Day 23 – this one came from a rather odd conversation about Indian Head massage with the coffee lady at work. I wondered if I could figure a way to write this; I based it on some of the odd short stories from Bradbury and Dick about a future consumed by consumerism, and the rest fell into place. It’s my first foray into sci-fi, so be gentle.

She dug her fingertips into her scalp. Her body shivered as tension drained away under her ministrations. From the base of her skull, she traced the hairline behind her ears to her forehead, always kneading, fingers working in tight circles. She closed her eyes to better focus on the sensation, and enjoy the head massage.

Eventually, just before the burning sensation of an overdone touch, she stopped. And sighed. And opened her eyes to look at the ravages the massage had on her hair. The mirrored wardrobe door stared back at her in shock. Oh gods, I look like the Bride of Frankenstein! She giggled as her hands smoothed the worst of the damage. Where’s that hairbrush? Drat. It was on the dresser on the other side of the room.

She picked her head up from her lap, lifted it and slotted the base into the stainless steel collar fitted in place of her neck. A sharp twist to the left, and she heard the click of the join locking. She stood up from the side of the bed, and crossed the room to grab the brush. Turning back to the mirrors, she reached up to brush her hair, felt her shoulder fitting grind and grit a little.

Dammit, need the WD40 again for that. She rolled through it, continuing to brush and smooth her hair. I had to save a bit and go for the cheaper steel, didn’t I? Static crackled under her hand with every pass. Mother warned me. The bronze kit would have reduced the static charge too. Bugger. Going to have to ground out before seeing her again. I’ll never hear the end of it.

Having the detachable-limb-insertions was the best decision she had made. Even though she could only afford the steel, she didn’t want to wait any longer. A life made easier, without having to strain for comfort. If she couldn’t reach something on the top shelf, she just took off one arm, and held it up by the shoulder in the other, and she could grab whatever she needed. Didn’t have to stand on tip-toes ever again.

She was concerned about not having the automatic retractable cabling though. That would be even better; a sharp tug, and any limb would scroll straight into place without having to pick it up and lock it in. She was saving for the upgrade.