"Can you bring in the next donor, Jean?"

"Right away, Doctor."

The Doctor made a few final scribbles on the form for the last donor. She filed the form and closed the filing cabinet as the door opened. Her assistant Jean showed an older man to the examination chair.

"Thank you." The Doctor turned to her patient. "Back so soon, Arthur?"

"Yup. The wife loves having me around the house, and it's not like I can work after a donation!"

The Doctor laughed. "So what will you be donating today?"

Arthur raised his left arm up and held it level it the air. "Same as last time."

She nodded and walked next to his arm, pulling a silver object out of her front pocket. It was shaped like a pen, but had no grooves or buttons of any kind, save for a small hole at one end. The Doctor gripped his arm below the elbow. She pointed the object hole-down at his skin just under the lip of his t-shirt.

"This will only sting for a second," said the Doctor. A green laser beam about a foot in length fired from the silver object. She brought it across the thickness of his arm. The beam made a sound like ripping paper as it severed Arthur's arm, leaving most of it hanging in the Doctor's grip. Arthur grimaced for a moment, but his face quickly relaxed. He reacted to his arm being removed the same way he might have reacted if someone hit him with a rolled-up magazine.

The Doctor walked to the other side of the room with his limb. She approached a countertop with several different metallic boxes of varying sizes on it. All of the boxes had a thick cable extending from one of their sides into a computer console. She opened the lid on a long and thin box. She put Arthur's arm in this box, closed the lid, and stepped over to the computer's touch screen.

"You made your donation to Ecuador last time. My processor is recommending you donate to Kenya; it seems they are in a food shortage."

Arthur looked confused. "You mean they're going to eat my arm?"

"Not exactly, Sir. The donations are broken down into whatever substance your donation has in it. Water, nutrients, sometimes trace elements. They will receive it on their end as several pounds of protein bars if it goes to Kenya. Ecuador was a couple gallons of water."

Arthur relaxed. "As long as they aren't giving it to cannibals, you can send it there."

The Doctor couldn't help but smile. "Nothing of the sort," she said as she pressed in commands to the console. It emitted a set of beeps and started humming. A blue light on the box holding Arthur's arm flashed in a regular pattern. In about ten seconds, the flashing light turned into a solid green glow.

"Okay, sir! Your donation was transferred successfully. You can expect your arm to take about a week to begin regeneration, another week to be completely restored. Your wage compensation will be sent to your account tomorrow." The Doctor pulled out another form and began to fill it out. "Anything else?"

Arthur favored his full right arm for support in standing up. "Nope. I don't need this to cost me an arm AND a leg!" He laughed hard at his own joke as he walked to the door.

The Doctor heard this twice today alone and didn't bother to fake amusement. "Have a nice day, sir. Jean, can you send in my next donor?"

"Of course, Doctor."

She saw another six patients after Arthur that day. Another older man and a middle-aged woman also gave their left arms. One man chose to lose both of his hands ('only a week until full regeneration, but difficult to manage,' the Doctor warned him, but he insisted and she cut the hands off). One young paralyzed woman came in for her monthly donation of her legs ('someone might as well get to use them,' the woman had told her the first time she had come in three years prior).

The second-to-last donor of the day was unusual, but not unheard of. A stunning, buxom woman came  to her insisting the Doctor donate her breasts at the same time as her own.

"Look at your chest! I can't say for sure with that lab coat you're wearing, but those must be at LEAST as big as mine!" She had stripped herself topless in moments and was thrusting her tits forward.

"I cannot donate without adequate work coverage," the Doctor replied. Her tone was neutral to the woman's offer. "Donors are not permitted to work until regeneration is complete. Please bend over."

The woman, dejected, turned to the table and bent over. Her large tits hung and wobbled. The Doctor grabbed and removed each breast, ignoring the gasps and short moans from the woman that came along with it. She was blushing as she put her shirt on and walked out without another word.

If that woman had been unusual, the Doctor's last visitor was downright bizarre.

"Final donor today, Doctor," Jean said as she opened the door.

The girl who walked in had pixie-cut blond hair, brown eyes, and a shy smile. She had a curvy build for her 5-foot-4 frame. "I'm Madison," she said upon taking a seat. Her voice was soft with an effortless sparkle in it. "I would like to make a recurring donation."

The Doctor paused. "A recurring donation?" It wasn't the first one she had done, but it was rare, and for good reason. "Your donated part will never regenerate. All energy that would go into remaking yourself will automatically convert into the donation you choose today."

Madison kept her gaze locked on the Doctor. "I know." Madison's breathing seemed to pick up. "I've been waiting on this decision for a while." Her mouth was getting dry; she ran her tongue between her lips to moisturize them. Her hands tightened and loosened on the armrests. "I'm sure this is what I want."

"What would you like to donate?"

Madison shifted in her chair. The Doctor could tell that the girl was getting uncomfortable, but her eyes never moved from the Doctor's face.

"I want to donate my head."

The Doctor froze. Her head? This girl (at least 18, but still a girl) wanted to donate her head permanently? The rest of her life without sound, sight, smells, even taste? The Doctor was caught off guard. "This type of donation is already life-altering when it's a hand, a foot, or an entire arm, let alone living without a head ever again."

"Mmmm," Madison moaned. "I've been headless a few times, but always hate it when it comes back. I can't stand it." She crossed her legs and looked to the side. "I feel complete as that incomplete woman...that living toy...that bliss-filled oblivion..." Her eyes closed. "...how alive I feel when there's no way to escape my restraints. It IS life-altering..."

She turned her head back to the Doctor and opened her eyes. "Besides, heads have the best donation quality and variety; some things can only be made from willingly donated heads...there's no way your organization will turn it down."

The Doctor asked the only question that she could use to stop this girl from mutilating herself. "Have you followed protocol in appointing a caretaker?"

Madison's shy smile curled into a knowing, confident grin. "My fiancé. My mother is my backup." She reached into her purse and pulled out a folded packet of pages. "Everything I need to legally get rid of my head is right here."

The Doctor was neutral on the outside as she took and verified the paperwork. Inside, however, her mind was racing.

("I know what it feels like, Madison. I had to in order to get this job. My hands, arms, feet, legs, tits, lower half, upper half, even my head, all in different combinations.")

"Do you have photo I.D.?"

The girl was still wearing that nearly sexual grin. Her face didn't move as her hands pulled her I.D. card out of her purse. It was like Madison was already practicing her life without her head.

The Doctor took it from her and began verifying the name and signatures.

("Yes, it feels amazing. But do you remember your first time you had a nearly whole body with an important piece missing from the end of your neck? The pain and panic that sets in when it's felt like five weeks and you should have it back by now but you couldn't tell the time or ask anyone what time it was or if it was even daytime or if the sun even existed anymore and thought 'what if it never comes back? What if I'm stuck like this forever?' and it had only been two hours? Do you forget what that was like?")

"Is you primary caretaker here?"

"Outside the front door," Madison replied. The sparkle of her voice was faded. Her eyes were dazed. But that smile stayed strong on her face, even as she spoke. "I remember the way out. I'm walking out of here as a headless woman. As myself."

("No, you don't remember. You're lost in a daydream. You've been spoiled by this fiancé and the thought of having your perfect wedding without a head. Are you picturing it now? Because you won't see it when it happens. Or smell the beautiful flower arrangements. Or hear your family celebrate. Is wearing and touching the dress when it's done going to be enough? Because it's the only memory you'll have.")

The Doctor put the paperwork down next to the forms that would be filled out once the girl was past the point of no return. She turned to the donation console. "Recurring donations of any kind are rare. I get to verify that there is a necessity not only for the kinds of materials a head can produce, but someone willing to pay for recurring donation reimbursement for life for the service. If one isn't available, you will have to come back."

("Will a ragged cut ruin your pristine fantasy of a pure wedding? A neck stump heals enough to round out the edges in a few days when the donation is temporary, but your little recurring donation takes everything. Halloween will be the only time you will ever fit in in society again. Do you know this? Do you actually want this?")

A lone option came up on the Doctor's screen after a minute of waiting. "You can donate stem cells at an average rate of three grams a month to a paraplegic research and recovery institution in New York City. $6,000 dollars a gram, rate adjustable to inflation over time."

Madison snapped out of her trip in the clouds. "I'll do it."

("Will those be your last words? Did you forget that no one will ever hear that sweet, soothing voice again? Do you even care? You might not now, but you will.

("You will care about singing, about music, about just one more 'I love you,' once you know you won't hear it again. You will care about sunsets and rainbows and places you've been, once what they looked like starts to fade away. You will care about the foods you loved and the way their aroma filled your sinuses once you've had your hundredth nutrient tube deposited into your stomach and you realize that's the only thing you can ever use to fill you and that nothing will fill the hollow inside of you left behind from unmooring your senses for eternity.

