The feeling of feeling.

“Can you keep a secret?”

His face was a mask of practiced calm as he patiently awaited my answer.

“Hell no. ”

A look of concern seemed to cross the interviewer’s face, but it was quickly replaced by his usual indifferent expression. Jotting something down in his little red notebook, he lifted his head and nudged his glasses back up his nose, meeting my eyes with a focused glare.

“Well then. Next question, if I may?”

“Go ahead.”

“What skills could you contribute to this particular job?”

Nodding my head to confirm that I heard his question, I ignored the recitals I’d practiced with my mother when I told her I was going for an interview. I mean, paper organisation skills were probably very useful, but for this job, it was probably the last thing you’d need.

“Well sir,”-I begin, spinning words spontaneously-“I did some gymnastics when I was a little kid, and I even bit a dude in like, baby school? And I can get real nasty where a stationary thief is concerned.” I pause, not daring to see his face. “And if you’re looking for creativity-I’m a natural borne artist. In cooking. Mother says I make a mean noodle soup.”

Finishing off my little speech, I grin at him and gesture with some jazz hands, confident I’d completely ruined my chances of getting in. Moving my eyes from the extremely dry painting on the wall, I look at the interviewer. His face seemed to show a serious internal struggle, between throwing me out or continuing this interview, but it was quickly replaced by the most fake, most passive smile I’d ever witnessed.

“That was interesting to hear. As we have already been through the majority of the questions in this interview, I have only one final question to ask you. ”

“Why do you want this job?”

I knew it. I knew this question would come. This question always came up. What was I meant to tell him? The, ‘I’m incredibly passionate about this field of work because I have always admired paperwork’ gist? Then I remembered something, and took a deep breath before I spoke.

“Wait. I-um-I am sorry I made such a joke out of this interview. Every interview I’ve been to, has never had my heart in it. Life is full of so many boring things, and the reason I came to this one, is because I want some excitement. But more than that, I want to try something new, something completely different. ” A pause, as I considered telling him the final part.

“And I want to feel. I feel so apathetic, emotionless, feeling nothing, no matter what I see. Being dragged along in this, this hopeless excuse for a life. Accepting this job in itself would be scary for a lot of people. But for me, it’s a possible something that could finally make me feel. Something. "

I cringe at the desperate tone of my voice.

"Anything."

A faint pause, that seemed to drag on for minutes as he seemed to consider my words for a second, before scribbling frantically on his note.

“Thank you for coming to the interview Miss. We’ll get back to you on your success or failure. In the event of success, we can speak about salaries and job hours later. ”

“Thanks for your time.”

I wake up with a start, remembering my rather peculiar interview. My answers had been terrible, and the little speech at the end probably confirmed to him that I was a literal psychopath. And yet, I had been accepted. I remember my mother’s joy when I showed her the letter. There was nothing about the actual job- just that I’d been accepted. Of course, my mother doesn’t know what it actually is, she thinks I’m just a paperwork sorter or something. But that was 4 months ago. Ever since then, I’ve been training. Jumps and leaps, and actual fit workout sessions, along with spying tactics and sneaky things that I wish I hadn't known. I’ve been taught how to fight, and even had a few gruesome tests. But all in all, the training is over, and now I’m destined to go and have the first go at my job. Hell, I was excited.

I get to the training center in the late evening, waving to my trainer as I walked towards him, all suited up in my light, aerodynamic, slick suit. He grinned.

“Ready to be an assassin?”

I nodded, making an indifferent face, when really I was feeling rather strange. Here I was, about to take a life. What was I going to feel?

“Okay. This guy. This address. Low security, low skills. Be in, be out. Easy.” he spoke rapidly, handing me a sheet of paper.

I nodded.

“Any questions?”

I shake my head.

“Good. See you then. And don’t fail.”

Getting out of the car, I look up, gazing at the run down flat and ignoring the slow speeding pounding of my heart. Using a trick I was taught, the door to the flat building was open in less than seconds, but rather than going to his room, which he must have been occupying as indicated by the lights, I broke into the room beneath. The owner was out, a lucky event that I used to my advantage. Climbing up the balcony, I swing myself and pull my body onto the balcony above, slyly eyeing the glass door, covering the curtains, and beyond that, the man I was ordered to kill. Unlocking the door with a tiny click, a sound that was barely audible, I turn the handle and step inside, using the curtain as my cover.

Listening carefully, I hear him singing. A simple tune, an age old folk song that I hadn’t heard, for a very long time. His voice was surprisingly strong, considering his thin and spindly body and his rather introverted attitude to his surroundings. He wore round glasses, that made his eyes look kinder, and his smile grew with his song. I stayed still for a few moments, entranced by the sudden surge of emotion. It’s just a song. I had to get a grip on myself. Get this done.

I swipe at the curtains and slink in, focusing on the man with a sharpened glare. The tune he was singing stopped abruptly, and I felt a sharp pang in my heart. I push away the feeling and pull out the knife, slipped in my side pocket, only to discover that my hands were shaking. Just slightly. I betrayed my rising emotions, thoughts I barely understood and marched towards the man, the man who had first looked at me enquiringly and on his defensive, now stood frozen with an expression of fear. Seeing him like that, it did not make me feel good.

I raised the knife and stared into his eyes, his footsteps retreating and his arms held up in front of him protectively. I grew nearer and nearer, intruding into his space, until he could back away no further, his body trembling in terror and his eyes widening, pupils switching between the point of the dagger and my own eyes, a fear that ebbed from him, fear that I could almost taste. And yet, I hated it.

I couldn’t. Not now. Not after I’d heard his tune, not after I saw what made him so human. Everyone had feelings, no matter how deep or hidden they were, no matter how they were shown. Unable to move, frozen in my indecision, I suddenly felt my eyes blurring, the beginnings of tears forming and falling down, dropping slowly down my cheek and onto the floor, almost in time with the clanging of my knife on the kitchen floor. Backing away, trying to convey an apology and the pain I felt, through my eyes, towards the man, I turned and ran back, leaping over the balcony and sliding back down, exiting the flat in the worst manner possible.

I ran home, the black night no longer a symbol for the colour in my heart. The moon glimmered above me, its rays falling on me and almost embracing me, cleansing the feelings I felt.

“Darling! Where have you been? It’s so awfully late! Get inside now, quickly.”

My mother was very disheveled, cautiously opening the door at this ghastly hour to find her daughter grinning rather creepily.

“I’m -uh- sorry-work took a bit longer than it was supposed to. It wasn’t very fun after all.”

A pause.

“I quit.”

I see the shock in my mother’s eyes, quickly replaced with a feeling of tired hopelessness.

“But I’m sure I’ll find some other easy old job. Maybe organizing some other paperwork?” I say, grinning and trying to lighten up the mood.

After all, I hadn’t hurt him. I may have done some slightly illegal activities, like the breaking in, and the almost murder, but in the end, the feeling was all that mattered. I had felt things, things I never though I would. I had never wanted to take someone's life, never wanted to hurt anyone, and I had even been enchanted by something so simple as a song.

I climbed into bed, looking at the moon's light, one last time before I closed the curtains, the folk song’s tune playing in my head as I gently feel myself drifting into sleep, a sleep that came easily. Burying my secret deep within me, I knew that I’d spend a long time trying to erase it from my mind, from my memories. But the feeling of actually feeling- I’d carry that with me, for a long time to come.

I hated keeping secrets anyway.