4 Vignettes That Paint The Perfect Picture For Fall

And they said my creative writing minor was useless (it was).


Michael stood in front of his wardrobe, breathing in the fragrant scent of both the cedar closet and the wax he used to repair his Barbour jacket’s coating. The invigorating aroma washed over him as he reached for his favorite button-down and sweater before gingerly putting on the sport coat that used to belong to his father–before the incident. After a moment’s contemplation, he added a pocket square to finish off the autumn-appropriate look. Then, after another few introspective seconds, he reached for the tin of wax dressing, opened it, and took a few deep breaths until his thoughts began to swim. “Fuck, I love fall,” he thought.


Olivia and Jeremy walked around the hunting lodge, looking at the prized antlers and deer heads that strung the walls like Christmas lights. “I heard that at night, the house is haunted with the spirits of the dead animals,” whispered Olivia, looking earnestly at the pair of glass eyes affixed to the long departed animal staring back at her. “Nonsense,” said Jeremy. “It’s the souls of all the people who got shot hunting after happy hour.”

“Damn straight,” said the ghost of Theodore Fitzwilliams, who had just apparated, riding astride a large stag. Balanced on the stag’s antlers was a silver serving platter that held a cocktail shaker and various accessories Theodore was using to make himself a drink. “Cheers to the second amendment,” he bellowed before taking a large swig and disappearing into thin air.


“Caffeine is my anti-drug,” said Alissa, sipping her freshly purchased brew. Brittany opened her mouth to begin to protest, then thought better of it and said, “Yeah, but blow has wayyy fewer calories than a PSL.” “What have I done?” whispered Alissa, who looked with contempt at her Pumpkin Spice Latte.


Victoria blankly looked out into the empty fields, wondering where it had all gone wrong. All her friends were drunk, out riding bareback and playing polo (as one assumably does in the English countryside). She had elected to stay behind to guard the picnic basket and emotionally binge on brie. While she dressed like an equestrian enthusiast, she had a terrible accident at the petting zoo when she was younger that caused her to fear anything on four legs. “I’ll see you in hell Mr. Whiskers,” she declared, raising her wood hand to the sky.

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Writer in NYC. To quote Dr. Seuss, "Being crazy isn't enough."

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