A Collection of Vignettes

Updated: Jul 28

By Mia Circosta




Morning Waiter


It was dark.

I don't particularly like the dark. For good reason too. My sole purpose is to destroy it. Most mornings I do so with certainty and pride. However, when I had begun to rise one memorable dawn my eye caught a lucky glimpse of a strikingly, pretty Morning Waiter. A Morning Waiter is one who, just like me, doesn't like the dark but they endure it's invasiveness in order to be the first to see me.

She was beautiful. I would watch over her that day.

She sensed the warmth of my glow, her freckled nose pointed up toward me and she inhaled as my golden colours kissed her cheek. She yearned to return home and the absence of the saltiness of the sea made melancholy dance in the air around her. Squinting, she admired my incandescence, I blushed as I rose further into the sky. I beckoned that she follow me by putting on a show, I caressed the underside of the clouds with warm pink hues. She followed, for she hoped I would lead her home, as she drifted behind my guidance she reflected on the home she would return to.

Memories of the coast flooded her mind, where my presence was appreciated directly above the heads of glistening skin that dove under curling brine and tides of shoeless, sunburnt friends who surged towards overlapping waves. She craved to feel the cleansing wash of the ocean again.

Her mind returned to me and her surroundings, reaching far beyond myself and the peaks of the swaying evergreens, a looming summit cast it's gaze across the valley. It winked at its twin who stood directly opposite, I couldn't help but smile a knowing smile, the mountains have always been a flirtatious breed.

The child's curious wandering had been steadfast below the canopy of the army of trees all day long. The evening brought tired limbs and dry lips. She drifted through the forest searching for a way home. I slipped behind a tremendous mass of rock that lunged skyward, taking with me the direct light surrounding the child. She was left alone, in the cool, loneliness of shadow. The rocks sharp jagged peak tore through the grey sheet that divided the earth from the sky. I couldn't help but pity the two mountains either side of it for they had been reduced to mere divots in the earth's crust by comparison.

Without fear, the child grazed the cool face of the rock and her wandering fingers explored its immediate ruggedness. Its mere existence seemed to pulse with fortitude and sagacity. With a sense of determination she emptied the rope out of her backpack and retreated back a few steps with her eyes risen to the rocks peak. She had been cumbered by this great barrier and it was her full intention to scale, mount and tame it.

Crickets came to cheer her on and I knew I couldn't watch over her any longer. With my final breathe I bid her farewell and good luck.

I fell. In that sunken place I wished the night away. So that I could rise to meet her and see that she's okay.







You're so Vain


By no means did I create them to be perfect. But this, by far has to be the most unforgiveable parasite humans have ever invented. The invention of the mirror. The world I gave them allowed for no such vanity. Humans could only engage with their physical appearance by using the reflection of ponds and rivers. Their very body language when doing so requires them to bend, bow down to see themselves and this is a representation of them being slaves to their own vanity.


Now I see them staring minimally at anything else. They stare themselves in the eyes and see no one else. They get lost in the pool of tears that well in said eyes and focus only on the construction, manipulation and effects of their outer shell.


They no longer work on their inside; on their compassion, kindness and oneness with me. Instead, they turn their attention to implants, slimming, teeth whitening, lip plumping and I couldn't be more offended. This image is not the image I created them in and they have soiled my name.

The one who invented the mirror destroyed my reflection of humanity.







"A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on."

Father always wore a pressed suit that was paired with pitch black hair that looked as though it had been poured out of a cake mold. He had a plethora of knowledge that remained behind pearly white teeth that were often on show. This show concealed his ravenous appetite for sheep. Sheep that follow wherever his crook points. Our name, CANDON, was the name that flew around the country and rustled comfortably on doorsteps. Stamped with ink, revealing stories that eager home dwellers would eat up before breakfast. It was this hunger for our work that was imperative for our livelihood, my Father would always say, through the same pearly white smile

"A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on."

* * *


Someone who looked faintly like me although possessing groggy eyes and a stale breathe rolled out of bed this morning. The man who waltzed through the doors of the office had morphed into a pressed suit and slicked back hair. This evening's news will parade around the country by morning, settling itself at the doorsteps of our hungry sheep, the name CANDON blaring off the front page. Curiosity took shape in the form of a fresh faced employee who still had coffee lingering on her breathe. This curious creature stood in front of me and looked me up and down through the thick framed glasses perched on her nose, as though she were determining whether to share what she so obviously was trying to conceal. "Uh excuse me…Sir" she crinkled her nose when she said "Sir". "I have an article you may be interested in" of course this was highly unlikely. "It follows the British runway model Fran Summers and her struggle with self-acceptance" I was right, I wasn't interested. After a deep sigh - that hopefully put out any flame left in this amateur journalists heart - I began "people do not want your sappy story about finding one's self, it's depressing." A smile crept across my lips, "a word of advice missy…" this time it were me looking her up and down, trying to gage whether or not she were too sheepish to understand…"a lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on. Take this and you will go far"

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