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Description
Dorothy didn’t get a choice. Some old witch pissed her off, she told the old witch to die already, the witch put a curse on her to live forever. That was seventy years ago and Dorothy hasn’t aged a day since.

But thoughts about it lingered in her mind. Sure, she didn’t *look* a day older than 25, but did that really mean she couldn’t die? She had been content to keep going, but as more years passed, so did the people she knew and the world she had lived in. Dorothy didn’t relate anymore. Technology was scary to her. Making new connections with anyone that wasn’t sexual was impossible, and even sex was losing its luster.

Also…nothing had come close to killing her. She hadn’t been sick in decades. No accidents, no dangerous near-misses, hardly a bruise to her knowledge. Would she really survive forever?

It took these nagging thoughts and advancing civilization about thirty years to make Dorothy take action. Overdosing on an entire bottle of pills only gave her a full day of sleep. Hanging herself taught her that she didn’t need to breathe anymore. Her tests *did* tell her she was probably immortal, but she was committed to finding a way to end it. Over a hundred years of life with no end in sight was enough for her.

Dorothy had checked out books from the library a couple months ago (she refused to connect to the internet). After a long process of trial and error (time that she had plenty of), she had become skilled enough to construct her own guillotine in her home’s guest room. It didn’t look pretty, but the blade went up ten feet and slammed down straight when dropped. As long as it worked, she didn’t care.

There was no preamble to using the device. She pulled the rope until the blade was fully raised and tied the rope to keep it there. She laid down face-up and scooched her body until her head was over nothing but air. Satisfied that her neck lined up with the blade supports, she grabbed the rope and untied it.

”If this doesn’t work, I’m fucked,” Dorothy said. She let go of the rope without a hint of emotion. The blade cleanly decapitated her less than a second later.

Dorothy’s head spun before smacking the ground. It bounced a few inches up and rolled a few feet across the floor. She wobbled to rest by the open door, facing her second floor landing. She felt a dim but radiating pain from her neck. She also felt a wet flow crossing what had to be her neck stump - must be blood, she thought. Despite this, the seconds droned on. She came no closer to losing consciousness. She could hear something behind her; the sound like water being squeezed through the nozzle of a plastic bottle and spraying the side of a metal sink.

Dorothy’s body’s sliced neck stump was making the noise. Blood jettisoned in spurts from the wound into the descended blade. Yet Dorothy could still move. She could not see or hear herself writhing on the platform. The searing sensation from her neck told her she succeeded in beheading herself, but her ability to know that, to feel her soaked stump, to sit upright - that told her she was somehow still alive.

She sat there for a while. Her hands and arms twitched at random. Her blood went from spraying streaks through the air to pooling on her neck stump and flowing down her chest. Eventually, Dorothy realized she wasn’t going to die. A few minutes later she realized that living without her head was worse than living with it. She stood up. She quickly lost balance and landed on the guillotine bench again.

Dorothy’s head was glad to finally hear something again. She had no idea if her body was alive, too - thank goodness it was! She heard the creaking of the platform a second time and waited for her body to —

Dorothy stubbed her toe against something on the floor. She was walking upright with her hands grasping in front of her. She wasn’t thinking well - it didn’t dawn on her that her severed head would be on the ground. In walking upright, she had stubbed her toe from kicking the back of her own head rather hard.

She rolled and bounced the short distance from the doorway to the top of the stairs. She was facing down the long flight, almost able to stop rolling…but tipped over the edge of the first stair. Dorothy screamed without a voice. Thud on the first stair, a harder thud on the second, a bounce off the third, tipped the edge of the fourth to spin right into the top of the fifth with speed and went airborne. Her head smacked the wall and cracked on the ninth stair. She was unconscious as she flew into the messy open coat closet at the foot of the stairs. Her head was caught by her coats and slipped down behind a box at the bottom.

Headless Dorothy was only aware her foot was in comparable pain to her headless neck. She had no idea what she kicked. In time, she continued to stumble around the room on two feet, knowing she wanted her head but unable to realize she wasn’t searching for it the right way. If she had walked back to the guillotine, maybe she would have remembered where her head would be after using it and try crawling on the floor for it. But Dorothy walked out of the room.

Her arms kept her balance with waves that looked nonsensical. Walls were her only hints at direction. Without her head to guide her, Dorothy had been reduced to a standing roomba. She knew to move to find her head, yet had no thought on how she would find it. Beheaded and beyond guidance, Dorothy roamed her home for several weeks before she thought of searching for her head on the ground.

Her head - healed from the cracked skull and sick of the boredom and smell of dried blood - gave up hope of being found quickly. She had all of the time in the world to be reunited with her body. She only hoped her body would be able to reattach her when she did.

————

More images and other extras available at Patreon.com/LackingCPU - help me reach my goal of $100 a month revenue towards my bills with your $3 a month subscription! Thanks!

