Somewhere, at this point in time, there is a girl holding a toothbrush, looking at herself in the mirror. She has stopped brushing her teeth and is now looking at the winter fresh-created saliva dripping down her chin, and she wonders who she is. Perhaps, she thinks, who she is is in her eyes, but she cannot look into herself for more than a few seconds because it makes her nauseous.

            A few more quick back and forth motions in and out of her mouth to try and get her mind off it, but it doesn't work. This time she leaves the toothbrush protruding out of her mouth like it's supposed to be there. All is silent except for the water running down the sink and then she feels guilty because she is wasting water, but if she moves, she will ruin herself. She glances in her eyes again, dark. She spits in disgust, wiping her chin. Her spit is gritty and old.

            She continues brushing, in and out, back and forth, and more feverishly than before. She brushes like she hasn't brushed in years, like she did something horrible the night before. More white saliva creeps out the corner of her mouth and now it's coming down the brush and onto her hand. Her eyes search for a towel.

            This girl decides she has grown weary of brushing her teeth. Why can't her teeth just take care of themselves? There is enough in this life to not need to worry about brushing teeth. And for what? So people can talk to her without holding their noses?

            She hurls the toothbrush down and tries to wipe away her mess without thinking. Brushing teeth is really disgusting, anyway. But she has grown accustomed to it. She ends her day the same way she starts it. It is routine. She hates routine. Routines are distracting. Routines are ruts. There is nothing new in a routine. Therefore nothing new in her.

            She leaves her building and walks routinely down the street. She passes another apartment building. And there, the last window of the second floor is open. And there, she sees a man in his bathroom. In a towel, no shirt. And he, he is resting his weight with his arms on the sink, toothbrush dormant in his mouth. He is staring through his own eyes. And she can't help but stare as she passes, no white saliva slides down his chin.

Keyword: The Toothbrush

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Comments (4)

Posted by Dirkin 2008-03-28 04:37:00 .... I picture an elderly lady when reading this, believeing herself a girl, afraid of her reflection of an aged woman. Interesting read wether I'm right or not + Report this comment
Posted by lorislittlesecret 2008-03-28 11:43:57 .... Hmmm...it was good, but there is something missing....like why she is the way she is..... + Report this comment
Posted by hopeless 2008-03-28 13:10:35 .... Both of those are open for interpretation, make it how you like it. + Report this comment
Posted by Roadkill315 2008-03-28 16:31:32 .... Interesting, but I too left with an incomplete feeling about just what her story is. + Report this comment

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