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Vignette Trio

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Old 04-06-2009, 04:07 PM
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Default Vignette Trio


So I have to write a small book/biography about myself in vignette form. We have to do ten of them. I picked my favorite three and I wanted to see how they sounded to a stranger, not me. So here they are. You can just pick one to critique if you don't have a lot of time. I did a few *insertnamehere*'s to hide personal information.

on the farm
I lived in a green house in the middle of nowhere. But in my eyes, I grew up on the farm. My grandparents bought an old farmhouse up the road back in the 60’s. The white house sat on top of the hill, watching over the grazing cows in the valley below. A country road separated the house and the big red barn, but they went together like peanut butter and jelly.

We have twenty seven people in our family. At first glance, my grandfather ran the family. But if you were to look deeper, you would see my grandmother behind the control panel. She was our trunk. Without her, the family tree would collapse.

What I remember most about the house is the upstairs bathroom. It was our playroom. My grandfather never bothered to apply grout to the tiles on the bathroom floor; he never believed in luxuries. We would take them all out. My cousins and I were busy bees; putting the hexagonal mustard tiles back together; building our hive. The toilet was in a closet of its own, a perfect hiding place to play hide and seek when our puzzle thrills were over.

It was an exciting day when Mable Joy came to town. The wedding bells were ringing as my Aunt Mary stepped out onto the front porch with my new Uncle Ralph. A Swiss with a big red bow stood on the walkway; Mable was proud to be a wedding gift. The kids squealed with joy. Finally! A cow with a name! Mable was the pride…and Joy, of the *InsertLastNameHere* family. Mable Joy inhabited the farm for many years, eating grass and providing a sweet eye for anyone who happened to pass.

The roof of the cattle barn was a popular hangout for the kids once we got older. You would have to go through the barn first, avoiding the evil barn cats that would often come out to terrorize your shoe laces. Then you would have to risk your life to climb under the electric fence. This would get difficult when the cow’s found it necessary to bake their cow pies right in our path. Then we would climb on the barrels and shove ourselves up onto the roof. Up there, the girls would watch the sunset as the boys attempted to ambush us from the thicket below. Rubber bands would go flying, voices would be screeching, and parent’s heads would be shaking. They had always told us to stay off there.

Easter was always the most fun. The girls would prance around in their pastel dresses with matching parasols. Often we would interrupt the men’s game of wiffle ball. We would sit on the front lawn, sipping lemonade, and peaking around the bushes to see where our mothers would hide the eggs to get an advantage on the boys. However, when it came time to the actual hunt, the boys always won because they would hold the girls hostage until we revealed the whereabouts of the deeply-coveted chocolate eggs. Mable would watch on from behind the fence. And it was funny…we would always find some extra egg wrappers in cow pies the next day. I guess she must have forgotten to unwrap them before she snuck them from the baskets.

Then Grandma and Grandpa moved away. The farm was renovated. The cows were gone. The barn was no longer a bustling place of activity. Easters, Christmases, Fourth of July’s were celebrated elsewhere, in the tiny condo of another relative. And Mable Joy passed away in the field one summer day when the farm was no longer.

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Old 04-06-2009, 04:08 PM
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have-a, have-a, have-a-nice-day
We would jump and shout for joy when we saw the Bourne Bridge. “The bridge! The bridge!” three little mouths would squeal from the back seat of our mini van. We were finally there, the place were we loved to be most: *insert place here*
Our grandparents owned a small cape in the center of *town, *state. It was on the corner of Main St. and *street name. There was a regular sized back yard. There was a tiny little front yard. The house looked big from the back. Small from the front. It was it’s own optical illusion. The upstairs was on a slant because people didn’t build it right. You had to climb a mountain to get to the third bedroom. And the stairs…they were scary. They echoed every step, it felt like a hospital. Numerous bruises, scratches, and bumps were results of a misstep.


We had three favorite toys there. A fake cash register, a kiddie pool, and an outside rocking horse. My sister and I were the cowgirls riding through the desert and my brother was the evil cowboy. We would shoot him down with rubber bands. Then we would fight over who got to ride it next. Now, it’s upstairs in the shed, collecting mold and dust. Nobody wants to ride it anymore.

The cash register was always fun. If you pressed the pink button, it would say “Have a nice day!” in a monotone voice. One day, we had all gotten our bathing suits on and trooped out to the kiddie pool. I was the owner of the community pool, my brother and sister had to pay me fake money to use it. I conveniently stashed it in the cash register. All was well…until I dropped it in the pool. Throughout the day and into the night, the cash register would speak to all who would listen. “Have a – have a – have a- have a nice day!” It would whisper into the night, and continue on through morning. “Have a – have a – have a- have a nice day!” Mommy said we had to leave it on there. “Have a – have a – have a- have a nice day!” We couldn’t bring it home with us because it would ruin the fun if we had it all the time. The next time we went back, Grandma said the dog at our favorite toy. We were heartbroken.

Funny, my grandparents never had a dog.


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Old 04-06-2009, 04:10 PM
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fireworks fly like birdies should
More often then not, it was raining on our annual trips to Limerock Park for the Fourth of July special. We would pack the fat pink blanket, some chips and subs, and squeeze into the back of our van to see the fireworks through the tinted windows. On a good year, we could sit out on the damp grass and catch a glimpse of the beautiful show put on for us by the fire department.

One summer it was nice. It was hot and bright. Everyone came hours early to enjoy the picnicking. Below, near the race track, our group was playing with a foam football. A little girl in pigtails came up to us, acting like Eli Manning. She puffed up, grabbed our toy, and through it far over the fence. For a little girl, she was a beast at throwing. My brother was mad. That was his birthday football.

Later that night ladies were squealing by the bathrooms. One by one each would peek in a tiny hole before they entered. I even tried. Inside were three tiny birdies, a mama and two babies still halfway through their shells. One lady, applying eye shadow while doing so, sat and observed the birds for about ten minutes while others scrambled and pushed to see. “Stop it!” croaked the lady in the voice of a smoker. “I am flipp’n a bird observer!” One lady rolled her eyes and spoke to the attendant. “That lady won’t move! We want to see the birds! Remove her!” Complaints went on for miles. I just hurried out of the bathroom before I got trampled.

That night the fireworks were big! They shot up like rockets and exploded in the sky in a million different colors. One looked like a rainbow. That was my favorite. Then the finale came. The little kids squirmed in awe. When it was all over, I wanted to see the birds again.

There was no longer a line at the peephole. I scurried over, glad I could have a decent peek. Inside there was nothing. Down on the ground, little feathers were all over. The attendant had a broom, a mop, and a scraper.
“They flew away, honey,” mom told me. “They went to build a nest somewhere else.”

I knew what really happened. I may have been five, but I knew humans.
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Old 04-19-2009, 11:12 AM
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Can someone just tell me what you think?
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