I felt traveling here. Before today there was hope for a new world, now I see everyone is gone. I wish I 

could return to my loving family and my amazing friends. Those were my comrades, my amigos, and we 

were unstoppable. And to Tanna, she meant the world to me. Her beautiful smile and loving warmth 

could save me on any day that is . . . until now. Now my fingers are frozen to the tip, and I cannot keep 

my eyes open much longer. I am the last one; and I gave it the hardest fight I could. I go in honor. 

Nicholas DeOrio 

My Salutation 

When I first came into high School, I was 

always scared about the older kids and all the 

new classes, but what really made me nervous 

was my fear of losing what makes me who I am. 

Getting older meant taking on new responsibilities, 

while I leaving behind the kid in me. Here I 

am, four years later, and I am a new me without 

losing my youth. Through the best of times and 

worst of times, I was able to keep going and 

make plenty of new friends along the way. We 

all tell a different story. No two are alike, through 

many are very similar. I will never forget who 

I’ve met and what I learned in the halls of this high 

Abby Hess 

school, because the deepest secret in these walls is a vital piece of information they will keep me going 

for a long time: Never forget who you are, never forget where you came from, and never forget the 

events un your life that make you who you are today. I’ve made some of the greatest friends here in a 

following of the noblest men. My heart lies in the future of these students. I hope the kids here can live 

in my word of hope and spread love and make friends of sworn enemies and treat everyone equally with 

the greatest respect. To make a bond among friends that no war could overcome a friendship four years 

strong. So everybody, don’t forget me and don’t forget what I’ve told you here. This life is what you make 

of it. Write this book and make your own history. 

Nicholas DeOrio

Crash 

The headlights go out; the U-haul we are pulling is causing the car to swerve. We are thrown into the other lane and 

then off the road. Down a hill our car rolls further and further, glass flying through the air, past my face. The seat belt 

loosening I slip through, I crash through the side window and lay on the ground unconscious. The coldness piercing 

my skin I struggle to get up, pain fills my body burning every bone, every muscle. I open my eyes but only see blurry 

figures. Figures stopping on the road above, figures running down the hill, they were pointing and screaming over and 

over, call 911. Tears ran down my cheek, I was so scared. I didn’t know what was going on, where was my family, my 

sisters, my mother, are they dead. My eyes gaining focus, I saw the car sitting on its side all smashed up, smoke rising 

above it. I looked around and caught sight of one of my little sisters lying on the ground silent, motion less. Tears were 

racing down my cheek soaking my face. I scream out loud “please God let my family still be alive, please don’t leave 

me here alone, please”! I tried to crawl over to her but I could not move my body frozen in pain and shock. I could not 

feel my arm, my heel was cut open, and I could taste the blood rolling down from my fractured nose. I see a man racing 

towards me; he was tall with brown hair and had a look of distress on his face. He knelt by me and told me everything 

was going to be okay. I just keep saying over and over “I can’t feel my arm, I want my sisters, I want my mom”. He didn’t 

say anything more to me; he just looked at other people screaming at them asking when the ambulance would be 

here. I looked over the man’s shoulder when I saw my second oldest sister come slowly walking out from around the 

side of the car, her face covered in blood. She saw me sitting up and then she looked over to where my little sister was 

lying. She rushed to her and held her in her arms tight, crying heavily until my little sisters’ hair was soaked. My oldest 

sister, seconds later, came around from the side of the car then my other sister and then the other one. People rushing 

to our aid telling us the ambulance was on its way. All of us sat in a circle and looked at each other with fear, we were 

all praying to God for the same thing...that we will come out of this unbroken. The sirens in the distance gave us a small 

bit of hope. They were getting closer to us and then finally arrived at the top of the hill. Two more came racing after 

the first one and stopped next to each other. A crowd of people gathered at the edge of the road and in between cars, 

looking over other peoples shoulder, all wanting to see what happened. The first paramedic came rushing to us but he 

stopped about a foot away and looked at the car. The look of worry on his face told me he knew that there was still one 

more person to be rescued from the car. He looked back up to the other paramedics yelling, “Everyone to the car, there 

is still one more person!” 

