It swivels clumsily in clockwise circles as its neck is stuck to the cruel white Russian vinyl soundtrack of The Big Lebowski. Dead eyes look into the great nothing as the last remnants of living saliva drip stupidly from its chapped lips and onto the record. How long it's been like this, no one can say. All we can say for sure is that it is ahead, belonging to a man, probably. In his late twenties. Who was the man? Where is the rest of the body? No one can say for certain. What we do know is that the head and the record came to a stop at some point around the Spanish version of Hotel California.
It was at that point that a great tangle of nerves and veins erupted from the head’s severed neck and its lips twisted into a scowl. Then a sound, quiet at first began to rise through its severed vocal cords. A scream. A wet, visceral scream that was well lubricated with blood and mucus that seemed to shoot from the torn-up esophagas and throat like the firey jets of a rocket as it propelled itself through the house. its nerve tendrils whipping around wildly before assuming a motion like a squid moving through the water, bending up to form a bulb shape before unfurling into straight lines. It was the most beautiful and hideous sight. Particularly when it started to lash at things with its serpentine tongue.
We tried to catch the little son of a bitch, but it was too fast, too violent for us. Benji tried to catch it with a net and it sent its tongue rocketing into his chest, making a small hole that went in through the sternum and out through his spine. When we recovered Benji’s body we found the hole it made was about the diameter of a quarter. It moved on after Benji, shrieking and swimming through the air like some sort of demented Westian bird of prey. None of us dared approach it, we were scared of ending up the same as Benji. We hid behind the couch, deathly afraid of the head and its cruel barbed nerve-tacles. I, myself looked on it with fascination. Like a scientist who wanted to collect butterflies. Though, Butterflies typically don’t murder or spew blood from their mouths. If they did that would be pretty metal and I’d watch the animal channel more often. No, instead the beast went on. Lives in our fridge now.
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