By K. M. Lively
The thin, spearmint-flavored floss slides between the two back-most molars on the left side of my mouth. I wince as it wedges into tender gums like a rock lodging itself into a tire’s treads. The pain is sharp, throbbing into the nearby teeth, spreading like a virus. When removed, the offending white thread is stained red. There is a lot of blood—more than there should be. But it’s been a while since I flossed. That’s normal, right?
I push the thread into the next space, and the next. It’s like pushing needles into my gums, like chewing shards of glass. When I reach the back right molar, my heart sinks as I realize this isn’t normal—isn’t just a case of failed dental maintenance.
My tooth wiggles.
Forward, back. Forward, back. I push it with my tongue, forward, back, until it dislodges and falls, bouncing onto my tongue and rolling underneath. The three spurs that had held it into my gums poke into the vertical flap under my tongue, piercing it. I hiss.
The taste of hot copper floods my mouth.
I spit the tooth out, staring at it, at the mixture of saliva and blood that pools in the center of my palm. I move the tooth around in the puddle, settling it into the wrinkles cutting across my hand. Flipping it so that the three sharp points dig into my skin, I press. I press until it opens my flesh, blood from my hand mixing with the blood from my mouth until the saliva is lost in the mix.
Another tooth falls, the red that comes with it splashing across the white bathroom tiles. It clatters and rolls, leaving a sanguine trail like some demonic snail. I tear my eyes away, looking back up at my reflection in the mirror.
Another tooth falls as I split my face with a smile.
My hands shake when I reach up to my mouth. I touch the blood spilling over my lips, pushing until it covers the fatty tips of my fingers, and I smear, dragging the lines up the sides of my cheeks.
Another tooth falls. It rolls over my tongue and down my throat; I can feel it slicing, poking, piercing. I try to swallow, but my throat constricts around the obstacle. Every ridge and bump on the tooth is like hills and valleys to me, massive and unyielding as it presses into my esophagus.
Another tooth falls, joining the other as it worms its way to my gut.
Another tooth falls, until there is nothing left in my mouth but bloody gums and a writhing tongue with nothing left to push.
END
Author Bio
K. M. Lively received her BA in Creative Writing from WWU and is currently pursuing her MFA from Emerson College. Her work can be found in The Meadow, and Tangled Locks Journal, and she won Silver Honorable Mention in the L. Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future contest.
Instagram/ Threads: @k.m.lively
