By Erica Steele
I squeeze the tube, scraping it across the bristles. Three months I’ve had this toothpaste. Three months since he left, since I drank a bottle of whisky and smashed my truck into a Civic.
I push the brush across my gums until they bleed.
Crash, screams, smoke.
I imagine pulling out my teeth.
Metal, asphalt, flashing lights.
One by one for each life I’d ruined.
Concussion, lacerations, DUI.
I wish I’d cried myself to sleep instead.
One fatality.
Then the woman I killed would be home with her kids.
I drop the tube in the trash. It’s empty now, like me.
Great last line that summed it all up nicely.
Thank you!
Ooooh! Well Done! Love the perspective. The guilt.
“I imagine pulling out my teeth one by one…..” What a clever idea. Enjoyed this.