I was enjoying one of the least pleasant experiences in life: the dentist. Like most people, I hated the dentist. It was awkward, painful, and generally miserable. The dentist set down his tools and told me that my wisdom teeth were growing in. I learned that I actually had a fifth wisdom tooth; not a common occurrence, but not unheard of.
Everything went smoothly with the removal. It wasn’t until after the hazy state had worn off that my father told me the surgeons found a sixth wisdom tooth hiding under my gums.
The next day as I was getting dressed, I noticed something on my face. I leaned in towards my bathroom mirror and examined my jaw. It didn’t look like a pimple or some other blemish, it was just a strange bump. So, I tried to pop it. My index finger and thumb closed around the piece of skin, and it suddenly burst. Jutting out of my jaw was a sharp canine tooth. I cleaned off my chin and took another look. The rigid bone tore through the skin, and no matter how much I pulled, it was lodged tightly in there.
Now, here I am, lying awake on my final night. There are molars sticking out of my arms, and canines stabbing the soles of my feet. My mouth is too full to speak or even move its muscles. I have a patch over the incisors in my eye. Any piece of bone or tissue in my body will grow teeth. I won’t rot or decompose, I will be eaten from the inside out.
