A tooth tells his story of falling out.
|That gargantuan, white porcelain mound was pushing against me so strongly that I felt as if I were being ripped from my very being. I had held on for so long, probably seven years by my estimation. That entire time I was rooted next to my colleagues, together for a common goal. We gnashed and gnawed and crunched and chewed. We were the barriers. Nothing slipped through our watch without being pulverized. And all that time I thought we would be together forever as one beautiful gleaming team. |
But no. It started simply enough. We lost Number 7. He was slipping, swinging from left to right, up and down, until he could no longer hold on. Number 12 and 3 followed soon after. They were still so little, so pure.
I knew I was next. A few weeks ago I noticed my grip loosening and my lovely pink surroundings becoming a frightening shade of red. I was having difficulty controlling my direction and then the terrible pressure from above. I could no longer perform my role and I was terrified that I may soon become that which is crushed rather than he who did the crushing. That was it. All I could think was “it’s time to get out of here”. So I let go and here I am.
“Enough already Number 8” said the Tooth Fairy. “You are such a drama queen. All the teeth fall out at some time. Now jump into the bag with the others while I leave a coin under little Sophia’s pillow”.