‘Vignette. What is a vignette? Why does it matter so? Why must we write one? Vignettes are not poems, vignettes are not stories, vignettes are, simply, vignettes.’ RetirW thought. Soon, RetirW’s dreaded writing teacher everybody said was named Sir came, his wooden leg clunking against the floor. Then Sir leaned over RetirW’s desk with his short, blond hair bouncing over RetirW, Sir’s face chiseled out of stone, a permanent sneer. Sir peered at RetirW with Sir’s one eye, an electric blue eye that was drooping in its socket. “WELL, BOY, WHAT HAVE YOU GOT FOR ME TODAY!” Sir either didn’t have an inside voice, or he always yelled at everyone. Sir snatched the page from RetirW and read aloud: ‘Vignette. What is a vignette? Why does it matter so? Why must we write one? Vignettes are not poems, vignettes are not stories, vignettes are, simply, vignettes.’ RetirW thought. Soon, RetirW’s dreaded writing teacher everybody said was named Sir came, his wooden leg clunking against the floor. Then Sir leaned over RetirW’s desk with his short, blond hair bouncing over RetirW, Sir’s face chiseled out of stone, a permanent sneer. Sir peered at RetirW with Sir’s one eye, an electric blue eye that was drooping in its socket. “WELL, BOY, WHAT HAVE YOU GOT FOR ME TODAY!” Sir either didn’t have an inside voice, or he always yelled at everyone. Sir snatched the page from RetirW and read aloud: