Miranda was sitting on her bed. She was wearing comfy sweatpants and a bra. She was looking at her phone, using the face camera to check that her hair and makeup were on point. Satisfied, she opened a different app - one for modified body support.

"Okay, let's see if it saved my preset from last time," she said. "Nice. Boop!"

She poked the screen. She could feel the app in her body now - she didn't know how else to describe it. It could do the heavy lifting in thinking for her, but wasn't able to override her brain.

Miranda stood up. The camera on her phone was functioning like another eye, but it wasn't distracting anymore. Her phone saw the sonic knife first. She put the phone down facing the ceiling. She rested the blade on her shoulder at the base of her neck. Her free hand grabbed the hairclip buried in her hair. With one smooth practiced motion, the knife sliced through the bottom of her neck from one shoulder to the other. She was decapitated with little effort.

Miranda dangled her severed head in the air for several seconds as she regained her balance. She stepped sideways until her hip intentionally bumped her dresser, then slowly put the knife down on it. She lowered her head into her other hand before setting it down beside the blade that had taken it from her body.

Her face was void of movement. Her eyes were rolled up into her skull, nearly all white. Her mouth hung open. Miranda's head and neck were more a decoration in her room than part of her now.

Miranda staggered around her room in her self-inflicted status. She could technically still see thanks to the phone, but the angle it showed of her ceiling was worthless. It didn't matter - she needed a shirt, and that didn't take sight to find. She slipped a tight black t-shirt over her bra and pulled it down tight, then ran her hands across the blank space her neck had been just seconds ago. There was only cloth - not even a hole for her head. She shuddered, then ambled about again.

A few minutes later she left her room. Julie spoke up. "Miranda, headless again?"

Miranda angled her phone to see Julie better. It was still odd not having peripheral vision, but this beat total blindness. Her phone spoke for her, almost using the words she wanted. Close enough. "Not entirely. I'm not headless if I'm holding my head, right?" Her lifeless head was tucked under her other arm. She shook it. Her glasses went askew. Miranda couldn't see behind her phone to notice.

Julie sighed. Miranda waited out the silence. If her head was doing more of the thinking, she would have noticed that Julie was pausing, deciding if she wanted to try stopping her or just letting it happen. But her head was useless. Her phone didn't catch any data to use, so Miranda waited. Julie finally said, "Do you have to bring it with you? Both of your hands are full."

Miranda swayed for a second as she - and her phone - processed the idea. "I...did my makeup. I need to bring my head so people see it."

"You could, oh I don't know, *wear* your head, then."

Sarcasm flew over Miranda's empty head. "No I can't. My shirt doesn't have a hole for it."

"Alright, fine, you win. Just don't expect me to carry it later, Ms. Phone."

Miranda was genuinely stunned by the name she was called - not because of taking offense, but because...

"Julie. You moron. I'm a person, not a phone."

Julie cackled. "Of course you are. Come on, let's get going."

--------------------

The front door of Julie and Miranda's apartment opened again nearly 5 hours later. Miranda walked in first. Her phone was nowhere in sight. She wobbled on unsteady legs, holding her head ahead of her in both hands. It was still slack-jawed and lacking any function. She crashed into the kitchen table, shoving it with a sound her beheaded self couldn't hear.

"Careful there, sport," Julie said after giggling. "You could literally run head-first into something if you keep that up. But I will say, now that we're home, I think I'll take a page out of your book and take my head off for a bit. Mind if I slide in your room and borrow the knife?"

Miranda didn't answer. Couldn't answer. She was bent over the table, elbows resting on it, severed head in her palms. She was pressing her neck stump against the cloth on the top of her shirt in an attempt to recapitate herself, but couldn't figure out why it wasn't working. This was where her head was supposed to go...right?

"Oh Miranda, you really were Ms. Phone - until your phone died. Now you're barely Miranda. Listen, I'll be real quick with your knife, okay? But I'm going to be smart about it. Thanks for the example of what I *shouldn't* do."

Miranda put her head down on the table. She stood up straight, leaning back a bit to counteract the pain from bending over too long. Then she stood there, hands on her hips, swaying and making minute balancing steps as she made her best attempt at thinking. There had to be something she wasn't getting. She scratched an itch where her neck had been, touching the cloth that was blocking reconnection, but the headless woman was still hopelessly lost for a solution.

Julie walked into the living room and stood there for several seconds, just breathing and waiting. Her shirt was off, balled up in one hand. Her massive tits were barely held in check by a shiny blue bra. Her somewhat-long neck ended in a flat top of skin. Her lifeless head swung like a pendulum by her hair from her grip.

She lifted the shirt hand up to try touching her neck but realized she was holding her shirt. Several more seconds passed - she knew she wasn't supposed to just leave her clothes on the floor. She turned to her room, swinging her head in a wild arc that made it smack her shin. Julie jumped from the pain and let go of her hair while her head was swinging sideways. It flew and rolled about two feet away, tangled up in its own hair.

After Julie rubbed her shin, she realized her hand was free again. She gripped her headless neck, rubbing it in that spot she liked. Her knees buckled and her breasts quaked. She stutter-stepped forward. Her shoulder caught her doorframe. She threw her shirt into her own room, then used her foot to close her door - one hand was busy on her breast, the other refused to move from her decapitated neck.

Miranda decided to retreat to her room. She tripped on something along the away, a ball, maybe? Did they own one? And why would a ball be so hard? She couldn't think at all. The idea to at least charge her phone never crossed what little mind she had to work with. Instead she sat on her bed, lifting and lowering her worthless head above her decapitated body, still outsmarted by the shirt she chose to wear.

Her arms were getting tired. She rested her head in her lap. The next few minutes were thoughtless; only resting her arms. No attempt to take off any clothes; she felt comfortable, so what would be the point?

She readied herself again. She picked up her head in both hands. It started slipping on one side. She pressed harder to try and correct it. Her head spun up and out of her hands completely, smacking her knee and tumbling away into the room somewhere.

Miranda threw up her arms and gave up. She took off her shoes and socks, then her shirt and bra, leaving on the sweatpants. She'd deal with this bullshit in the morning. She curled under the covers. She went to lay her head on her pillow out of habit, got mad, and threw the pillow off the bed before going to sleep.