Teeth

She felt uncomfortable. So, the spoon hit her lips and she sucked the chocolate off. Her eyes were wide in fascination as her teeth closed around the metal. She stuck it in the carton again, and pulled out a little too much to handle. She didn't care, and so she slid it in her mouth again. It tasted funny, but it didn't matter. It was food.

He kept her locked up. He gave her a television and a computer, with no internet access, only blank word documents and a media player full of music she didn't like. But she listened to it anyway and memorized it for his pleasure.

She hated eating chocolate ice cream. But it was food. He gave her fruit sometimes; sweet, bitter fruit. All the apples she had ever eaten couldn't taste as good as the ones she got every three months. He left her a tray of pills to swallow every morning to keep her alive, and she did what she was told.

He gave her a telephone that connected to the one on his hip so that she could call when she needed the bathroom. He had a special bathroom set up for her to use. No mirrors, no windows, no doors. Only a sink and a toilet. She hadn't seen her face in a few years.

She had to do her makeup by memory. She drew eyeliner thick around her eyes and wore light pink lipstick, his favorite. She'd be allowed to sit with him while he ate large portions of expensive, sizzling, fabulous foods, but only long enough to have him finish his drink. When it was gone, so was she, because by then she'd be begging for food.

He gave in sometimes. Her eyes were too wide with hunger, too starved of love. So he fed her, and then beat her for it later. To her it was worth it, she could swallow again, her mouth was wet again with saliva. She could lick her teeth and literally feel the shine.

She got to bathe once a week and brush twice a day. He would smack on gum while he watched her brush her teeth and then smack her once for good measure. She waited for the pain after brushing with almost no anticipation. The wait did not build inside of her, she barely flinched.

He slept on a cot near her door. He said he wanted to hear her breathe at night, he wanted to feel close to her. They never touched. He only made contact with a sound effect, and then it was painful to her ears, to her soul.

She sang to him until his snores sounded. All of his songs, the ones he provided to her, were expected to be memorized and sung perfectly.

He knew she used to have dreams, but he stole them away from her.

She kept her face low, eyes almost against the gravel when he took her out. They'd get in the car and he'd say some terrible thing to her. She would cry and promise never to leave him, but he feared her departure. She would be gone soon, he knew. He could feel it every single time she walked to his car.

When a man recognized her by chance in the street, the prisoner felt joy for the first time in ages. Of course she could not acknowledge him, but to see a friendly smile made her bright.

At home, things changed. He would not talk to her for days, and he forgot her pills. Soon she was begging for just water, but he would not have it. How could someone know her? Had he not distorted her face enough? Her personality; had it not been torn to shreds?

And soon enough, she began to wither away. And he just watched her go, like all the other girls he had stolen and raised to be his animals. His captives were left in silent graves around the base of his house. No one screamed. The missing girls faded from all the inked pages bearing their names. They slipped from minds, lost their places in homes that used to be filled with warmth from their arms, from their hearts. The smiles shattered and glass got swept away.

And she was just another. Lost at sea, the glint in her eyes floated away.