Fiction

A Chicken With Its Head Cut Off
by Tim Johnson

The man’s head sat expressionlessly on the dusty floor about five feet from where his body sat bolt upright in a rickety wooden chair. Dr. Graves and Professor Wright stood nearby, anxiously observing. Dr. Graves held an IV needle which still contained a large portion of their delicious new concoction.

Wright firmly gripped the large knife in his sweaty right hand. Fresh, warm blood dripped steadily from the incredibly sharp blade. He couldn’t help but to feel just a little guilty. If the vaccine didn’t work, he’d feel even worse.

Endless seconds passed with incredible slowness. Eventually, Graves saw a twitch. Taylor’s finger stirred slightly. "It’s working!" Graves hollered excitedly, not once taking his eyes off the man’s twitching fingers. "Do you see? It’s finally stopped bleeding!"

Wright nodded slowly, incredibly relieved but still quite nervous. He gazed watchfully as the twitching spread rapidly through the headless man’s hands and up his arms. After a minute of continuous and increasing twitching, the headless body rose to its feet and began to walk awkwardly.

"Amazing!" Graves shouted, in absolute awe. "Quickly, get him under control and apply the gelatin to fully cauterize the wound. I’ll apply the adhesive to the cranium."

Timidly, Wright obeyed. He gripped the jittering body firmly by its shoulders and sat it down on the splintery chair. Then he reached for the beaker containing the thick, slimy, orange gelatin. After pouring the entire contents of the beaker onto the reddened mess of Taylor’s broken neck, he began to evenly spread the substance with a spatula-like tool.

Graves, who had been busily prepping the head, hurried towards the body. "And to think the University rid themselves of us and our project," he remarked spitefully, laughing.

Wright stepped aside and observed as Graves very carefully placed the head. Thick, glue-like goo began to drip down the bloodied neck as the doctor positioned the now convulsing head, like returning a cork to the neck of a bottle. Graves then stepped back and examined his work the way an artist looks at a canvass coated with drying paint in the shape of a masterpiece.

The convulsing movement of the face began to lessen. The mouth moved as if speaking.

"It’s working!" Dr. Graves said to the professor, his face was that of an excited child. "My God, it’s actually working!"

As the mouth moved, more and more normally, an eventual word escaped. "Wow," Taylor exhaled, turning his newly attached head from side to side.

"Unbelievable."

"Yes!" Graves exclaimed. "Isn’t it?"

"How do you feel?" Wright asked, noticing his heart beating rapidly and sweat forming thickly on his brow. It was then that he realized that, perhaps, medicine was advancing too wildly, like…a chicken with its head cut off. He swallowed hard, almost smiling.

"I feel…fine," Taylor replied, standing and walking around the room admiringly. The oozing goo and blood surrounding his neck began to flake and fall away in a powdery mist, leaving behind clean, unmarked skin. "This is amazing. Never in a million years would I have—"

"Now," Dr. Graves interrupted, startling both Wright and Taylor. He jabbed the IV needle into his neck and depressed, injecting the remaining liquid into his bloodstream. Hurriedly he paced across the room and picked up the blood-covered knife. With incredible excitement and joy, he handed the knife to Professor Wright and said, "Now, cut off my head."