That name

They hated that name that some people called them. That single, three letter word, that was sometimes expanded to five letters or even more depending on who was saying it. That name that had come about one day in the canteen at work all those years ago, that one single incident that seemed to define them more than anything else they had ever done in the past forty or so years. It was a bit of fun at first but now it wasn’t. Now it was a reminder of the past, a past that they didn’t belong in anymore, didn’t live in anymore, didn’t want to be reminded of anymore. They were not that person anymore, they were someone else, but no-one thought this. They could tell by the way they were spoken to by the others in their circle. They felt that they were seen as a figure of fun, someone to poke fun at and bring down with subtle and not so subtle comments, always beginning or ending with that name. That name was demeaning to them, they felt degraded, dehumanised, a lessor form of life when they heard that name. One day, they hoped, no-one would call them that name and everyone would call them by their real name, the name they were given at birth. But all it was, was a forlorn hope, a dream that would never come true, because deep down they knew that there was always going to be at least someone who would call them that name and remind them of the person they used to be, the person they were trying to forget so they could move on into the future.