VIGNETTE EXAMPLES
SAMPLES OF A FEW VIGNETTES STUDENTS HAVE WRITTEN
Boxing Bag
Stunted actions due to anticipation. The inability to perform daily functions until the restless
soul within is given a medium through which it may escape. Inevitable torture of the mind. These are
the symptoms that continually plague me each and every day. It is not until I release the energy stored
that I may steadily hold out my hand. Or maybe they tremble because of the ruptured cells and nerves.
No matter the reason, the boxing bag and my own body have undergone fusion for one is not complete
without the other. A day is wasted without a friendly visit to the bowels of my basement where all the
blood and sweat are shed. Try as I might my mind may not stray without its fix. Thoughts stomping on
the interior surfaces of the skull begging to be comprehended and acted upon. Continual restlessness
Though this is not the case today. No, time has ceased. The shackles of burden and stress
offered by the world have been broken, only temporarily. Yet such time is truly priceless. The feet flop
on the stairs while walking down. The stench of perspiration becomes increasingly abrupt. A
secondary skin is added however it is cold and worn. As I stand there staring at the opposing nemesis a
shock runs its course throughout my body and just like that all feeling is lost. Ground zero. The calm
before the storm yet not for long. Time for lift off. The unexpected charge frightens the inanimate
object as it gives to force. The surface ripples as it is met by the crude surface of a fist still bloody from
the previous night. Just as every storm the beginning is frightening but it lets off soon after so that it
may endure for time to come. Time slows down as the valves of the heart burst open from the rush of
unoxygenated blood. The nostrils inflame to prepare for the onset of life supply.
Then reality sets in and the fight becomes personal. The bag sways in futile attempts of a
counter attack. A punch to the kidney stops the beast in its tracks. The enemy rests for one to
restabilize and secondly to prepare. The brake last a second at most. It is yet again met with a fist and
thus moves out of dangers way. Jab. Jab. Elbow. Uppercut. Kick. Punch. The storm picks up. The
manifestation is teased by jerks and slides. An opening is caught and the opportunity taken. The bag
jumps due to pain. Tonight it will feel the weight of the world. The onset continues just as scheduled.
The throat becomes parched and realization sets in. It will not be long until all actions are
halted. Sweat pours down the crevices of humanly figure. The fluid sears the open sores and clouds
vision. All the while jagged glass slashes the throat due to poor lubrication. This will not be the end. I
will not allow for weakness. I will prosper despite any temporary grievances perceived by the mind to
be unmanageable. Nothing can cease the storm.
The throat is a lifeless desert. Muscles cripple and flail only momentarily. The nemesis notices
this and seizes the opportunity. Arteries pump battery acid. Vision is completely blurred and the body
sways. Knees crash upon the floor. Goliath has fallen. Seizures of the stomach catapult fluid. Eyes
water. Feeling crawls back into the body. Suddenly, all is right in the world. Indeed it has been a good
day.
To Write
My fingers cramp and fidget over the pencil. Letters are awkwardly shaped, with the Y’s
stretching through two lines and the E’s squishing so much its hard to tell what they are. Words crawl
up and down the confines of the lined paper haphazardly. This doesn’t concern me anymore; in fact I
don’t even notice it. It’s not normal, but it’s just how I write. After all, what really matters is what I
write.
Writing feels so much different than drawing. They both bring my focus to a level deeper than
anything else, but it just isn’t the same at all. When I write, the dominant force is my voice—my eyes
might as well not exist at all. I have a voice in my head that flows perfectly, expresses both levity and
concern through mental inflection, speaks like a song. It is just how I want to sound. That voice in my
head is what helps me to write, what determines quality. If the words I want to say sound right when
the perfect voice says them, then they are. If not, then it doesn’t work.
Writing is sometimes agony. When nothing sounds lovely in my head it’s impossible; my
pencil won’t even make letters. I just draw swirls and swirls and turn lines into sailboats as the same
useless words go round and round in my head. Sometimes it seems like no matter how many times I
tap my foot or twiddle my fingers, nothing is worth writing.
But when I have an idea it all makes sense. My hand moves furiously and the graphite
impressions go from soft to nearly puncturing the paper. Words come automatically and I don’t have to
try at all for tone. That bizarre combination of SAT-worthy vocab and casual colloquialisms spit from
my pencil with assuredness. I know how to move the story along, I know when I need dialogue, I know
when I’m finished. When I am in that mental place, I am completely confident.
My Little Pony
“Who’s Pinkie?”
“Me, obviously.”
“Wait, can I be her?”
“I already called her.”
“I’m Rainbow!”
“Can I be Fluttershy?” I interrupt. My friends, or, at least my friends in fifth grade, turned to
me. They were probably shocked considering Fluttershy is not the most vocal character, and she
does not ask for a lot, so just by asking the question “can I be Fluttershy?” in the middle of a
conversation basically went against the rules of the character; with the exception of episodes like
“Dragonshy” where her character actually was aggressive.
“Okay, sure. You be Fluttershy, I’m Pinkie, Samantha’s Rainbow, Maya can be Twilight,
Grey’s Rarity, and I guess Sasha can be Apple. Okay? Cool!” Jaylen announced. Everyone
nodded and began to get in character. Jaylen began to puff up her hair because everyone knows
Pinkie only has straight hair when she is sad, and when there is a sad Pinkie, no one is happy. It
was just the rule. Samantha practiced running back and forth as fast as she could, Maya and Grey
were off doing their own thing, Sasha was only moderately into it, but that was okay because the
only thing that set Applejack apart was her accent. I was talking to the ants.
“Race you guys to the spider web!” yelled Samantha as she blasted off. The rest of us quickly
followed in her footsteps. If this was an at all accurate race, Rainbow would win with Applejack
right behind her, Pinkie would be third, Twilight forth, and Rarity and Fluttershy would pull in
last. However, not everyone was super familiar with their characters, so Fluttershy got there
before Applejack. That is absolutely crazy.
Luckily after a while, people started improving, and I am guessing Sasha actually started
watching the show. We still had our off days, but Ponyville cannot always be perfect! Some
days Jaylen would claim her hair was straight so we were not allowed to play. This usually led to
Samantha getting upset, and we would walk laps around the playground as she vented about
Jaylen getting to control everything. There were times where I was not even sure if she was still
in character or just being herself.
Then one day I was scouted. At lunch, we sat with a girl named CiCi. She used to hang out
with us more, but I suspected she grew sick of the pony thing. Turns out I was wrong. She
wanted to play, but only as Rainbow. Therefore, when she was not allowed to be Rainbow, she
quit and played with other kids. Consequently, this led to her being one of the most popular fifth
graders (go figure! Could have been me, but that’s not important).
Anyhow, one day CiCi brought a Rainbow Dash plush toy to school. It was beautiful. The
delicate blue was enhanced by the shining rainbow mane. The only problem was how clean it
was. Rainbow was never meant to be clean. She played in mud and flew in high altitudes. It was
just who she was, so it was not that surprising when CiCi wanted to see Rainbow fly, and I was
the only one who could help.
We spent many recesses throwing that toy back and forth. We would walk around the walking
path, throwing it to one another. It was marvelous watching Rainbow fly at her full potential. I
almost forgot all about Fluttershy.
Key word: almost.
