A stranger inside your mouth with needles, pliers, a bone saw. Buzzzzz. Turn your head this way, please. Nose in the belly of his scrubs, blood oozing from your lips. We’ve struck oil! You laugh in the middle of oral surgery, gagging on the gauze meant to catch the teeth he pulls. Twenty minutes and he’s already seen you at your worst. Does that hurt? No, nothing hurts—just pressure, the sensation of moving parts. Good girl. Then he’s finished, your face smeared slick red. Only a handshake on your way out, a brief grip on your elbow, so impersonal that you wonder if you made it up.
Becky Robison masquerades as a corporate employee in Chicago, but at heart she is a writer and a world traveler. A graduate of University of Nevada Las Vegas’ Creative Writing MFA program, she’s currently working on her novel and serving as Social Media and Marketing Coordinator for Split Lip Magazine. Her fiction has appeared in Paper Darts, Midwestern Gothic, and elsewhere. Follow her on Twitter: @Rebb003