The Dentist (Creative piece)
February 5, 2009
The small plastic chair I’m seated on is uncomfortable, unsteady and situated too close to the surgery. The sound of drilling fills my eardrums. Even over the sound of my MP3 player, on which I can’t find a single song I want to listen to. My mind is already occupied with thoughts of painful prodding, pushing and pulling, not to mention the dreaded drill and the destruction it will cause. My stomach is lurching and my heart beating violently in my chest, like the drums of a cannibalistic tribe in an old Tarzan film.
It was still early in the morning, and as I made my way to the building, I walked slowly, as if trying to prolong the inevitable. I wasn’t fooled though and my body fought back with a quickened pulse and a tightening of my airways. I was expecting it. The air around me was cold, but I couldn’t feel it as my core temperature rose, forming a line of sweat across my brow. My breathing formed a thick mist in the air in front of me, like the fog that often gathered at haunted castles in any given Hammer Horror production. Read the rest of this entry »
