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Loss of Control
Nov. 8th, 2005 12:40 amFour Years Earlier...
My name is Winfred Burkle.
Fred. My name is...Fred's right. The neckace, her necklace, that belonged to Winifred. The apple, it shined when Dad. When he have it to me and I always thought the chain was just right, how it fell and how it fit, warm up against me. But he called me Winifred when he gave it to me, leaving one school for the other. Hardly ever, but that time he did, so the necklace was hers. Winifred. All through the ceremony, I couldn't stop looking at it.
Everything else was Fred's though. Is. Is...it can still be an is.
Only what happened...no. They took it off, when they put the other one on. Traded to the one that didn't fit nearly as well as the one from before. And it's not warm, and it doesn't fall so, I do. I...Fred. My name is Fred. Fred's the one that falls. The necklace is gone so maybe she is too. It's all she had here. Not even the falling, or the hurting anymore, but she doesn't have a name either. And isn't that even worse. I know that it's worse.
I know that...
My name is Fred.
And there's power in a name? Or is that power in a picture? Something, that when you give, it takes away? I know...there were pages somewhere. In a book. Pages in a book that are gone. Books are written with letters that I can't loose. Not if I say them everyday. Then they won't be gone. Not like the necklace and not like her.
Letters are pages, and numbers are names. And that's how you get there. That's how you go. It's how the quiet can finally stop being so loud.
My name.
Numbers and letters pushed together to makes the bricks. Yellow bricks could get me there I think, but mine are always red. Too much writing and too much stone with fingers that are raw, and wet. Red's not the answer. I just need to remember.
My name is...
My name is Winfred Burkle.
Fred. My name is...Fred's right. The neckace, her necklace, that belonged to Winifred. The apple, it shined when Dad. When he have it to me and I always thought the chain was just right, how it fell and how it fit, warm up against me. But he called me Winifred when he gave it to me, leaving one school for the other. Hardly ever, but that time he did, so the necklace was hers. Winifred. All through the ceremony, I couldn't stop looking at it.
Everything else was Fred's though. Is. Is...it can still be an is.
Only what happened...no. They took it off, when they put the other one on. Traded to the one that didn't fit nearly as well as the one from before. And it's not warm, and it doesn't fall so, I do. I...Fred. My name is Fred. Fred's the one that falls. The necklace is gone so maybe she is too. It's all she had here. Not even the falling, or the hurting anymore, but she doesn't have a name either. And isn't that even worse. I know that it's worse.
I know that...
My name is Fred.
And there's power in a name? Or is that power in a picture? Something, that when you give, it takes away? I know...there were pages somewhere. In a book. Pages in a book that are gone. Books are written with letters that I can't loose. Not if I say them everyday. Then they won't be gone. Not like the necklace and not like her.
Letters are pages, and numbers are names. And that's how you get there. That's how you go. It's how the quiet can finally stop being so loud.
My name.
Numbers and letters pushed together to makes the bricks. Yellow bricks could get me there I think, but mine are always red. Too much writing and too much stone with fingers that are raw, and wet. Red's not the answer. I just need to remember.
My name is...
