My Severed Hand

A quick writing exercise that we did in class. After some thought, I took the original line and added some more to it. What worked? What didn't? How can I give it a more vivid color to the piece? Thanks.

I stared at my severed hand, now of which is only a stump. But it didn't hurt all too bad. It began wondering away as I sat, at on my metal chair. It's happened before, so I didn't care too much. Now, years had passed and never bothered to find my hand, and at that point, it wasn't too bad at all. I told stories and created legends, more and more about my dismembered hand. Years, decades, and centuries gone had gone by without anyone noticing this walking hand. It was only until the story of the dismembered hand had been told once more, before it decided to show up. Calvin was sitting in bed as his dad was telling him the story of the dismembered hand. "The scariest part was that it has never been found. It could be any where right now...Oh NO THERE IT IS!" The dismembered hand grabbed Calvin's dad's throat and Calvin fainted at the horrible sight. This time, the hand was real, and not one of Calvin's dad's mean ol' tricks. And so, Dad was the hand's last victim. Or so it was said to be.