Description
Dorothy didn’t get a choice. Some old witch pissed her off, she told the old witch to die already, the witch put a curse on her to live forever. That was seventy years ago and Dorothy hasn’t aged a day since.

But thoughts about it lingered in her mind. Sure, she didn’t *look* a day older than 25, but did that really mean she couldn’t die? She had been content to keep going, but as more years passed, so did the people she knew and the world she had lived in. Dorothy didn’t relate anymore. Technology was scary to her. Making new connections with anyone that wasn’t sexual was impossible, and even sex was losing its luster.

Also…nothing had come close to killing her. She hadn’t been sick in decades. No accidents, no dangerous near-misses, hardly a bruise to her knowledge. Would she really survive forever?

It took these nagging thoughts and advancing civilization about thirty years to make Dorothy take action. Overdosing on an entire bottle of pills only gave her a full day of sleep. Hanging herself taught her that she didn’t need to breathe anymore. Her tests *did* tell her she was probably immortal, but she was committed to finding a way to end it. Over a hundred years of life with no end in sight was enough for her.

Dorothy had checked out books from the library a couple months ago (she refused to connect to the internet). After a long process of trial and error (time that she had plenty of), she had become skilled enough to construct her own guillotine in her home’s guest room. It didn’t look pretty, but the blade went up ten feet and slammed down straight when dropped. As long as it worked, she didn’t care.

There was no preamble to using the device. She pulled the rope until the blade was fully raised and tied the rope to keep it there. She laid down face-up and scooched her body until her head was over nothing but air. Satisfied that her neck lined up with the blade supports, she grabbed the rope and untied it.

”If this doesn’t work, I’m fucked,” Dorothy said. She let go of the rope without a hint of emotion. The blade cleanly decapitated her less than a second later.

Dorothy’s head spun before smacking the ground. It bounced a few inches up and rolled a few feet across the floor. She wobbled to rest by the open door, facing her second floor landing. She felt a dim but radiating pain from her neck. She also felt a wet flow crossing what had to be her neck stump - must be blood, she thought. Despite this, the seconds droned on. She came no closer to losing consciousness. She could hear something behind her; the sound like water being squeezed through the nozzle of a plastic bottle and spraying the side of a metal sink.

Dorothy’s body’s sliced neck stump was making the noise. Blood jettisoned in spurts from the wound into the descended blade. Yet Dorothy could still move. She could not see or hear herself writhing on the platform. The searing sensation from her neck told her she succeeded in beheading herself, but her ability to know that, to feel her soaked stump, to sit upright - that told her she was somehow still alive.

She sat there for a while. Her hands and arms twitched at random. Her blood went from spraying streaks through the air to pooling on her neck stump and flowing down her chest. Eventually, Dorothy realized she wasn’t going to die. A few minutes later she realized that living without her head was worse than living with it. She stood up. She quickly lost balance and landed on the guillotine bench again.

Dorothy’s head was glad to finally hear something again. She had no idea if her body was alive, too - thank goodness it was! She heard the creaking of the platform a second time and waited for her body to —

Dorothy stubbed her toe against something on the floor. She was walking upright with her hands grasping in front of her. She wasn’t thinking well - it didn’t dawn on her that her severed head would be on the ground. In walking upright, she had stubbed her toe from kicking the back of her own head rather hard.

She rolled and bounced the short distance from the doorway to the top of the stairs. She was facing down the long flight, almost able to stop rolling…but tipped over the edge of the first stair. Dorothy screamed without a voice. Thud on the first stair, a harder thud on the second, a bounce off the third, tipped the edge of the fourth to spin right into the top of the fifth with speed and went airborne. Her head smacked the wall and cracked on the ninth stair. She was unconscious as she flew into the messy open coat closet at the foot of the stairs. Her head was caught by her coats and slipped down behind a box at the bottom.

Headless Dorothy was only aware her foot was in comparable pain to her headless neck. She had no idea what she kicked. In time, she continued to stumble around the room on two feet, knowing she wanted her head but unable to realize she wasn’t searching for it the right way. If she had walked back to the guillotine, maybe she would have remembered where her head would be after using it and try crawling on the floor for it. But Dorothy walked out of the room.

Her arms kept her balance with waves that looked nonsensical. Walls were her only hints at direction. Without her head to guide her, Dorothy had been reduced to a standing roomba. She knew to move to find her head, yet had no thought on how she would find it. Beheaded and beyond guidance, Dorothy roamed her home for several weeks before she thought of searching for her head on the ground.

Her head - healed from the cracked skull and sick of the boredom and smell of dried blood - gave up hope of being found quickly. She had all of the time in the world to be reunited with her body. She only hoped her body would be able to reattach her when she did.

————

More images and other extras available at Patreon.com/LackingCPU - help me reach my goal of $100 a month revenue towards my bills with your $3 a month subscription! Thanks!