The first thing that I noticed was that my fingers weren't even twitching. The whole thing was just lying there, lifeless and still. It had yet to drain and fade and lose its life like color. The end where it seperated from my shoulder was a bloody stump and there was sinew and veins dangling from the end. It appeared to have rebelled against my body and detached itself for what it perceived to be a better existance.
I picked the limb up and examined it. Completely unaware of the messages that my nerve endings were sending. Their screams falling upon a deaf brain.
One of the first things I noticed was that I had no fingerprints. The same hand that had slapped others, including myself, in the face had no discerning characteristics. It seemed to morph into everything that I had tried to grasp and couldn't.
I stared at it for hours, trying to contemplate it's benefit. It occured to me that I could learn to write with my left hand and proceeded to toss it into the empty dumpster to my right.