The girl who felt nothing

The girl who could feel nothing

I am 27 now. I feel nothing. Not emotionally. That was never a problem, but my nervous system registers no pain, no touch, no taste, no smell- nothing at all. it is a rare phenomenon. To live with it - yeah - try to imagine. Sex? great - fall in love with someone but there is no ...no nothing beside that desire of love. So I gave up.

But. it was not long before my parents concluded at 3 months I was a freak. I mean - I did not cry at all. She had to stuff her tit in my mouth just to feed me.

I feel no hunger, no pain, no thirst. Nothing physical. At 5 I was taken away. I cried- yes I can cry. Emotions - that I have

They taught me. Eat, shit, just about all bodily functions that my body had no natural ...well, thoughts about.

I made mistakes. Often. The scars on my hands prove it. Not having any feeling of pain nor sense of smell, it took the cook in the canteen to drag me off the glowing hot plate.

I repaired. The surgery of course did not hurt.

Nothing does - nothing but emotions. That I have. Repetition of the obvious statement as I said previously. But I learnt. I had to. How else was I to survive?

So,sent out into the world - I had adapted. Kept my eyes and ears open and hands away. The brain trained to what was and was not dangerous.

All kids learn this but when you lack the senses - a problem.

I muddled along with some stupid jobs. Crazy shit.

Tried to deliver newspapers but could not feel them in my hands...

In the end - the state just popped me in a little pad, all paid for. The scientists came around at least twice a year to take blood samples and chatter some crap and life was pretty much a complete fuck up. Sure, I had a fuck. But it was as exciting as eating a bar of chocolate = nothing.

It makes no difference at all what I eat. Could be mud for all know.

But - on the 23rd of June 2016 a man knocked on my door..

Flash the badge, MI5 or 6 - I didn't give a shit by now. I have been poked, examined, questioned so long in my life about my 'disability', I wondered why I had not topped myself!

The girl who could feel nothing . Continued...

I had just got back from my fitness centre. I wasn't feeling knackered at all. How could I?

Besides the point, so I open the door. Well, I wasn't exactly going to open the window and shout 'Wat Ya want Ya fucking refugee scroungers.'

The first thing that caught not one eye but both of them was what was behind the bloke. Parked up on the kerb (illegal) in front of my pad was – a god-damn metallic gold Lotus Esprit! I haven’t seen one of those since that queer bloke in flairs ran around calling himself Jimmy Bond or something daft like that. Oh, hang on, didn't that bird with a mouth so large she could swallow a planet, drive one in the film 'Pretty Whore'. Can't remember.

Anyway – so this bloke, about a head taller than the car, says to me-

'Hello Veronica.'

'Who the fuck are you and how do you know my name.' Says Veronica. That is me. Not to good at creative wring but giving it a bash.

'May I present myself'

Ahh – I have heard this one before. The bloke looked like a complete clown. Not surprising since he was dressed like that twat who flogs plastic burgers to obese children – except this version looked like it had been dragged through a barb wire fence whilst intoxicated on three bottles of gin.

He hands me a card. Before I even look at it -
'Is that your car?'

'But of course.'

Wow – I wonder if it can go underwater. I look at the card and snort snot and gob onto the pavement.

What is the world coming to? He must be a lunatic. For a start the card is self printed and rather badly -

Tot Al Plunker . Secretive Agent

Then he winked. I hadn’t seen a wink like that since Sunny fucked up everyone with Will Smith in 'I Robot'. Pitch black eyes now stared at me.

'I think you better come in Professor.'

The girl who could feel nothing . Continued...Part 3

'You looking good girl.' As the clown removed the stupid wig and red nose.

Looking good? Hah – what for an understatement. I am every man’s dream. Mix up a dozen babes from Hollywood, churn them out and you get me – one problem – I am a freak.

'How are your feet? I 'heard' about it. Can I see?'

I wasn't bothered. This man had kept me sane as a kid in the 'special place'. So I slowly pulled my socks off. There were still some sticky bits, so I had to be careful.

'Healing nicely. What made you do it Veronica?'

Good question. Boredom I suppose. I had set the treadmill at the gym to the hardest marathon and broke the world record. It was only when I went to shower that I realised my trainers were full off blood from burst blisters. Off to the hospital.

'Whatever Professor. What do you want from me?'

'Do you have a problem being raped multiple times? Tortured, beaten and generally kicked about?'

Huh – what kind of question is that?

