The arm begins pulling away, begging to be separate from these other parts. This is a new development; just earlier today, I would have said “my arm” instead of “the arm,” but things have evidently changed. This is usual, I am told. A fact of the universe. Well, this collection of parts will have to bring themselves to God and ask for the answer to the question “What is the deal with all of this suffering?” They doubt there will be an answer. This kind of suffering almost seems self-wrought. The arm moves to strike the head, which happens to house the brain, though it should not be mistaken that the brain controls the head; the brain does not control much of anything anymore, it seems. The arm places blame on the brain for this suffering; the brain shrugs, hypothetically (it cannot manipulate the arms), and continues to work without explanation. A true enigma. The arm scratches the chin at this, the chin being an area of the body still somewhat neutral, for now. The arm seems to remember that this is a gesture indicating confusion, as the arm and all other rogue parts are certainly feeling. The other arm, dialectically opposed to the aforementioned arm (wouldn’t it be convenient to label them with directional descriptors such as “left” or “right?”), grabs hold of it and pushes it back to its neutral position. Infuriated, the arms begin fighting (as much as this word can apply to the quite frankly silly display being put on), rapidly flitting against each other and clawing whatever they end up touching. The torso is affected by this, being carelessly stricken due to its close proximity to the arms, and subsequently retracts its approval for the appendages. Previously, the torso had maintained a neutral, perhaps even benevolent, standpoint regarding the structures that it found itself supporting; they had done it no harm, and so it would continue to work in the interest of their mutual benefit. Now, the torso had a reason to hold contempt for its roommates (roommates makes it sound like they ever had a chance of liking each other; they shouldn’t really be called that). The torso, unlike the head, is one with the organs it houses and therefore can exert perfect control over them. So, the torso reacts accordingly to what has happened: it ceases the operation of the heart. Yes, this is self-destructive, but the torso does not particularly care. This whole body has, in the words of a human-piloted body, “gone to shit.” Immediately, the effects are obvious. Both arms go limp, as do the legs, which weren’t even involved in this drama (this is not to say the legs are innocent, as just a short while ago, they repeatedly kicked floors and walls, causing much damage to the environment and themselves). Finally, the brain activates, which isn’t very useful, considering the fact that it has no control over any of this. Except for the chin, I guess. The brain begins thinking of memories, as is an unspoken protocol when a brain is about to stop, but the memories do not really exist. They are fabrications, emulations of somebody’s life, as this body has not belonged to a human for a very long time, and all of the parts that made it a person have slowly disappeared. Apparently, the brain still finds meaning in this. Cool. The heart continues to not beat; this continues to be not good. More organs are shutting down, half because of the lack of blood and half because the torso told them to. No movement is possible. Not even the eyelids can be closed to save the eyes from the harmful light of the sun, as the body’s face is currently pointing upwards (it is not clear how this body ended up outside, as it seemed for a very long time that the only thing that existed was the inside). The eyes do not care, as they too have been wronged by the other parts and they know that the body’s death is the only way that this can be resolved. Still, they water, in what another body would most likely interpret as tears, though  the eyes know  that this is just an instinctual reaction to dehydration. Everything is going wrong now. None of the body’s parts were ever able to think (except for the brain, though an argument could be made there too), but in their own individual ways, each of them are now thinking “I am about to die.” And they are correct. In the span of only a few minutes, each and every facet of this body has ended. The body is dead. But I live. I, a member of this collection of parts, though not nearly as tangible as the rest, solely remain. I now feel a strange tangibility forming of me . I walk, if that is what it should be called, away, far away from this body, as I am a different being, a more sophisticated and orderly being, and I do not wish to be associated with such chaos.