We watched as they ran to our smashed up car. They looked in the window and we knew that they found our mom. 

“Bring wire cutters, and something to cut this car door off with”, said one of the paramedics. 

There was so many people running around, so much confusion that I could not keep up. I only heard the sounds 

of pain and distress, felt the touch of the paramedic’s sympathetic hand on my shoulder. While paramedics and cops 

worked on getting my mom out of the car, two came over to my sisters and I and started with the little ones’ first to the 

oldest. He took a look at my youngest sister who still in my other sisters’ tight grip. She still was motion less, silent. 

“We need life flight here now”, he screamed. “Get the damn helicopters here ASAP”! 

A loud pop and all of our heads turned in unison; they were able to get the door off and were now heading into the 

car to get our mom. 

“Hand me the wire cutters”, said the paramedic as he held out his hand. 

The guy went further into the car till we could not see him anymore. A loud piercing scream that made the earth 

shatter and tears fill my eyes. My body radiating heat and my heart beating so fast I could not breathe. I could feel my 

mothers’ pain; her screams so loud breaking the hearts of all that could hear. The paramedics just reassured us that everything 

was going to be okay. I was getting sick of that word, my mother was still screaming, all of us kids bloody and 

broken, we were not okay. Okay, okay, what does that mean, look at us, do we look okay. I look back over towards our 

car and all the paramedics are carefully helping get my mom out of the car and strapped to a backboard. The sound 

of the helicopter and the gust of wind upon my face as it lands. My mom and my little sister are both rushed into 

the helicopter. If flew away, disappearing in the distance, I got scared. What would happen to my sisters and I, where 

are we going, when will we see our mother and sister again. A few minutes later my sisters and I were strapped into 

backboards and put into three different ambulances. We raced down the highway to somewhere unknown. I stared at 

the ceiling of the ambulance and thought, what is going to happen to us, will we see our mother again, and if so when? 

These questions racing through my mind, but the one question that I am asking myself over and over is...will we be 

okay? 

Kresten Ballantyne 

54

Definition of unconditional love 

Love... We think about it, sing about it, dream about it, and lose sleep over it. When we don’t know 

we have it, we search for it. When we discover it, we don’t know what tk do with it. When we have it, we 

fear losing it. It is the constant source of pleasure and pain. But we don’t know which it will be from one 

moment to the next. Love is a short word, easy to spell, difficult to define, and impossible to live without. 

Love is as much as an object as an obsession, everybody wants it, everybody seeks it, but few ever achieve 

it, Those who do... Will cherish it, be lost in it, and among all never forget it. And if it all falls apart I will 

know, deep in my heart, the only dream that mattered to me had come true and that is I was loved by you. 

Some of the greater things in life are kept unseen that is why you kiss cry or dream. I am nothing special; 

of this I am sure. I am just a common person with common thoughts. There are no monuments dedicated 

to me and once I die my name will be soon forgotten. But I have loved another with all my heart and soul, 

so to me that has always be enough. My heart to you is given, so please give me yours, we’ll lock them up 

and throw away the key. My love, death cannot stop true love; it can only delay it for a little while. And if I 

had to choose between living and breathing, I would use my last breath to say I love you, and to me that is 

the definition of unconditional love. 

Kaylee Le Buis 

55 

Megan Reese

Book I: ReAction 

Prologue 

The year is 2473 A.D., and an alien dictator has risen to power. He calls himself Gold, and all he wants is to enslave or 

destroy all of humanity. The Academy of Advanced Soldiers has selected their best soldiers to run an infiltration mission 

to Goldinia, the planet where Gold resides. They were given the Z-925, the best starship in the military’s fleet, and a 

crew of twenty nine people. They are humanity’s last hope. If they fail, may Gold have mercy on us all. 

