This is Going To Hurt

Today, one of my wisdom teeth was removed; an innocent molar plucked from virgin gums. What was its crime? I really don't know, but I took the dentists at their word that the due punishment was removal. I lay there in the chair, calm, as the needles were inserted to prepare me. The dentist came with two tools, a screwdriver and a pliers, medical grade of course. With the first, he pried my molar loose; with the second, he sealed the deal; applying pressure with a firm hand until the tooth's tiny roots gave way, sliding out of my jaw and into the open air, much the same as a carpenter removes a nail with a hammer. He unceremoniously set the tooth on the table and I looked down at the tiny fragment of my body, bloodied and alone, breathing its last; its only eulogy a whispered "I'm sorry." I was swiftly stitched up and sent home, the days dark work done. Upon arrival, I crawled into bed for the remainder of the afternoon, finally succumbing to the pains of parting.

Now Listening To:
"We Went Walking"
The Emerson Letters