I was a black politician, and even though I was popular among a lot of people I also had a bunch of enemies. I knew this, and I also knew that it was for the usual reasons of envy, racism, competitiveness, power hunger, disagreement with my relatively incorrupt ways and, of course, downright plain nastiness the way it exists all over the planet. I’d just had a public appearance with lots of applause, hand shaking, shoulder slapping and words of praise – honest or oily and false. So I was completely unprepared for the quick, ruthless action of my enemies, which I followed from out of my body. I was a lifeless figure on the floor, some people were about to arrive on the scene – it was backstage, in some dark hallway. The shadowy perpetrators grabbed me by the feet and dragged me into some sort of tool and supplies room. There they opened the bottom drawer of a big red metal cabinet in the wall, threw out what was in it, and shoved me in. Bang. Drawer closed. They cleaned their hands by slapping them together, straightened their jackets and left the room. And I’d become invisible; I was gone as if I’d never existed.
– James Steerforth (© 2015)