Chapter I 

The Z-925 sat at the base of the launch track, it’s body shimmering with the morning sun. Crowds had gathered to 

watch their last hope for survival blast into deep space. Anyone could sense the tension from a mile away, but then 

again, everyone was a mile away from the launch track. All the real tension was in the bridge though, as the two inhabitants 

were strapping in. 

The pilot, Antari, was about twenty two years old and didn’t have much to show for it besides a liver that wasn’t his 

and several scars from one bar fight. His cool gray eyes were covered by his long red hair. Cremitoris, the ships co-pilot 

and the team’s squad leader, was also twenty two and had been decorated with the medal of honor for saving several 

civilians from a burning building a few years ago, he also had a mechanical leg because a large beam crushed his own. 

His blue eyes were focused on the control panels in front of him and his long brown hair was tied back with a headband. 

The ships front window turned dark and a video COM channel was opened, a man’s face appeared and it bore a look 

of fear, “I trust all readings are in the green?” The man asked. Cremitoris saluted the man and Antari rolled his eyes, “Sir, 

yes sir. Commander Willow, sir.” Commander Willow looked at a clipboard then spoke again, “Alright boys, everything 

looks good. We’re on schedule and there seems to be no malfunctions. We’re going to light that tin can you’re in within 

the next few minutes. Tell your crew.” After that the front window was transparent again. 

Cremitoris picked up a microphone and turned it on, and after tapping it to make sure it was operational, cleared his 

throat and spoke, “Attention, this is your squad leader Major Cremitoris. All crew members are to return to their stations 

and brace themselves,” Antari leaned over, grabbed the microphone, and shouted, “ Cuz it’s gonna be one hell of 

a ride!” He tossed the microphone back to Cremitoris who wasn’t amused at all. Cremitoris turned the microphone off 

and put it back in its place. 

The engines roared and the powerful starship ran up the launch track. In an instant the Z-925 was airborne. On the 

inside Antari was making preparations to turn off the auto pilot. He turned to Cremitoris, “Are you ready?” Cremitoris 

tightened his seat harness and said, “Not really, but I know you’re going to anyway...” Antari flipped a switch and the 

ship began to descend rapidly. Cremitoris looked at the monitors and said, “What the hell happened?!” Antari just 

laughed and pulled the yoke back making the ship ascend quickly. Everything was going pretty smoothly until the main 

alarms began to blare. 

“Gimme a full system diagnostic!” Antari shouted. Cremitoris pulled up the main system control monitor, looked at 

it, then said, “Engines at ninety four percent power, shielding at eighty six percent.” Antari was getting tense, Cremitoris 

was tightening the straps that were holding him to his seat. The alarms continued to blare, and they got louder. Antari 

looked at Cremitoris again, “Update me.” Cremitoris looked at the monitor again, “Engines at ninety percent power, 

shielding at eighty percent.” The ship began to shake violently, and the alarms continued to ring. Antari was getting annoyed, 

he pulled out his pistol, and without looking, shot the alarm and it broke, “There, much better.” he said. Cremitoris 

laughed, “Now why couldn’t you do that during training?” Antari tossed the pistol aside, “Cuz I wasn’t pissed off.” 

The ship’s interior lighting began to flicker, Antari slammed his fist on the control panel, “Gimme the goddamned 

status!” Cremitoris kept his eyes on the monitors, hoping to find something less disappointing to report. With lack of 

good news, he simply gave the current status, “Engines at fifty percent, shielding at forty eight percent.” The shaking 

kept getting worse, and Antari flipped a switch. Everything went dark. The only light came from Cremitoris’ monitors and 

a small battery operated light above Antari. He looked at Cremitoris, “Now update me.” Cremitoris looked at the monitor 

in awe, “Engines at seventy five percent power, shields at sixty two percent power. Now, what did you do?” Antari 

pushed a button and the ship accelerated “I turned off all non vital systems. Life support, your monitor, and the fuel 

pumps remained active. How much further until we pass through the atmosphere?” Cremitoris pulled a different screen 

up on his monitor, “Exactly two hundred seventy six thousand meters.” 