'Sure, I could not think of a better thing to do on a Sunday walk in Hyde Park – cut the crap Professor. What do you want from me? Oh, excuse me, can I offer you a cheeseburger fresh from the microwave?' I knew that would raise his hackles.


The girl who could feel nothing . Continued...Part 4

'Veronica, I or 'we', would like to give you a form of employment suited to your...erm...specialities. There is no pay, we just cover your expenses. But first you must go to a special school to get you well equipped for the task. Are you interested?'

'How is your cheeseburger? Can I zap you a quick coffee? Milk and sugar?' Man oh man – hard to believe that this is how it all started. 'Yeah- yeah – so what is this wonderful new unpaid job? Must I learn to kill people?'

'Actually...yes. And quite a lot of them.'

Well, I had to giggle. 'Does that include Donald Trump?'

'Perhaps – but he may fall on his own sword anyway. No – we have other targets for you.

The girl who could feel nothing . Continued...Part 5

'You sending me, after training, into the Middle East and eliminate the hierarchy of all the nutters there?'

'What? No, no Veronica. We are bombing those mad fuckers into oblivion at enormous cost to the tax payer. Your job is more sublime and will save the planet from a disease worse than Ebola. I have a list of the top priorities to be exterminated to save the Western hemisphere.'

Well. I must admit – I was interested. 'Okay- shoot away.' (Excuse the pun.)

'No 1 – Justin Bieber.'

'Huh – who the fuck is that?'

'Not your problem, Veronica, just put a bullet between his eyes. No 2 – Simon Cowell. He is bad news and pollutes our children.'

Oddly, I had no problem with that as I thought he was a right twat. I will give him an X factor right on his forehead. Okay. 'Next'

'Ja Ja Binks at number 3.'

'Hold on a bit. You want me to kill a computer generated image? Are you people for real?'

The Professor ignored me and cackling insanely, continued -

'At number 4, my ex wife. At number 5, my latest wife. And at number 6 my future wife.'

Hmm – I was starting to think second and third thoughts about this job offer...

'I presume you have seen the Matrix films?'

By now I was lying on the couch. Real fake leather. The watch claimed I was relatively stable so having an intelligence above Sharon Stones and being far better looking -

'If you think you are going to plug me into a computer, integrate me with a load of cyber bits, you have more chance of getting a blow job from Nancy next door. Who – just for your information – is transsexual and does them for free..'

The Professor sighed a deep sigh. (Awful writing but great fun making it so.)

'Veronica – I have one other offer. I understand you may be reluctant to be integrated into a cyber world, but do you fancy shooting people with a laser guided rifle from the back of an oil freighter off the coast of Somalia?'

Before I could reply a small explosion erupted. (Most explosions do – as a matter of fact.) I had farted! The Professor seemed pleased.

'Good girl,' as he waved his hand in front of his nose, 'Your guts are working well. So – what is it going to be?'

The girl who could feel nothing . Continued...Part 8

I was getting seriously bored by now. I stood up, went into the kitchen bay, took a 12 inch butcher's knife and plunged it through his skull so hard it came out through his throat. Then I had a panic attack... Fuck, fuck, fuck. I had forgotten to turn on the smart phone and film this for YouTube.
Bloody shame as his twitching death throes matched the music I had on – 'Tiger Feet' by some knobs that had two hit wonders.

Still – all considered – things were cool. I had the keys for the Lotus, a quick frisk of the wallet came up with a load of credit cards (all with the pin written on the back), 2000 in Euros and I am out of here...

The girl who could feel nothing . Continued...Part 9

Of course, first thing was to use the cards and pull as much dosh from any machine I came across.
The Lotus is a slug. Two litre of tired engine! I ask you. Still, with almost 200 k Euros in cash, with a passport that recognises I do not exist - there was only one place to go to. Stuttgart.

Why?

The girl who could feel nothing . Continued...Part 10

Weird, I was taught to bath and shave my armpits and legs. Armpits because it was 'unhygienic' and I may smell bad, and my legs because it was not considered 'ladylike'. Considering I could not smell a thing and I had as much chance of pulling a bloke as tickling my own clitoris, I thought this was a waste of state sanctioned razor blades.

But maybe when I pulled into Porsche HQ, after a rather long tedious drive, slapped 50k cash on the desk, did I care if I stunk like a skunk? The money smells clean.

A simple job. Remove the crap engine, shove in a Porsche engine boosting at least 300 HP, rig up the chassis to take the torque, but in no way change the design.

Oh man – they slobbered at the challenge.

Chapter Two -

Mi 5 or 6 HQ -