Moood

It would be worth it, the moment he presented the bowl of bloody teeth to father, and saw the pride in his eyes, it would all be worth it. He could only hope the food adults ate tasted as good as it looked.

It hurt so bad…his jaw would barely move. It felt so empty without any hard teeth. Soft little inlets. He couldn’t form words right, just empty groans. His hand collapsed flat onto the floor, and his chest heaved. He needed a minute. Just one minute, to catch his breath.

He collapsed back onto the stained bathroom floor with a broken wail, pawing blindly for the bundle of tissues. He stuffed a handful into his cheek, wincing at the pain as it touched the open holes in his mouth. “Ow…ow…oww…”

His grip on the pliers gave out as a wave of nausea crashed over him, and the last tooth clattered into the little clay bowl on the floor. Twenty teeth. He’d done it.

His mouth tasted like spoiled fruit and metal. He trembled like a frail blade of grass as he held his baby molar in the pliers. The roots gleamed red in the bathroom light, and two hair-like nerves hung down from them.

Before he could second-guess himself, he gripped the handles with both hands and pulled with all his might. With a throat-wrenching cry, the tooth came loose in a brutal spray of red.

He heaved, but didn’t throw up like he did last time. He was getting stronger. He sobbed, choking on jam, and slammed his head into the cabinet again. Another loud crunch, another rip of flesh, and the enamel began to pull away from the snug gum. It was wiggly. One more.

CRUNCH!! “AHHH!” The first hit was a success. He threw his cheek into the cabinet, and the pliers ripped the opposite way with a wet, splintering tear. Somewhere below the surface, the roots cracked out of place, and blinding pain exploded in his skull.

The strategy he’d been using for the stubborn ones—bashing his face into the walls to dislodge them—should work. It worked all the other times. He counted down aloud around the iron handles, sucking in breaths that only made him feel sicker. “Three…two…one!”

He sniffled around his thick tears, and forced his aching jaw open again. He slid the pliers back in for the final time. The cold edges clamped around his sole remaining molar. It felt wedged, deep into his jawbone.

He lost count after a while, opting instead to just peek in the mirror through his tear-blurred to see how many were left. There’d been so many to start, but now there was only one left, buried deep in the far back corner. ‘Just one more, you can do one more, dad will be so proud!’

Thick jam had welled up immediately like she said it would, but it didn’t stop on its own for a long time. It hurt so bad…but dad always said warriors faced pain head on. So he kept pulling. Two. Three. Four. Five.

He had to rock the pliers back and forth for it to finally come out. It did come out eventually, but it wasn’t smooth like she’d said. It ripped. Two little sharp roots dragged against the jelly flesh of his gum when it did.

That kid had been lying when she said it didn’t hurt. A couple of the ones in front had been a little looser, but not by much. When he’d clamped the pliers around the first canine and tugged, the force was so rough his whole head snapped sideways too.

Dark Choco could do that. He was strong—very strong! He could swing a real sword and hold a shield at the same time! Getting the teeth out should be easy! So he’d snuck a pair of pliers from the smith, and locked himself in his bathroom to get them out. It had…not been as easy as he hoped.

“A little, but not bad. Once it was out it didn’t hurt at all, just bled a little bit. And then my big one came in after!” The older child opened her mouth, and ran her tongue over the new tooth, solid as a rock in its place. It didn’t look out of place at all.

“How did you get your teeth out?” “Mama pulled it out with pliers, once it was wiggly.” Dark Choco had stiffened, lips pursed. That sounded painful… “Did it hurt?”

Maybe…maybe he could do this early too, somehow? Dad would be proud of him if he did it on his own, right? So he had asked one of the older kids during playtime.

Dark Choco couldn’t bear the thought. That was so far off! Six more years! That was way too many years. He was supposed to grow up fast! What kind of prince was he if he couldn’t even handle grown up food? Early. He was supposed to do things early.