Names

The names sit abandoned. Dusty and alone, but together with their cousins. Simply names. Allen lies on top of Germaine, who’s on top of Alexis, who’s on top of Jason. Collected and prone, and praying for light. Forgotten, lost. Never to return. Though they all have a chance, they’re generally common names. They all look at Kylander. Shutup guys, he says, looking away angrily. Their mirth lasts momentarily as they remind themselves that their purpose is spent, yet they remain. Never to be used again. They hear voices, words, shouts, and tears, but no one shares it with them. The oldest name, sitting on the bottom, tells them their hopes are fruitless. Donald tells them all, no one will come, trust him, he’s been there for years. He lost hope many years ago, after he had prayed so many years before. Fruitless, pointless. Eventually he’ll crumble to dust, but until then, he wallows in his own misery. Days, weeks, months, decades.

Suddenly, light blindingly cascades from the top of the drawer. A hand comes down and grips them. Can it be? Could they possibly need one of us? Allen is tossed aside, Alexis is pushed away. What are they searching for? Finally the hand rests on Donald. It can’t be, they all gasp. He’s lifted out into the light, and out of shock he loses conciousness.

“Donald, welcome to the team. You can place this name placard on your desk, no need to waste money and make a new one. I knew I had it in here somewhere.”

“Thank you Mr. Gibbs.”