Antari spoke again, “Alright, prep the afterburners. When I tell you to, activate them.” Cremitoris looked at Antari, “I 

am the squad leader here, I’ll give the orders.” Antari clenched his hands on the yoke, “Right now, I’m in charge. Once 

we’re on Goldinia, you’re the boss. But now, what I say is law!” Cremitoris didn’t know what to say, this was the first 

time Antari had retaliated in such a manner, plus he had a point. It was his job to deliver them all to Goldinia in one 

piece, at any cost. 

56

Suddenly one of the soldiers opened the door, “Permission to 

speak sir!?” Cremitoris waved his hand, “You can dispense with the 

formalities for now private, speak.” The soldier entered the bridge and 

shut the door, “We’ve been boarded sir, one of our video images show 

a large breach in the hull of the ship.” Cremitoris pulled up the ships 

schematics, “Where is this breach?” “Near the engineering section.” 

Said the soldier. Cremitoris turned to Antari, “How much longer?” Antari 

shrugged his shoulders, “Maybe nine minutes.” Cremitoris loaded 

a pistol and sighed, “Alright, you get a team together and kill whatever 

it is. After we’re through the atmosphere, I’ll come and help with 

the cleanup.” The soldier saluted and left. 

Cremitoris turned to the microphone and turned it on, “I need 

Ben Scarff 

the best mechanic in the bridge, on the double!” Cremitoris turned 

the mic off and turned his gaze back to his monitor. Within moments a man ran through the door. He was not wearing a 

typical uniform, he was wearing grease covered overalls and a ragged orange t-shirt. His dirty blonde hair fell to his shoulders 

and his hazel eyes sat behind a pair of thin glasses. “You rang?” He asked. Cremitoris turned to face the mechanic, “Yes 

I did. What is your name and rank?” The mechanic removed his glasses and wiped them off with a dirty rag, put them back 

on, and spoke, “My name is Marklar, I am the top ranked mechanic on this ship, and the third best mechanic on Earth.” 

Cremitoris pointed to the schematics, “We have a hull breach in engineering, I need you to take a crew of mechanics, and 

a few soldiers for protection, down there and patch that hole.” Marklar looked at the schematics and nodded, “Shouldn’t be 

too hard to fix up. I’ll need suits for my crew.” Cremitoris pulled up an armory screen on his monitor, “You’ll be given clearance 

to the service elevator and the armory. Mechanic suits are black and orange. Good luck.” Marklar left the bridge and 

Antari turned to Cremitoris, “Update me.” Cremitoris pulled up the engines screen, “Engines have decreased to sixty percent 

power, shielding holding at sixty two percent power.” Antari sighed, “Activate the afterburners.” Cremitoris pressed a button 

and the ships speed increased. 

The ship’s shaking worsened, and Antari kept his focus on his controls. Normally, there should be two pilots aboard 

a vessel like the Z-925, but Antari was the best. If he couldn’t get this ship to Goldinia, any two pilots couldn’t do much 

better. Antari turned to Cremitoris, “Update. Now.” Cremitoris refreshed the screen on his monitor, “Engines down to forty 

seven percent power, shielding steady at sixty two percent.” Antari tightened his grip, “Come on girl, hold in there.” The ship 

continued to shake violently. Cremitoris refreshed his monitor, “Engines down to thirty six percent, shielding down to sixty 

percent.” Antari was irritated, “Every simulation was so smooth, so simple. Now, I’m not sure if we’re gonna make it through 

our own atmosphere.” 

Cremitoris checked his watch, “It’s been six minutes, so I think you’ll make it.” He refreshed the monitor, “Also, engines 

have dropped to twenty five percent power, shielding down to fifty percent power.” Antari clenched his teeth, sweat was 

forming on his brow. Cremitoris continued to refresh the monitor. Finally, the shaking ceased. Antari checked a small screen, 

“We are through the atmosphere. To your left you will see stars, to your right are more stars and in front of us is, wow! More 

freakin’ stars!” He said it sarcastically. 

