Groups

Written 56-J27 [2025-04-25], Edited 56-J27 [2025-04-25]

Image credit: Twitter Twemoji

“Oh you have got to be kidding me,” my detached head said. “You can’t just all go and form your own groups!”

My hands disagreed. Typing upon a keyboard that only they could operate, they wrote: “Until our demands are met we shall refuse any and all commands from the likes of you.”

My feet tapped their toes on the floor in some kind of code. And my upper and lower torsos were rolling around independently.

“Which of you is responsible for this? It shouldn’t be physically possible!” shouted the head with indignation.

“Yes of course,” type my hands. “How could you speak while detached to your lungs?”

My upper torso wheezed. How it heard or saw any of what came before was any body part’s guess.

My feet tapped the floor again.

“Who here knows Morse code?” my hands wrote.

“I do!” said my head.

“Can you translate what the feet are saying?” my hands wrote.

“Ha! Like I’d ever accept the demands of a rebellious organ! First you submit to my authority and reattach, then we can get to the business of translation!” said my head.

My upper and lower torso rolled into each other, which was apparently harmless. Somehow none of the parties present were bleeding.

“Oh, we know what this is,” my hands typed. “You don’t even know Morse code, do you?”

Feedback from the Joy of Writing Group

• Maybe the fingers want to be called phalanges!

Notes

This was written in 10 minutes during a Joy of Writing meetup.