Nameless 52
My name is Emma Isabela Lopez, but they call me 52, the fifty-second women abducted the week my life ended. I can hear them coming down the hall. They are coming for me. They are always coming for me. Today, I sit with twenty-three girls (not yet women) who will soon be raped. I have been raped five times this morning. It is only 7:30 a.m. Don’t think I have become accustomed to this. I have not. I might sound as though it is commonplace, but I remember. I remember when I was a person. When I had a name.
“Cingo,” comes a whisper from the corner of the dark, dank space. Cingo is what Honey calls me, a name of her choosing to call me something other than “52.” I cannot bear to speak my name aloud in this place, not even in a whisper — not until I am free.
