Suitcase of Limbs

I unlock my suitcase. It's a large receptacle yet surprisingly light considering it's full of carefully arranged prosthetic limbs. My eyes fix on the artificial head which looks very different to my own yet somehow familiar. A long thin face, with dark features and black tidily cropped hair. The eyes are closed as if meditating on some intense purpose. I lift it out of the case studying the intricately sculpted forms, marvelling at the porous texture on the base of the neck which appears to allow blood flow. Would such features be a suitable substitute for my own? The thought of momentary blindness, deafness, speechlessness, seizes me with fear. For now I return the head to the suitcase I will carry with me for days to come and apply the artificial legs. I find I can run effortlessly, as if gliding down the stairs out into city streets and beyond into the autumnal freshness of the country. I see a work colleague ahead, running along a leaf strewn lane. Gliding past him, waving hello, I grip the handle of my suitcase no longer in any doubt about the promise of its contents.