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Description
The last texts Anita sent me came in at about 8 am. She was confirming - for the fifth time - that I was ABSOLUTELY coming to her apartment tonight, and that I had my spare key. She had a surprise for me, and refused to give any other reason why. My other texts around lunch and after work went unanswered, which was unlike her.

I showed up an hour ago. After another batch of unanswered texts and a call that went to voicemail, I used the spare key to let myself in. I heard her rummaging around in her bedroom. “Hey Anita, it’s just me! Not a robber!” She didn’t answer.

”Anita, I’m here,” I said louder. Her response was slamming a door shut…then opening it. Now concerned, I walked to the hallway to her room.

”Are you - WHAT THE - ANITA!?!? Anita, is- is that YOU?!”

You would think I would know what my best friend looks like. I do! Her height, curves, tattoos, style - bingo, all definitely what Anita brings to the table. However, the face is what you tend to recognize first. I definitely remembered it, and that memory is all I or she has of her face now, because her whole head was gone. All that remained to show she had had a head was a flat red neck stump and stitches around her neck’s circular edge.

Anita fumbled for the handle of her bedroom door and closed it. She kept her left hand on the hallway wall and crept forward. Her right hand reached toward me. I touched it. She jumped, then reached out again. I held her hand for a brief moment - she was quick to start feeling my arms and my face. I tried pulling away until I realized she had no other way to recognize me.

”Yep, you dumb bitch, it’s me. Jesus, Anita, why?! What were you thinking? Can you even think anymore?”

Once my beheaded bestie was satisfied with examining me, she flailed for my hand and led me to her kitchen. She swayed and stumbled so much, I’m surprised her balance wasn’t completely severed from her like her head was. Her free arm searched for the table, found it, and patted down the surface until she touched a thin stack of papers. She adamantly slapped them and poked me in the chest repeatedly.

”Okay, I get it, I’ll read them!” I sat down. She felt for me, figured out I was sitting with the pages, and started aimlessly wandering.

So yeah, that was an hour ago. Finding her headless, reading her handwritten letter describing why she chose to do it (bad reasons, but if she’s happy, so what) and what she did with her head (sold it to them to cover the procedure cost and a few months rent). For better or worse, my dumbass friend is stuck without a head by choice.

I started recording video of her clumsily navigating her apartment and knocking things over. Honestly, I was stalling for time - do I leave her alone? Do I stay here and just live here now? Do I take her back to my place? I have no idea what she plans to do to take care of herself - surgically reattaching her head (or any head, for that matter) doesn’t seem like an option.

Anita was oblivious to my dilemma over her. Hell, maybe even oblivious to me. Wandering, stumbling, fidgeting with her stump stitches (and stiffening up in recoil to the pain). She really went and cut her head off.

—————

See images like this one while helping me pay bills for $3 a month at patreon.com/LackingCPU - direct links available in my journals

Description
The last texts Anita sent me came in at about 8 am. She was confirming - for the fifth time - that I was ABSOLUTELY coming to her apartment tonight, and that I had my spare key. She had a surprise for me, and refused to give any other reason why. My other texts around lunch and after work went unanswered, which was unlike her.

I showed up an hour ago. After another batch of unanswered texts and a call that went to voicemail, I used the spare key to let myself in. I heard her rummaging around in her bedroom. “Hey Anita, it’s just me! Not a robber!” She didn’t answer.

”Anita, I’m here,” I said louder. Her response was slamming a door shut…then opening it. Now concerned, I walked to the hallway to her room.

”Are you - WHAT THE - ANITA!?!? Anita, is- is that YOU?!”

You would think I would know what my best friend looks like. I do! Her height, curves, tattoos, style - bingo, all definitely what Anita brings to the table. However, the face is what you tend to recognize first. I definitely remembered it, and that memory is all I or she has of her face now, because her whole head was gone. All that remained to show she had had a head was a flat red neck stump and stitches around her neck’s circular edge.

Anita fumbled for the handle of her bedroom door and closed it. She kept her left hand on the hallway wall and crept forward. Her right hand reached toward me. I touched it. She jumped, then reached out again. I held her hand for a brief moment - she was quick to start feeling my arms and my face. I tried pulling away until I realized she had no other way to recognize me.

”Yep, you dumb bitch, it’s me. Jesus, Anita, why?! What were you thinking? Can you even think anymore?”

Once my beheaded bestie was satisfied with examining me, she flailed for my hand and led me to her kitchen. She swayed and stumbled so much, I’m surprised her balance wasn’t completely severed from her like her head was. Her free arm searched for the table, found it, and patted down the surface until she touched a thin stack of papers. She adamantly slapped them and poked me in the chest repeatedly.

”Okay, I get it, I’ll read them!” I sat down. She felt for me, figured out I was sitting with the pages, and started aimlessly wandering.

So yeah, that was an hour ago. Finding her headless, reading her handwritten letter describing why she chose to do it (bad reasons, but if she’s happy, so what) and what she did with her head (sold it to them to cover the procedure cost and a few months rent). For better or worse, my dumbass friend is stuck without a head by choice.

I started recording video of her clumsily navigating her apartment and knocking things over. Honestly, I was stalling for time - do I leave her alone? Do I stay here and just live here now? Do I take her back to my place? I have no idea what she plans to do to take care of herself - surgically reattaching her head (or any head, for that matter) doesn’t seem like an option.

Anita was oblivious to my dilemma over her. Hell, maybe even oblivious to me. Wandering, stumbling, fidgeting with her stump stitches (and stiffening up in recoil to the pain). She really went and cut her head off.

—————

See images like this one while helping me pay bills for $3 a month at patreon.com/LackingCPU - direct links available in my journals