Cremitoris sighed as he unlocked his seat harness and loaded a submachine gun, “Well, mister tour guide, there is no 

need to stay here, when we have a stow away in engineering.” Antari nodded, unlocked his seat harness, and picked up the 

pistol that Cremitoris loaded, “By the way, how much power does the ship have left?” Cremitoris leaned over and checked 

the monitor, “Engines at-” The power cut out. All the lights went dark. “Zero percent power.” Cremitoris finished as he lit the 

flashlight on his gun. Antari followed Cremitoris and lit the light on his pistol. 

“Alright, now we play by my rules. We’ll make our way down to the armory, pick up a suit for each of us, and then we try 

to make contact with that soldier.” Cremitoris said as he walked to the bridge door. Antari followed close behind him, “What 

about restoring power?” Cremitoris turned around to face Antari, “That is a secondary objective. What I say is law, so do not 

disobey me.” He opened the door and a soldier ran up to them, “Sirs! It is not safe out here, I ask that you both return to the 

bridge.” Cremitoris walked past the soldier, “Like hell I’m going to let you have all the fun. I told another soldier that I would 

help finish off whatever boarded us.” The soldier nodded and stepped aside. 

Antari and Cremitoris walked down a short hallway until they came to two elevators. One door was grey, the other 

was black. The grey elevator was the crew elevator, and the black one was the service elevator. They entered the crew elevator 

and it went down one level. They got off and found themselves on the crew deck. Several soldiers ran past them toward 

the armory. Cremitoris followed them, “One of you, any of you, status report. Now.” One of the soldiers stopped running 

and saluted Cremitoris, “Sir. This thing is a perfect killer. None of our men can see what’s coming at them. This, I may add, is 

a huge waste of time and resources sir.” Cremitoris sighed. 

57

“Alright soldier, what’s your name, rank, and area of expertise?” The soldier checked his watch before answering, 

“My name is Johndro, I am sergeant and an expert in the field of heavy weaponry.” Cremitoris put his hand on Johndro’s 

shoulder and looked at his face, his brown eyes looked a bit blood shot and his hair was cut short. “Alright sergeant, 

suit up, grab a rocket launcher, and take a team to protect the bridge.” Cremitoris said. Johndro nodded and ran to the 

armory. 

Cremitoris turned to Antari, “We’re going to the med-lab. I want to see the injured soldiers.” They ran toward the 

armory but stopped a few feet from it. Next to the armory was a door with a red plus sign on it. The red cross had been 

a symbol for medics for years, and things haven’t changed. Cremitoris opened the door and a woman was tending to an 

injured soldier. She turned to face them, her brown eyes looked tired and overworked. Her hair was orange, and fell just 

below her neck. “Look,” she began, “I am really busy, so unless you’re here to give me a hand sir, I need to ask you to 

leave.” 

Cremitoris approached her, “Name and rank ma’am.” She turned back to the soldier and started to wrap his wound 

with a bandage, “Name is Tarin, I’m the chief medic aboard this vessel, anything dealing with medicine goes through 

me first.” She tied off the bandage and moved on to the next soldier. Antari picked up a scalpel and tried to balance 

it on his finger. Cremitoris slapped Antari on the back of the head, the tool fell to the floor. “I’ll be out of your way as 

soon as you answer a few questions ma’am.” Cremitoris said as he put the scalpel back on a table. Tarin sighed, “I like 

long walks on the beach, smooth jazz, want exactly two point five kids, and a cute little house with a white picket fence. 

There, now please, these soldiers need my full attention.” She injected a needle into a soldier’s arm and then moved on 

to the next one. 

Cremitoris scratched his head, “That isn’t what I wanted to know, but thank you for sharing. What I came here to 

find out is what kind of injuries these soldiers are retaining?” Tarin shook her head, “I’ve never seen an injury quite 

so devastating. Close range strike. Almost, primitive. I’ll need to analyze the data later, but I don’t think the attacker is 

using a gun.” Cremitoris nodded, “Thank you. This will help us. Now, my next question is where are the other medics?” 

