He snatched my name, ripped it from my throat with no intention of ever giving it back. It was all I had, a prized possession like an illustrious trophy; so shiny and golden and new. But he changed that. Forever tainting it with the toxicity of his fingers. Masking its innocence with the smell of oil and grease and sweat. It happened so long ago that I wasn’t sure I’d ever recognise it again, or remember the sound it made as it rolled off the tongue. I did though. As soon as I heard it, I knew it was mine. I had to get it back from the grip of his filthy mitts and into the hands of my own. I just wasn’t entirely sure how, until…
