To the Teeth
“It’s a bit sweet,” Harold said. He cut the cake with his fork, but didn’t immediately lift the piece to his lips.
“So you don’t like it?” Mary asked.
“I didn’t say that,” he answered and brought a small piece to his mouth. He tried hard not to grimace, and, after swallowing quickly, ran his tongue over his teeth. They felt grimy and horrible.
“Really?” Mary asked smiling. “You’re such a dear when you want something from me.”
Harold forced another bite and a smile. “So you’ve signed the papers?” His teeth felt sticky, like they were rotting. There was something hard in his mouth.
“No.”
Harold opened his mouth, and a tooth clattered onto his plate. It was brown. He heaved and more of his teeth were clinking onto the plate like a rain of Chiclets. Pink red dripping flesh from his gums trailed after, viscuously dripping from his mouth.
“I would never leave my husband.”
His throat was full of spit and dissolved flesh. He was choking.
“Unless he were to die and leave me–”
He hit the table with a gurgle.
“–his life insurance.”