The Dentist (For Elo.)
I was bleeding from the head and my nose broke in two parts. I had just fallen from the chair. That was 10 years ago. I always had a visceral hate of dentists. I don’t even get how someone would enjoy putting their fingers in other people’s mouths, tearing their lips, spilling their blood around. But now it was time to be back.
I had this raging pain on the left side of my jaw for 2 years now, and my breath started to be unbearable, even to myself. I’ve been sitting for no more than 10 minutes, waiting, but I’m sweating like I’ve just ran a marathon. The secretary approaches. It’s time to stand up.
My brain erased the trip from the waiting room to the dentist’s chair. I have no memory. And I don’t feel like myself. I feel like an animal. Cornered. Trapped.
Things have changed here. The place looks cozy. There’s even a TV. But that doesn’t change anything. It’s a matter of life or death.
The dentist is approaching with a smile under his mask. He has dental forceps in his left hand. I turn my head, and grab the first thing I find. A mouth mirror.
With a force that I couldn’t even imagine myself, I plant the mouth mirror in his left temple. He falls on the ground, inert.
I now stare at the windows. We’re on the seventh floor. I sprint towards them, eyes opened, and prepare for the mess.