“How many people lived in there?” she found herself thinking yet again. No, this wasn’t the first time she thought of this thought. Nor, rest assured, would it be the last. As a matter of fact the first time she thought of this was a long time ago and the last would be in a long time in the future, only minutes before she was to pass away. But even before the first time she thought of this, there had already been others who had done it. “How many people lived in there?” a seemingly simple question which can have such a myriad of possible answers. All of which could surprise whoever asked it. But it was not meant to be now that these answers would be discovered. It so happens that none of these answers would ever be discovered, for she who asked them was both unable to answer it herself and unwilling to let others help her answer it. Multiple personality disorder is, indeed, a bitch.
This very short story is part of a series of stories never before published (and, probably, unpublishable) simply because they were written, in a serial manner, by none other than me (who had never bothered to publish them).
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