Someone Else's Legs

I woke this morning and was very surprised to discover someone else's legs dangling under my body. I stood and marched around the house. Sure enough, they obeyed me as a proper pair of legs should. If anyone that wasn't me were to look in through a window, they might not know that these legs weren't mine. I might not otherwise know my own legs underneath had I not spent my entire life previous with the same pair.

They were fine legs, strong and healthy, but they were not my legs. I gave the matter some thought over breakfast and reached the simple conclusion that they had to come off. I tried a few of the kitchen knives, but it was all too messy. I went out to the shed and tried the hacksaw, but the thin blade got all gummed up with ligaments. I couldn't get a proper angle with an axe or machete. Luckily my old circular saw was up to the challenge. I had to dismantle the safety shutter, but otherwise it all went smoothly.

I had gathered materials for tourniquets and bandages. I had even crafted a crude wheelchair for myself with some old bicycle parts and a deck chair. After all the fuss and splatter, though, I noticed that there was very little blood. Reaching down, the wounds had already healed smooth. Even further, I could stand up and march about again.

My torso hovered perhaps three or four feet off the ground. I could will myself here and there as if I still had legs. In fact, my torso would bob up and down like I was taking steps. I could run without being winded. I could kick over junk on the ground. I could jump up and down on broken glass. I could dance ontop of a campfire, though I had to stop once my bottom started to burn.

That first day was remarkable. I felt quite magical and interesting. I fell asleep that night thinking of the fun story I could tell my friends and perhaps some silly pranks we might be able to pull.

I woke with a strange itch. My legs felt fantastic, or at least the vaccuum of their absence felt fantastic. But now I couldn't help but view my arms with suspicion. There was no doubt in my mind that they belonged to me. Unlike yesterday's legs, these arms were certainly the ones I've been swinging around for all these years. Still, compared to the grand utility and simple delight of a pair of magical legs, two regular old arms seemed rather dull.

It bothered me all morning. I tried to put it out of my mind, but by early afternoon I was marching out to the shed again. Click, whizz, crunch, splatter. My old arms flopped to the ground, an ignoble end for such helpful creatures.

You can imagine my relief when I was able to wipe my own brow with my new, magical arms. Just like my legs, My shoulders healed smooth and clean. My new limbs, seemingly comprised of solid air, were strong and fit. I spent the rest of the day teaching myself to juggle burning embers. I wanted a show to match the story for my friends.

The next morning I couldn't help but notice how silly I looked as a floating torso. The human body isn't meant to float around like that. In the mirror I looked odd and oblong. And this began a terrible thought. If I laid a blade across my throat and severed the head from the torso, which would fall away?

Would I be a little head bobbing around? Would I be a sightless chest, wiggling its odd little nubs?

I should have learned not to ask such questions of myself. Sure enough, it bothered me all morning and by dinner, there was nothing else to it. I marched out to the shed, bent over and hit the button.

When I look in the mirror, I only see whatever lies behind me. For all intents and purposes, I have become invisible. I can't remember feeling tired; I haven't bothered to sleep in some time. I run as the birds fly, dance along planes in flight, and tumble off of buildings for fun. I've seen such wonderful and frightening things. I'd love to tell my friends, but I don't think they'd recognize me.