[This is a fiction I co-authored with Louise Norlie. I will be publishing the story in serial installments, every Monday for the next little while. Stay tuned.]
My name – not my real name – is Dupin Grammar. It is better if you keep your distance – who knows what they will do to you if they found out you knew the “real” me, whatever that might mean. And by “they” I mean the authorities: the police, the politicians, the so-called social workers. They would probably bring you in, interrogate you, like they did to me, and ask, “Where are the rest of them, terrorist scum?”
I always acted alone, but by reading this you are my accomplice, if not in the flesh to the letter, then at least manifest and in spirit.
Rarely, I think of how my life could have been different. Certainly, if a few events had not taken place, I would not be the same person. Maybe my problem is memory, which is long and, being so long, bitter and twisted. I have trouble forgetting and do not want to forget.