abigail williams

by Abigail Burrow

Abbie. Say my name for long enough, and it becomes like day-old Play-Doh in my mouth, like when I was four and didn’t know that leaving something for long enough meant it wasn’t the same when you come back to it, like I spent hours scraping green Play-Doh off of the counter, there’s still a small stain in the shape of my initials on the counter next to the sink. Say my name enough times, it becomes just a collection of jumbled syllables like when I was six, my mother came out of the hospital room saying something incomprehensible, father cancer hospital bills dead father cancer dead, like I didn’t quite understand the concept of death and I still haven’t cried at a funeral yet. Say my name long enough, it becomes a possibility, like all the essays I “could have gotten such good grades on, if only I had put in a little effort,” says my mother disappointedly. Say my name for too long, and it becomes too loud like the music in my car, like everything’s too loud, it’s too loud in here I’m like Abigail Williams all eyes are on me, I feel judged, I’m too confident for this, how am I such a good liar? Realize your name is nothing but a few letters stitched together so you can be identified as an individual. Say my name for long enough and it’s unrecognizable, stop saying my name.

PHOTO: Winona Ryder in The Crucible (1996 film version of the Arthur Miller play).

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: My well-known person is Abigail Williams from The Crucible because I identify with her lying antics, need for attention, and confidence.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Abigail Burrow is a junior at George Walton Academy, and she has been there for 13 years. She is 16 years old. Abbie spins flag in the GWA Marching Bulldog Band. She aspires to be an artist or photographer or a writer.