Of the middle...

'Just wait a moment whilst I set up the camera.'

Withdrawal twitched my veins.

The room contained a white board and two uncomfortable chairs. Bruce sat in one with a camera in his hand and gestured me the other.

So I sat.

'Right. Camera's rolling. Say your name, your age, then tell us a bit about you. Anything you want. Just try to stay looking at the lens.'

I smile.

'I'm Claire. I'm twenty...six. I'm a junkie. A homeless junkie.'

I smile at Bruce and not at the lens.

'I'm a junkie with aspirations. I am fascinated with serial killers. I want to be one, I visit their houses. Interview their neighbours. I can quote verbatim, every word of the poetry of serial killer Dennis Nilsen. I write to Myra Hindley. Shoot the shit with her. I am borderline dangerous. I hate men. I want to kill them, cut them up and watch their corpses rot. I am working towards this goal but its difficult because I hate the smell of rotting meat. I am vegetarian you see. I have practiced with pig's heads from the Dalston meat market, but I vomit. I have a feeling that I will manage better with human corpses. After all, I don't want to eat the pigs.'

I wipe the black of a dirty hand across my mouth and feel the abscess pop.

'What else do you want to know?'

Continued...