For the longest time, we walked around, bodies without heads, shuffling our feet to avoid tripping on curbs, twigs, and each other. We held hands, relied on them to communicate, and eagerly followed one another like train cars connected by couplers, because what else could we do?
One day, though, we came upon a bin of heads. There were thousands of them, it seemed, enough for all of us, so we reached in, poking at eyes, picking noses, and fondling lips, until one of us chose a head, put it on, and the rest of us did the same.
A few of the heads were more sensorially appealing than the others, with soft hair and smooth skin. And they somehow snapped right into place, effortlessly matching the body underneath.
But that was unusual. Most of us had to work to attach the heads. Don’t force it, one or another would say. Just try a different one.
We discovered that some of the voices were more pleasant-sounding than others, more soothing. And that some of the eyes worked better. And some of the ears, too.
So we bartered, traded. Don’t force it, we all said again. If it doesn’t fit, it doesn’t fit.
And at first, as long as our heads didn’t fall off, we felt happier and more complete than ever before, aside from some soreness in our necks. We even let go of each other, learned to walk by ourselves, marveled at our independence. We learned to sing, and discovered euphony and the way our voices could give new depth to words. It wasn’t always beautiful, but the songs—if you could even call them that—were ours.
In this contented way, we stayed for quite a while. But then the few whose heads had snapped right on without force or struggle, a perfect fit of size, shape, and color, decided that everybody’s heads should match their bodies, should fit just so, should have a certain level of attractiveness. And if they didn’t—well, accusations flew. You should never have forced it! And threats. Heads will roll! Those with the most mismatched heads were targeted first, and though the targeted ones tried to appeal to reason, it was of no use.
And so it happened. Heads were tugged at and pulled off arbitrarily and placed back into the bin. Headless again, we fought back as best we could, once again using our hands to communicate. Arm in arm, we found our way back to the bin with hopes of obtaining new heads, but by then, headed guards were stationed all around and there was little we could do. We scratched the guards’ noses, tugged at their ears, knocked our fists against their teeth. But they swatted at us, tripped us, bit us. And then they pushed us down, left us for dead in a tangled mess of torsos, arms, and legs. And there we lay, silent. Because without heads, we had no mouth. And without a mouth, we had no voice. And without a voice, it was as though we weren’t even human.
