“Now … you’re just going to feel a little pressure”.
But it was worse than that.
My jaw was forced open further than I thought it could go. The crunching of popping tendons competed with the crunching of the tooth being torn out. Both lost out over the sound of my screams …
Parts of my moustache were caught in the pliers, so – as the tooth was being wrenched back and forth – clumps of hair were being wrenched out of my face.
The heat of my own blood was more surprising than the taste, though – because of the sheer amount of it – it tasted different than it ever had before.
“Oh, hold your head still!”
I wasn’t even aware I’d moved it; my only focus was on the horrible crunching reverberating throughout my skull, the vicious aches slamming out from my jaw to cover the entire right side of my head.
I felt the side of my mouth split as the pliers gave one final wrench to the right. The split felt wider than the one in my bottom lip. Curiously, I expected the pain to at least lessen once the final ‘pop’ occurred as the tooth came free.
If anything, it got worse.
By this point, my mouth felt like it had been stretched out to the size of a dinner plate. Blood and drool seemed to fight each other for sheer volume, flooding over my bottom lip and dripping down onto my chest.
I think I went a little cross-eyed. Certainly, my vision was blurry. But I couldn’t say what I saw, because I was just staring off into the distance at nothing. If I say I was probably going into shock, that might give the impression that I was somehow becoming numb to everything.
I did manage to catch a glimpse of my tooth as it was pulled away. Strips of bloody gum hung from the roots, trailing threads of red saliva.
But the tooth itself looked fine.
“That wasn’t so bad, now, was it?”
My mouth was so full of blood and spit I didn’t answer. Hell, I wasn’t even breathing through it, despite the fact it was still hanging open (and felt like it’d never close properly again). I didn’t want to risk letting the back of my throat open to speak, in case I drowned in the stuff.
Still, the voice reverberated throughout my head, coming through loud and clear.
“Time for the next one … lots more to get through before we’re done … !”
Part of me sighed in resignation.
Part of me screamed.
Part of me picked up the pliers to continue the job …
Copyright © 2007 by David Scott Aubrey
All Rights Reserved
This short story is a work of fiction. Any and all names, characters and/or incidents are either products of my imagination or are used fictitiously. Where any such resemblance may exist to actual persons (living or dead), actual events or locales, it is purely coincidental.
Please don’t assume that my characters speak for me or carry my own opinions on various matters in any way, shape or form (though some might … you never can tell).