Post by A Disappointment on Jun 2, 2016 15:03:30 GMT -5
I walk up to the old wooden door, my heart racing like I just ran five miles. I reach out to open the door, but hesitate. Do I really want to go in there? I think to myself. It’s only a dull pain, nothing I can’t deal with, right? Right? I slowly lower my arm and start to back away. I turn around to find myself face to face with my father. His icy stare piercing my skull, his brow furrowing in frustration. He grabbed me firmly by the neck and forced me towards the door. I really don’t want to do this I mentally whined as I staggered back to the door with my father looming behind me.
I am from a rich family, you see. My father is close friends with the king’s cousin, so we adopted that richness and started a successful shop for food and clothing. I didn’t want to go to the dentist, but my father is forcing me because it’s ‘Not proper’ to have rotting teeth. They didn’t even look half bad! Sure, three of my teeth are almost non-existent and two of my other teeth are starting to chip. Heck, my teeth are getting to be as thin as paper. I don’t know what started it, I clean my teeth everyday with a mixture of pumice stone, brick, and coral to take away the stains just like my doctor told me. There is almost no pain, so i don’t really see the point of going here. I don’t care what my teeth look like. My father, however, think differently. He believes that I must be perfect in every way possible and my teeth are no exception. He says I won’t get a wife if I am not a ‘respectable young societal member.’
My father thrust my neck forward so I would draw nearer to the door. I cautiously reach out and grasp the long metal handle that was crudely bolted to the door. I gradually pushed the door and walked in, adrenaline pumping throughout my body. I look around to find myself in a quaint little area with only four chairs and a small curtain in the corner of the room that I assumed to lead to the ‘torture room’ as I have heard it called. This place does not seem half as bad as I thought it would be. The others must have been exaggerating. I think to myself. I curiously walk over to the curtain and slightly pull back the curtain to reveal my worst nightmare.
Row upon row of metal pliers, keys, pelicans, and some sort of needle-looking thing with a small curved edge on the bottom of it. I see a wooden bed with a thin feather mattress on it, thick leather straps laid in the corner. For what purpose, I know not. Sitting at the chair besides the bed was a disheveled looking middle-class man. His face looked tired and worn, a short beard clung to his face like stray twine covering a hardwood floor. His round glasses covered his eyes and there was a tuft of greying hair on his head. The man looked old, like he was in his late twenties. That is quite a while to live these days with all of the diseases running around. The man looked up at me and a small smile grew on his face.
“A curious boy tis thee.” The old man said, “I was just like you when I was a young lad. Always sneaking around for the slightest of things.”
He chuckled as if he was remembering an old memory.
“Well, what might I do thee for today?” He asked, the smile still on his face.
I felt a cold presence and my father’s hand pressed against my shoulder. I turned to face him and I could see the disapproval in his eyes. ‘Young boys should not be curious.’ That is what he thought at least, but I... I thought different. I love discovering new things and searching for new stories like the ones my mother used to tell me. Stories of adventure and romance, princes and princesses, poetry of love and anguish. I loved them all. That all had to pass. Since my mother became ill my father started to run things his way, outlawing curiosity and adventure and making everything perfect. From his perspective, almost everything was. That almost was me. I was never who he wanted me to be. I want stories and romance, and for me he wants work and high class. He has been trying to ‘reform me’ and turn me into the man he always wanted. Maybe that is why he brought me here. Maybe.
“I need you to fix my child’s teeth.” My father said icily, making me snap back to reality. “I don’t care what you do to them, just make them look normal. I will be back in two hours to pay you and pick him up.”
“Two hours may be less time than I need. Can thee come back in three hours?” The dentist asked, slightly annoyed by my father’s tone.
“Fine.” Father said curtly, “Three hours, but try to make it quick. We have a tight schedule.” He lifted his hand from my shoulder and walked away.
As soon as the door shut the dentist was all over me. He dragged me over to the wooden bed and silently motioned for me lay down. He then hovered over me and grabbed my jaw, his rough hands forcing my mouth open as he examined my array of teeth.
“No, no. This is no good.” The man mumbled to himself. “Young lad, we are going to have to replace seven of your teeth, and they are going to be painful to remove. I am going to tie you down so you don’t move. Stay right there.”
He walked over to the corner rummaging for the brace. Seven teeth replaced. Today is going to be a great day. I think to myself as the man walks back over with the leather straps I had seen before. My eyes widen and I start to scoot myself off the bed but the man already had the leather straps around me, securing me to the bed. I groan and sigh deeply, hoping that today will not be my last. He has me open my mouth, and out of the corner of my eye I can see him holding a pair of pliers in his left hand. Well, this is it. Goodbye world. I think as the man draws near my face. I close my eyes and can feel the cold pliers grab hold of my tooth. I brace myself for the pain.
A blinding pain shot through my head as the dentist tried to pull my tooth out, each root snapping like stretched rope under loads of pressure. I can feel each rip, each tear, each small thread snapping. But the tooth did not budge, it was still there, I could feel it. I open my eyes to see the man’s hand drenched in my crimson blood. He was now holding the key, small claws at the end of it. He lunged at my mouth again, digging the claws into my gum pulling up the tooth that was stuck there.
Black spots danced in my vision and I could feel myself becoming more faint with every second. It was hard to breath with all of the pain that came with the crimson liquid. The metallic taste of blood was overwhelming in my mouth. Yet the dentist kept on ripping and tearing and more and more pain built. He dug into the nerve in my gum and my mouth exploded with wave after wave of endless amounts of pain. My eyesight started to flicker in and out of focus and the room started to spin and I can’t seem to move anything. My breath becomes shallow and light. I can feel a single tear run down my cheek as my world fades to black. Goodbye cruel world.
