Short Story or Vignette?

One needs a plot, the other doesn’t

I’m sharing another piece from a Writing Battle contest. This one had a limit of 250 words. The question I struggle with when writing very short, micro fiction is this: “How do you produce a complete story with characterization, rising and falling action, plot, and resolution when you only have X number of words?” Sometimes I feel like I hit the sweet spot on all those things that make a story a story, and sometimes I just have to be happy writing a vignette.

Vignette: a brief evocative description, account, or episode.

The story below made it to the top 16 in my category, but didn’t win any prizes. My genre was “Summer Fling”, I had to have a character “Bumbling Adventurer” and I had to include the word “Prudent.”

After the contest, I tried to expand the piece and I submitted it to a couple of other contests, only to get it back with the feedback that it wasn’t a complete story. Anyway I like it, so here it is. What do you think? Short story or vignette?

Lantana

Alina rolled through life like a tumbleweed — reckless, never prudent. She wore odd combinations—crimson flowers on an orange shirt and blue striped shorts, as though she dressed in the dark. One summer morning, she braided her sun-gold hair and set off to meet her latest boyfriend, Jay, at the pier. 

She strolled across the sand toward a Ferris wheel outlined against a periwinkle sky. After she lost a shoe in the surf, Alina stopped at the gift shop and bought a pair of rubber sandals.

When she found Jay, he held a paper container of fries. His kiss tasted of salt. Holding hands, they weaved past carnival games and their clanging, ringing, flashing lights. A summer season of popcorn bits and peanut shells crunched underfoot. Alina purchased a souvenir cup topped with a plastic dolphin’s head. They shared a pink puff of cotton candy, the hot-sugar stickiness clinging to their fingers. So sweet, before dissolving to nothing.   

They paused at a giant wooden track. Overhead, cars filled with screaming passengers rattled past. “Last chance, ride it with me?” Alina asked.

“I don’t do roller coasters.”

She thrust the dolphin cup at him and joined the queue for the ride. At the second hill, the coaster froze at the summit. In the moments before the cars resumed their plunge, Alina stretched her arms overhead. The wind carried a hint of coolness, heralding summer’s end. She searched the ground for Jay. Below, he lifted the cup in salute, or farewell.

THE END