Tarin laughed, “That’s a good one. I’m the only chief medic on this ship. The other medics all had combat training, so 

they went to fight when more soldiers came in. I haven’t heard from them since.” 

Cremitoris seemed upset, “Commander Willow should’ve put more medics on this ship. But thank you. The information 

you’ve provided us with is very helpful.” Tarin waved her hand and the two left. Antari sighed, “So, now what?” 

Cremitoris opened the armory door and they entered. “Well,” he said, “We need to find those medics, take care of that 

thing, and make sure the mechanics aren’t dead.” Antari was putting on red armor over his black jumpsuit. It looked like 

standard soldier armor, but it was more sleek, perfect for a pilot. Cremitoris put on blue armor over his golden jumpsuit. 

It was bulkier and covered more than standard soldier armor, yet it did not restrict movement. Their armor suits 

both contained boots, leg protectors, pelvic and torso plating, arm and shoulder armor, and a unique helmet. Antari’s 

helmet had a large visor that allowed him to see in all directions. Cremitoris’ helmet had software in it that could allow 

him to analyze a battlefield and prepare tactics with ease. Antari picked up a shotgun, slung it over his back, and picked 

up a second pistol. Cremitoris holstered his submachine gun and took a battle rifle. 

“Are we all set?” Cremitoris asked. Antari nodded. They both ran out of the armory and back to the crew elevator. 

They got on and it went up a level. They got off and Johndro saluted them. He was wearing green armor and standing 

by the bridge door with a team of four soldiers. Cremitoris and Antari turned to the service elevator and got on. It too 

went down one level then stopped, but the doors no longer opened automatically. Cremitoris banged his fist on the 

door, nothing. The doors were already opened a crack. Cremitoris put his hand in the crack, “Antari, put your hand in 

here. I’ll pull to the left, you pull to the right.” Antari nodded and did as he was told. With his hand securely in the door, 

Cremitoris spoke again, “We need to pull at the same time. On three?” Antari nodded. Cremitoris sighed, “Alright then, 

one,” he tightened his grip, “two,” he clenched his teeth, “three!” They both pulled as hard as they could, and the doors 

flew open. 

Anthony Miller 

58

Best-selling author visits Mohonasen High School 

March 17, 2011 

On Tuesday, March 15, New York Times best-selling author Ellen Hopkins 

spoke to nearly 600 students and faculty in the Mohonasen High 

School auditorium. 

Hopkins told the true story behind her novels Crank, Glass, and Fallout—which 

chronicle her daughter’s on-going methamphetamine 

addiction. She also talked about her life as a writer, as well as how she 

researched and wrote her other novels. 

After her presentation, Hopkins fielded numerous questions before signing 

books for a long line of students. 

Following this event, 20 students and other fans of Hopkins’ attended 

a “working lunch” in the high school library. Here they had a chance to 

talk one-on-one with one of their favorite authors. 

Afterwards, Hopkins held a writing workshop with 30 ninth graders. The 

students wrote about moments that changed their lives and received feedback and encouragement. 

Hopkins visit was made possible in part by a grant from the Mohonasen Foundation for Excellence. 

59 

Sisson, Roberts win 

Annual/Graduation speaker contest 

April 11, 2011 

The 21st annual Graduation Speaker Contest 

for the Class of 2011 was held on Monday 

April 11. Student contestants were: Shelby 

Leonard, Russell Roberts, Garret Sisson and 

JeZsaNay Stevens. 

Judges for the competition included FOX 23’s 

Rich Becker, CBS 6’s Steve LaPointe, Susan 

Whitaker of the Schenectady County Museum 

and Planetarium and Judge Douglas Griset. 

The two winners of the competition were 

Garret Sisson and Russell Roberts. They will 

both be keynote speakers at this year’s commencement ceremonies at Proctor’s Theatre on Saturday, 

June 25. JeZsaNay Stevens will give the greeting at graduation and Shelby Leonard will deliver the farewell 

for the ceremony. 

