My Name, a vigmette

It sounds old and worn, like a rocking horse that’s been passed down through generations. When spoken alone it sounds so dull. But if you add something more, it can sound like a summer breeze. So natural and pleasant.
When I hear the sound of my full name, a panic rushes over me, like a wave over the sandy beaches. It means I’ve done something wrong. I don’t like my name. The sound of it makes feel as if it belongs to someone else. Someone more calm and collected, while I am wild and free spirited.
It was once my aunt’s name. But now it is mine, whether I want it or not. My name is Katherine. It is a maroon color. Nothing unique about how it looks. Just plain and boring. It doesn’t fit me. When I am around people I know, they call me Katie. Such a simple name. It is a yellow name that has been decorated in pink. There is more life to it. It is like the number 5. Right in the middle.
I would not change my name for anything in the world. Even if I don’t like it, it means something to my mother, and that means so much more to me than having any name in the world. But I think that if I had the choice of what to name me, I would have liked it to be Samantha, Sammi for short.
My name is Katherine, but I am known as Katie. It is who I am, and who I will always be. It defines the very essence of my soul. It is a Greek name that means pure.


This is a vignette that I wrote for a class