My first visit to the dentist was my last.
-Edmund Taylor June 5th, 1596 - September 16th, 1604
I am from a rich family, you see. My father is close friends with the king’s cousin, so we adopted that richness and started a successful shop for food and clothing. I didn’t want to go to the dentist, but my father is forcing me because it’s ‘Not proper’ to have rotting teeth. They didn’t even look half bad! Sure, three of my teeth are almost non-existent and two of my other teeth are starting to chip. Heck, my teeth are getting to be as thin as paper. I don’t know what started it, I clean my teeth everyday with a mixture of pumice stone, brick, and coral to take away the stains just like my doctor told me. There is almost no pain, so i don’t really see the point of going here. I don’t care what my teeth look like. My father, however, think differently. He believes that I must be perfect in every way possible and my teeth are no exception. He says I won’t get a wife if I am not a ‘respectable young societal member.’
My father thrust my neck forward so I would draw nearer to the door. I cautiously reach out and grasp the long metal handle that was crudely bolted to the door. I gradually pushed the door and walked in, adrenaline pumping throughout my body. I look around to find myself in a quaint little area with only four chairs and a small curtain in the corner of the room that I assumed to lead to the ‘torture room’ as I have heard it called. This place does not seem half as bad as I thought it would be. The others must have been exaggerating. I think to myself. I curiously walk over to the curtain and slightly pull back the curtain to reveal my worst nightmare.
Row upon row of metal pliers, keys, pelicans, and some sort of needle-looking thing with a small curved edge on the bottom of it. I see a wooden bed with a thin feather mattress on it, thick leather straps laid in the corner. For what purpose, I know not. Sitting at the chair besides the bed was a disheveled looking middle-class man. His face looked tired and worn, a short beard clung to his face like stray twine covering a hardwood floor. His round glasses covered his eyes and there was a tuft of greying hair on his head. The man looked old, like he was in his late twenties. That is quite a while to live these days with all of the diseases running around. The man looked up at me and a small smile grew on his face.
“A curious boy tis thee.” The old man said, “I was just like you when I was a young lad. Always sneaking around for the slightest of things.”
He chuckled as if he was remembering an old memory.
“Well, what might I do thee for today?” He asked, the smile still on his face.
I felt a cold presence and my father’s hand pressed against my shoulder. I turned to face him and I could see the disapproval in his eyes. ‘Young boys should not be curious.’ That is what he thought at least, but I... I thought different. I love discovering new things and searching for new stories like the ones my mother used to tell me. Stories of adventure and romance, princes and princesses, poetry of love and anguish. I loved them all. That all had to pass. Since my mother became ill my father started to run things his way, outlawing curiosity and adventure and making everything perfect. From his perspective, almost everything was. That almost was me. I was never who he wanted me to be. I want stories and romance, and for me he wants work and high class. He has been trying to ‘reform me’ and turn me into the man he always wanted. Maybe that is why he brought me here. Maybe.
“I need you to fix my child’s teeth.” My father said icily, making me snap back to reality. “I don’t care what you do to them, just make them look normal. I will be back in two hours to pay you and pick him up.”
“Two hours may be less time than I need. Can thee come back in three hours?” The dentist asked, slightly annoyed by my father’s tone.
“Fine.” Father said curtly, “Three hours, but try to make it quick. We have a tight schedule.” He lifted his hand from my shoulder and walked away.
As soon as the door shut the dentist was all over me. He dragged me over to the wooden bed and silently motioned for me lay down. He then hovered over me and grabbed my jaw, his rough hands forcing my mouth open as he examined my array of teeth.
“No, no. This is no good.” The man mumbled to himself. “Young lad, we are going to have to replace seven of your teeth, and they are going to be painful to remove. I am going to tie you down so you don’t move. Stay right there.”
He walked over to the corner rummaging for the brace. Seven teeth replaced. Today is going to be a great day. I think to myself as the man walks back over with the leather straps I had seen before. My eyes widen and I start to scoot myself off the bed but the man already had the leather straps around me, securing me to the bed. I groan and sigh deeply, hoping that today will not be my last. He has me open my mouth, and out of the corner of my eye I can see him holding a pair of pliers in his left hand. Well, this is it. Goodbye world. I think as the man draws near my face. I close my eyes and can feel the cold pliers grab hold of my tooth. I brace myself for the pain.
A blinding pain shot through my head as the dentist tried to pull my tooth out, each root snapping like stretched rope under loads of pressure. I can feel each rip, each tear, each small thread snapping. But the tooth did not budge, it was still there, I could feel it. I open my eyes to see the man’s hand drenched in my crimson blood. He was now holding the key, small claws at the end of it. He lunged at my mouth again, digging the claws into my gum pulling up the tooth that was stuck there.
Black spots danced in my vision and I could feel myself becoming more faint with every second. It was hard to breath with all of the pain that came with the crimson liquid. The metallic taste of blood was overwhelming in my mouth. Yet the dentist kept on ripping and tearing and more and more pain built. He dug into the nerve in my gum and my mouth exploded with wave after wave of endless amounts of pain. My eyesight started to flicker in and out of focus and the room started to spin and I can’t seem to move anything. My breath becomes shallow and light. I can feel a single tear run down my cheek as my world fades to black. Goodbye cruel world.
My first visit to the dentist was my last.
-Edmund Taylor June 5th, 1596 - September 16th, 1604