Leslie Barker was a 40 year old banker with two kids, a small but comfortable house in the suburbs, and absolutely nothing going on in her life. She drank wine and watched cheesy movies every night, she rode a bike to and from work to keep her wine and couch potato habits in check, and on the weekends she read books and played family board games. In all respects, she was mundane but content with her lot in life.
Then, one lazy Sunday morning, she awoke to see a living, headless body poking her on the nose. A living headless body wearing her raggedy old blue pajamas with the collar cut way too low. A living headless body that had the same Florida shaped birthmark on her sternum and a figure that was identical to her own. A living headless body that, judging by the fact that she couldn't move at all and that her chin was resting flat against her dresser, was hers. She'd somehow been decapitated, survived with blank patches of smooth skin on her neck rather than gory stumps or taxidermy stitches, and now her body seemed to have a mind of its own and was just as confused about her current predicament as she was.
When Leslie had finished screaming, crying, and then screaming some more...
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