I Had A Name

I used to hear it every day. It's been so long since I heard it last. It must have been before. I can't remember anyway. It's unimportant. At least, that's what they've told me. You see, names are no more than symbols on a page, repeated with every new generation. They're basically numbers. And why, if we have numbers, should we give ourselves names? Numbers are infinite, timeless. Names disappear and change, the letters vary with every language and there's only so many to choose from, so you see, it's rather illogical to have one. At least, that's what they've told me. And, I'm starting to understand. There are too many people in this world. It would be inefficient to give them all names. Especially when names have to be repeated, how would you ever tell anyone apart? They are only meaningless ways with which a conceited mankind tried to assert a false sense of individualism.

My childhood was different from now. Wisps of sunshine and picnics flash through my mind sometimes, like when you think you catch a glimpse of someone you used to know, but they disappear before you can really see their face. It's ridiculous. I know it is. Emotions are irrational. They obstruct reason. Without reason, we would not have made progress. Our world is perfect now, you see. There is no pain, no heartbreak, no need to be unhappy or cause unhappiness. At least, that's what they've told me.

I think it all started when I was very small. People were crying – something in the world broke. There was too much. Too much pressure. Too much bloodshed. Too many questions. The stress of it turned everyone against each other. The generations before had stopped protecting. The younger ones became too paralyzed, terrorized. It was all too much. Life is much better now. We can see things clearly, experience peace. At least, that's what they've told me. Names, like the other useless artifacts, only served as reminders of discomfort. And, as such, needed to be eradicated.

You see, it wasn't the wars or the diseases that broke everyone. It was the strain, the coping with it all. I understand why we changed the world. No one could keep living like we did, it was unsustainable. Existence is much better now. We have no burden. There is nothing to carry. There are no unfulfillable expectations. No distress over the unknown. No need to strive for something that will inevitably end. No fantastical hopes or dreams. We did away with all of that.

I had a name, but now, no one does.

There might be an error; something's not right.

I'm not sure why I do, but every now and then, I try to recall my name.

It's strange, I can't remember the feeling,

but I believe they called it

longing.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All resemblance to actual people, places, incidents, or things is completely coincidental.