It’s been one second since the crash.
For a few moments, I’m in the air.
My ribs start caving in and my head starts pounding.
All I see are two bright blinding lights as I thud onto the cold hard cement.
Blood trickles down my arm and I struggle to get back up.
I cannot breathe.
The bright light slowly starts to turn black. 
I think I’m dying.

It’s been two hours since the crash.
When I wake up, the nurses rush by my side,
Asking me if I know my name,
Attempting to explain to me that I was in a car crash.
Panic washes over me as I stumble to get my name out.
“I.. I’m eighteen years old and my name is … it’s um...”
It’s at the tip of my tongue, yet I cannot spit it out.
I try to think of the times when my parents would call my name to wake me up,
The times when my friends would yell hello,
The times when my teachers would take roll call every morning.
My ears start ringing and my thoughts go blank.
I fade out.

It’s been three hours since the crash.
My eyes slowly open and I am alone.
The world outside has fallen asleep, but I am wide-awake.
I was told that my parents and my younger sister were killed on contact.
I spend the rest of the night thinking, crying, and blaming myself.
I don’t know who I am.
In my memories, the people have no faces.
I don’t have a name and I cry for my parents and my baby sister that I have no remembrance of.
I am desperate.
All I need is one name.
One memory.
Or even just one face.
All I want to do is to remember.

It’s been four hours since the crash.
They tell me that I don’t have any relatives to take care of me.
But, I can now live on my own - I’m eighteen.
I’m eighteen and alone.
I have lived eighteen years that I cannot remember.
My precious eighteen years have no meaning to me.
The doctor tells me that there is a slight chance that I might never get my memory back.
No memories.
No family.
No name.

It’s been five hours since the crash.
I have to start working so I can afford a place to live.
They told me I had to choose a new name in order to move on with my life.
But they don’t understand that I don’t want a new name.
The new name would not be what my parents chose for me, be given not by my parents, and whatever I decide to call myself wouldn’t be real.
I wouldn’t be able to respond to the new name, for itm was never mine to begin with.
The new name would be like playing dress up - putting on a mask and pretending to be someone else.

It’s been six weeks since the crash.
One of the nurses found a place for me to stay when I’m discharged, but I have not decided on a name yet.
Every night, I log on to the computer and look up lists of hundreds and hundreds of names.
I figure that my real name has to be somewhere on that list.
I read each one, carefully pronouncing every syllable and writing down the ones that have some familiarity to them.
Nothing works.
My list continues to grow and I am still without a name.

It’s been seven weeks since the crash.
I’m still at the hospital and the doctors are forcing me to go to therapy.
I leave the room empty handed after every session.
Overtime, several people came up with nicknames for me.
My nurse calls me love, my therapist says miss, and the people that I share the hospital room with refer to me as the girl.
They call me everything but my name.
I am the nameless girl that everyone pities, the girl with nothing.
I am anonymous to everyone, including myself.

It’s been eight weeks since the crash.
I keep having these dreams and I always wake up screaming.
I think my dreams reflect the memories that I cannot remember.
The dreams consist of my family, but they never recognize who I am.
I walk into the front door yelling, “I’m home” and my family all stare at me as if I was a stranger.
The scary part is that they never have faces.
Darkness has replaced their eyes, noses, and lips.

It’s been nine months since the crash.
I’m angry.
What did I do wrong?
I’m not asking for much, just for that one thing that everyone has.
Just for someone to come forward and scream my goddamn name.
I guess I have already used up my three wishes during my eighteen years.

It’s been ten months since the crash.
I stopped talking to people and I think I’m going to do it.
How is it that we live in a world of seven billion people, and not a single one knows who I am?
There is no point for me to continue.
There will be no one to miss me when I’m gone anyways.
No one will cry and no one will come with flowers.
It’s time for me to take my pain to the slaughterhouse.
I want it to end.

It’s been eleven months since the crash.
Right now, it’s the middle of the night and I escaped the white walls.
The streets are quiet and the moon comforts my loneliness.
I walk into the middle of the road where there are no cars and only the traffic light is blinking.
Green, yellow, then red.
Two bright lights blind my eyes and I welcome it with open arms.
Within seconds my body collides with the truck and I land on my back.
My heartbeat is as loud as the driver who is now cursing me out.
The driver quickly gets back into his car and drives away, running the red light.
A classic hit and run.

It’s been twelve minutes since the second crash.
I watch the traffic light change colors, as I lay alone in the middle of the road.
A car honks and swerves to avoid hitting me.
I’m no better than a dead animal.
The honking continues to ring in my ears as the memory of my first car crash enters my blank thoughts.
Me in the air, me lying on the cold hard cement as blood covers my body.
Then, just like a lie, the memories come flooding in. I remember it all.
The first day of school, the day my baby sister was born, the beautiful faces of my family.
My name.
I finally remember what I have been searching for eleven months.
But, it’s too late now.
I am drowning in my own blood; it feels like somebody ripped my heart out.
I watch, as the traffic light turns green to yellow then finally to red - red like my blood.
I wait for the light to turn green, but the green never comes.
My name is Anonymous and I think I’m dying.