My Perfect Teeth [Wattpad Fright Contest Winner]

My Perfect Teeth

I pulled the last one today. I've been looking for a rotten molar - UR1, upper right, to be exact - and I got it.

I make the best dentures in the state; I even wear them, and they're so good that none of my patients know. Today, I finished my finest pair: perfect, vile, disgusting teeth, all thirty-two of them brown, black, decaying. They're set in a brand-new flesh-colored base and sealed so they won't crumble.

Why, you ask?

Day after day. Mouth after mouth. Plaque. Gum disease. No flossing, no brushing. But I'm the bully.

I've learned one thing, though: it's not stickers, free toothbrushes, or six-month checkups that make people take care of their teeth.

It's fear.

Mr. Reynolds was acting like his usual "why me" self: complaining about bleeding gums, root canals, fillings. But he doesn't do squat: I think he smokes twelve cigars a day and brushes his teeth with Pepsi.

I let the laughing gas set in. Then I stuffed his mouth full of cotton and locked the door.

"Do you know why I chose this job, Reynolds?"

He shook his head.

"Crowns, extractions, implants: they pay my bills, sent my kids to college. But I didn't go to dental school for money."

I looked him in the eye. He was sweating.

"I did it to help people."

I put a mirror in front of his face and showed him his nasty, rotten mouth. "You've got good teeth under that plaque and gingivitis, you know that? But you never listen. Never brush. Never floss. I just feel like I'm not getting through to you."

His protests were muffled by the spit-saturated cotton. I knew what he meant, though. Panic doesn't need words.

"But I'm a nice guy, and I've decided to give you a brand new set of teeth. Would you like that?"

He nodded.

"I made these this morning - my best yet. I hope you like them."

I showed him.

His eyes went wide.

He got a good look at my perfect teeth: every brown stain and jagged hole. Sniffed the faint stench of disease.

"I think you'll agree these are the teeth you deserve." I grabbed my extraction forceps. "Time to make some room-"

Reynolds ripped the cotton from his mouth, his hand knocking the fluoride off my tray. "I'll behave!" he screamed. "I'll brush, I'll floss, no soda, no smokes, just PLEASE" - he grabbed my shirt - "PLEASE DON'T give me those horrible TEETH!"

I smiled.

"Of course, Reynolds. I knew you could be reasonable."

He exhaled; fell back into the chair.

The rest of the exam went perfectly. No complaining, no whining. A model patient.

And, for good measure, I gave him one last look at my perfect teeth on his way out.

This is the best day I've had in twenty years.

My next patient arrived. Andy Katz has such a sweet tooth, that boy. Cookies, soda, chocolate - you name it, he eats it. Ten cavities at only eleven.

And he never. Ever. Brushes.

Well, we'll see about that.