Wednesday, 15 February 2017

What is the dentist thinking?

My writing group did an exercise with each writer getting two prompts, and we had to write about 200 words. Mine was dentist and fur coat in the summer time. I didn't manage the summer time or 200 words, but this was my attempt.


He thinks about how he can kill his patients as they sit, trapped in his chair like death-row criminals awaiting the final needle. He sticks his fingers in their mouth and gleefully plans their demise, asking questions they can't possibly answer. It gives him great pleasure to make their deaths as grizzly as possible.

 He hates them all, listening with cold-hearted cynicism as they stammer their excuses, each cavity bearing witness to the tissue of lies.

The last patient of the day walks in, all fur coat and no knickers as his old gran would say. She settles herself down on the black seat and smiles up at him, her expression clearly expecting his admiration. He smiles back, one finger twitching. One little injection. That's all it would take.