("You don't care about any of that now. But you will care. In time, you will.")

She didn't tell the girl any of this. Even though her mind was twisting a maelstrom of reasons this naive child shouldn't decapitate herself, the Doctor followed a small, strong voice that stood defiant in the winds of reason.

("Let her make her own mistakes. Give her what she wants. When else will you get this chance? You won't ever do it to yourself. Give in. Mutilate her. Chop off her head. Let her deal with the consequences.")

The Doctor lifted the silver laser pointer out of her pocket. "Please remain as still as possible."

Madison's eyes locked on to the pointer. She laid back against the angle of the chair, her arms taunt on the armrests. Her breathing was steady, deep, and somewhat fast. The Doctor noticed the girl's nipples were erect to the point where the ball bearings on the end of her piercings were visible under her shirt.

The Doctor put her left hand under the back of the girl's head. Madison gasped, then giggled, when the laser was activated.

("See? She's practically begging you to destroy her. Do it. Do it and watch the show.")

("One day, sooner than you realize, you will care.")

The Doctor brought the laser across Madison's neck, severing her head from her body for the last time with the sound of ripping paper. It took two seconds to complete.

The eyes on the girl's head stared out vacantly. Without any tension from her jaw muscles, her mouth hung open and askew. The Doctor shifted the head into both hands and watched the girl move in her chair.

Madison's chest was heaving up and down. Air invaded and evacuated her lungs with audible bursts through the hole in her neck stump. Her arms were close to shaking as she raised them. She stopped her hands in a place that used to be in front of her face, like she was making sure she couldn't see them.

The Doctor watched, caught in a mix of repulsion and pleasure. Her fingers ran through the short hair of the lifeless head. Her body was slow and calm; her heart was thunder made flesh. She didn't, couldn't, look away.

Madison's fingers progressed from delicate touches to pressured rubbing on her exposed throat. Her chest hitched repeatedly, sending a  ghastly Morse code to the room.

("She's laughing! You gave her joy! Just what the doctor ordered.")

("I only envy what you're feeling now. I pity what time will bring you.")

The Doctor turned away to bring Madison's donation to the machine. She lifted the lid of the cube closest to the console. She looked at Madison's face as she lowered her head into the box. It looked fake, like a movie prop, when there was no soul behind the eyes.

"Where there won't be a soul again," she said out loud, and closed the lid. She was the only one that heard the words.

The Doctor looked over her shoulder at Madison. The girl had her arms back on the armrests. Her chest rose and fell a few times. She ascended from the chair with a slight stumble forward and found balance, her hands out to her sides. She swallowed, causing her neck to contract and blossom open again.

The Doctor turned to the screen for a moment to input the final commands. The light on the box started its regular blue flashing pattern. The box began to hum. She turned herself to face the girl again.

Madison took a step forward. Her arms rose in front of her. She staggered the short distance to the door. Her hands searched for the handle on the wrong side first. She shuffled a step to the right, half-sliding, half-pressing her hands on the door. Madison swallowed again as a hand found the handle at last.

("Its you you're watching. The you that isn't a coward. The you that's willing to take the plunge. You ripped her head from her neck for yourself and you know it.")

The humming of the box cut off. The Doctor saw a soft, green glow in the corner of her eye. The donation process was complete.

("I did what you wanted, Madison. I hope I'm wrong about how your life turns out. But I know better. I know you will care.")

The headless girl was standing in the now open doorway. A moment passed. Her shuffle forward continued. The Doctor watched her for thirty long seconds as Madison made her way to the outer doors without hitting her shin on the table or tripping on the waiting room chairs.

She turned around at the exit, facing her body in the general direction of the donation room, and waved. Madison placed the same hand on her empty neck, turned back around, and walked out.

"Doctor?" Jean said.

"Yes?"

"May I go home? I'm complete with my work."

("Not until you give me the same treatment I gave Madison.")

"Of course. I'll see you next week."

"Thanks. Have a nice weekend, Doctor!"

"You too, Jean."

The Doctor turned from the doorway and removed the lab jacket from her shoulders. Her deep red hair bounced onto the sleeveless white blouse she was wearing. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail, then threw her personal jacket on. Her heels clacked on the tiles. Her skirt clung tight to her legs.

Natalie, the donation doctor, was already fantasizing about the bright complicated silver metal ring in the back of her closet at home, about Madison's permanent headlessness, and about removing her own head for a long time.