That’s why I was keeping my eyes closed. Even though I could tell there were people around me now, I didn’t know where the body was.

I didn’t know where I was, come to that.

I’d been opening a storage cupboard. The door was stuck, and when I’d yanked it open... well... this man fell out all in a heap. I had had this fleeting image of a pile of dirty laundry thrown on the floor, and then everything had gone black.

I’d fainted. That’s what must have happened. Which is weird, because I’m not really the fainting type. Barfing, yes; fainting, no. Yet, I must have, because one thing I was sure of was that I was on my back at the moment.

I lay still, hoping the whisperers would all go away and leave me alone, so I could open my eyes slowly. And, maybe-- just maybe-- if the coast was clear, I would have the strength to rise quietly and sneak out by some back door, so I wouldn’t have to admit to anyone, face to face, that I’d been lily-livered enough to faint.

Of course, that didn’t happen.

Somebody jammed something really smelly under my nose, and I began to cough. I had to open my eyes then.

A man in a blue suit bent over me; he asked me who I was.

Although this is a simple and obvious question to most people, I always have a problem with it in a deep, ethereal way.

“What’s your name?” is a much more straightforward inquiry, but “Who am I?” Well...

I like to think of myself as a writer. I am also a secretary, a mother, a daughter, a first-wave baby-boomer, a fighter, and a seductress (in my dreams, anyway). There are many pieces of me, and like some giant multi-sided puzzle, sometimes the dominant color is red... sometimes yellow.

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