The beginning to a story.
The dirty, olive green shawl that Sandra Diane wrapped around her hunched shoulders and head was part of the disguise. Her brown, lace up leather shoes were tattered around the toes and almost worn clear through the soles, but she wore them anyway. They were part of the disguise, too. She had no other choice. Trying to hide the scar that resembled a spider web on her neck and chest, she gathered the shawl corners close. The scars weren’t really healed completely and she knew the others would ask questions. Always asking questions. The questions didn’t end. The whys, the how’s the where’s. She couldn’t take it!
The dark blue dress, almost touched the ground because it was 3 sizes too big but she didn’t care. At least it was clean. She pretended it had belonged to some, sweet fat old grandma who had died of natural causes and her family finally cleaned out her closet after the funeral and made a donation. They gave it to her the day before at The Home. Well, it wasn’t really a home, she supposed it was a shelter or mission of some kind. But people like her called it The Home. The place where she got food sometimes and clothes sometimes and a blanket sometimes. But she didn’t really go there much. That’s where they always asked the questions. Over and over and over until she would have to run out without her soup or her coffee. Forget it!! I don’t need your soup and I don’t need you to keep prodding me with the whys!
She liked to be called D. Not Sandra, Sandy, or Sandra Diane. Just D. That kept them guessing. They probably thought her name was Donna. Whatever. Just call me D, she would say to whoever asked. D was easy to remember. What idiot isn't going to remember one letter? Well, except for Jimmy. He was such a smart ass. He called her a different letter every other week. It was funny at first. Like "Hey, is you B? That's your name, right? B? Or is it G?" Haha....laughing to himself louder than was really appropriate "Nevermind...I'm a gonna call you G. Cuz you a girl. That's right." Poor Jimmy. It would have been okay and I would have let him call me G, except he kept changing it. When he called me Z last time, I just looked at him and turned around. About-faced it right in front of him. He called after me, but I ignored him. You can be my friend out here if you don't touch me, hurt me or mess with my name. It's not that hard.