A Singularity, by Graham Attenborough

I've read the book of course. Very entertaining. I enjoyed it. The author knew a lot about me clearly, despite not citing the source of her knowledge. Actually I still have my original copy purchased in London in 1819 the year after it was published. I can only assume that she had heard rumours of my existence and the terrible events thereafter because I'm certain I never met the lady and even if I had, I would have denied everything.

In a way though her novel was gratifyingly useful to me. On the one hand it meant that any lingering belief that I actually existed was soon swept away and replaced by her erudite fiction. On the other, I have always felt rather proud to have been so celebrated in such a famous book. Not to mention all the rewrites and movies that have been made about me since.

Of course, the story that everyone is familiar with only recounts my early years and ends in my apparent death. So be it. Let everyone think of me as as fictional character long dead. But in reality, the end of that story was merely the beginning for I did not die with my father (if I may call him that), even though it had been my intention. No, death is not an option for me. I have been stoned, stabbed, shot, and hanged but the flame of life burns strong within this misshapen body. It will not be snuffed out. It burns still and is as fierce as ever it was.

I suppose that my deathless existence is the consequence of my never having been born. I was never a minute egg fertilised by any fathers seed. I did not float safely within any mothers womb growing from a tiny, lizard-like foetus into a bouncing babe pulled out into the world screaming. Instead I was created. Fully formed. A monstrous adult sewn and stitched together in the name of hubris. A hideous experiment gone wrong.   

Shelly was right to subtitle her story A Modern Prometheus but not because, as she saw it, my father gave me life but because he created a kind of god, a demiurge, an immortal. One who has lived and prospered among you for almost three hundred years. Truth be told, after such a shaky start, my life thus far has been a great success.

But there is a price. Those I love grow old beside me. They die and leave me alone once more. That is my fate: to be forever alone. To be constantly readjusting to suit the coming new age. To see everything but to never be truly apart of it.

I am unique. One of a kind. A singularity. I have no soul you see, no coming death. I exist with the darkest knowledge: that I shall never find redemption.