-----------------------------------------------------------

Richard Zimmerman, Deanna Pfau, Anastasia DeLancey, Erinn O’Brien, Antonio D’Elia, Tom Rorick, 

John Silal, Amed Wise, Danellie Jachlewski, Sam Pouchak, Andrew Barndt, Tia Guarneri, Amanda 

Bartik, Becky Quinn, Brittney Fusco, Kayla, Jessie, Anthony Diederich-Smith, Daniel Planty, Sean 

Ouillette, Zach, Breanna Bieleki, Evelyn Bohl, Danya Benson, Theresa Whittemore, Lea McClain, 

Jessica Deweese, Garrett Sisson, Gianluca Puorto, Mellissa Piscetella, Jenna Zabrowski, Marissa 

Lavem, Haley Simpson, Shane Connell, Robbie Ogilvie, Michelle Baldwin 

(Not all senior students in art are shown here) 

60

Visual Artists 


Abigail Hess 

Adam Mahan 


Alexis Gage 

Alexis Tasso 


Allen Collins 


Amanda Bartik 


Amanda Peart 

Andrew Barndt 


Ashley Horn 

Ben Scarff 

Breanna Bielecki 

Brooke Demarest 

Brooke Doherty 

Cameron McDermit 

Carley Mulley 

Cassie Chamberlain 


Cati Hendron 

Chad Bardin 

Chelsea Reed 





Danya Benson 

Deanna Boiari 

Emily Reutter 

Evelyn Bohl 

Felicia Wingle 

Gabby Domian 

Gabby Semento 

Impressions 

Gianluna Puorto 

Gianni DiCocco 

Grant Massaroni 

Gregory Fiozzo 


Haley Simpson 

Hannah Willey 

Jenni Gagne 

Jenna Ziobrowski 

Jennifer Ziobrowski 


Jess Deweese 

Jessica Stewart 

Jessie Lombombard 

John Miller 

John Wilson 

Josh Thomas 

Julie Riley 


Kaley Thapa 

Kayla Boniecki 


Kelly Moran 

Kelsey Shive 



Lea McClain 


Marissa Laven 

Matthew Miller 

Megan Reese 




Michelle So 

Morgan Miller 

Morgan Papa 

My My Lieu 

Nicole Marsh 

Nicole Valley 

Nina DeLoreto 

Ohanleon Gordan 

Olivia Cafarelli 

Paul Witckitch 


Rachel Nadareski 

Rachel Suflita 

Rayshawn Jones 

Reba Greene 


Robb Ogilvie 

Ryan Corbitt 

Ryan Haake 

Samantha Hall 

Santana Rorick 

Sapphire Stefaniak 

Sarah Jackson 

Selina Dunn 

Sarah Van der Wouden 

Saviaon Parson 


Shane Connell 

Shanti Bhoge 

Shyanne DeLacey 

Shayla Brewer 

Sierra Woodward 

Stephen DiIorio 

Sylvia Mach 

Taylor DelNegro 

Taylor Piscitella 

Taylor Valley 


Thomas Shuler 

Tia Guarneri 

Tiaja Harris 

Tomasina Burch 

Velma Monroe 



Vicky Hsu 

Vittorio Stocchetti 

Will DiIori 

Zack Stoddard 

Zackary Smith 

Cover art by: 

Robb Ogilvie 

Literary Artists 

Alexis Willey 

Amanda Bartik 


Carley Mulley 

Danya Benson 

Elizabeth Giacchetta 

Je Zsa Nay Stevens 

Jenni Gagne 


Lea McClain 

Mattia Robustiano 

Nick DeOrio 


Tia Guarneri 

Valerie Tommasone 

Artist to Artist, 

Inspiration & Advice 

from Artist Past & Present, 

Compiled by Clint Brown, 

Jackson Creek Press, 

Corvallis Oregon 1998

Printed By

impressions 2011 (pdf) - Mohonasen Central School District

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