Vignettes from a 16-year-old Writer

As a kid, I never fully appreciated how large my backyard was. I don’t mean the literal lawn behind my house, but instead the vast number of places in my neighborhood that I could explore. I lived in the outskirts of Leadville, a small town way up in the mountains of Colorado. Right outside our living room window, we could see our town sprawling in front of us, with the distant blue figures of Mt. Elbert and Mt. Massive towering above the buildings. But out our back window, not a house could be seen. Behind us, the Mosquito mountains towered over pine forests, fields of sage, and twisty dirt roads, rather than city buildings. This was the backyard that I took for granted.  During summers, afternoons after school, and weekends, the hills behind our house became a playground, where my brother and I would venture, our minds wandering as much as our feet. There was a network of dirt paths through the woods, perfect for dirt bikes and four-wheelers. We built lots of tree forts in these wood

All I ever wanted was to be the Grand Poo-Bah. Every summer I would walk fast, and I wouldn’t complain, even when my feet got tired and started to swell like two roasting marshmallows, my white velcro sneakers squealing with every step. All I ever wanted was to wear that old lobster bait bag as a hat, carry the sacred walking stick, and be dubbed the leader of the hike, the Poo-Bah. Every summer since I was 4 months old, my Mom, my Dad, my brother, and I would go all the way to Mount Desert, Maine and sail for a few weeks on a 35 ft. sloop named Galatea. The nearby islands and towns slowly became friends of mine, as I adventured with my family. We took short swims in the frigid ocean, wearing only life jackets on our scrawny chests. We couldn’t stay in for very long because our lips would fade to an icy blue hue, almost like the pale purple color that coated my lips after I popped too many blueberries into my mouth. My tongue would also turn purple as I plucked endless berries from t

The light, pastel and yellow, streams in from the Neverland Ranch hills, invading the dark elegance of the riverbed under the bridge. The sun slowly sinks below the hill, and the light becomes thicker, denser, as it sets. Simultaneously, the orange and pink rays tickle my skin; soft fingertips grazing my arms and face. But even as they warm my skin with a gentle touch, they also thicken the air, as if they are somehow heavier than the normal rays that beat down on me during the day. Perhaps that's why people notice the sun when it’s setting, rather than when it’s arcing across the sky during the day, because the light is different, somehow thicker. The denser light calms my heart beat, and I begin to feel like I’m moving through syrup. I begin to notice more. The chorus of birds screaming their songs from fence posts. The competing orchestra of crickets, chirping through the chilled air. The sounds fade into one another, as the sunlight blends into the shadow of twilight.  The

Hi. My name is Rabbit Barnes. Yes, the name is a little weird, and no it is not my real, given name. My real name is Jack, but ever since I was a pint-sized human, I have gone by the nickname Rabbit. I am 16 years old and currently, I am living at home with my parents and older brother, sheltering-in-place because of the Covid-19 crisis. Like the majority of teenagers in the US, I am bored out of my mind right now, and I am struggling to find my purpose and to occupy my time. So, I have decided to make this blog, to give my mind something to work on, and to hopefully brighten someone's day. Every week or so, I will post a vignette that I have written; a short, creative memoir from my life, written with lots of imagery and descriptive language. Stay tuned to read small, enjoyable snapshots that might make your day a little better. But what do I, a lonely highschooler with only a decade of memories in my back pocket, have to say? What makes the vignettes I write interesting? Well