A Tooth’s Story - by Shekhar Shastri 11f

Statement of intention - A visit to the dentist is often greeted with much trepidation for most of us. Many of us are absolutely terrified. But how would such a visit feel like for our teeth? In the form of a creative essay, this piece humorously attempts to describe a visit to the dentist from a tooth’s perspective. The intended audience is young, fearful dental patients in surgery waiting rooms.

        It’s a hard life, crushing and breaking down food, and all for what? So Shekhar can enjoy all those scrumptious flavours. I believe we teeth don’t get enough credit for our actions. To add to this flagrant rort, - we’re not even looked after properly! I mean, the least Shekhar could do would be to keep us clean. A bit of a brush, floss and mouthwash wouldn’t hurt every once in a while, now would it? Once sparkling white molars, now I and my colleagues have been reduced to a discoloured mess of cavities. And now look where this has come to – a dreaded visit to the dentist, Dr. Burr.

Sitting there inside the dental surgery’s waiting room, I anxiously anticipated the grim fate that lies before me. Looking for consolation, I turn to the innocent smiles from children beaming at me from posters (or should they be a plaque or two) adorning the walls. Yet my gaze is soon interrupted by the shrill motorized buzz of dental drills reverberating from behind the closed surgery doors. This fact, combined with the constant ringing of the receptionist’s phone, and the rhythmic nail-filing screech of the secretary sets the archetypal waiting room scenario.

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The room is furnished in a contemporary fashion – large leather sofas and metal framed tables stacked with old magazines. The Venetian blinds barricade the room, preventing light entering, and at the same time causing retention of the pungent aromas of disinfectant and disposed rubber gloves. It is as though the whiff is an everlasting presence in the surgery. No one notices or likes it – it just lingers, a part of the furniture.

Suddenly, the door opens and the nurse approaches us. Is she going to call on me to enter that dreaded surgery? Was it my turn? I ...

This is a preview of the whole essay