Status: finito.
A Thief's Kiss
“When a thief kisses you, count your teeth”
Janek wanted his tooth back.
The corners of his mouth were tainted and rusting. It tasted horrible. It tasted like bullets and war and everything he didn’t want to taste again. Janek could taste death inside his mouth but he didn’t want to. All he wanted was his tooth back. The last time Janek had blood in his mouth he had a boot on his face and a rifle near his temple. “Eine, zwei, drei.” The clip clicked and the bullet missed. He could still feel the scar on his cheek with his tongue – well, what was left of it.
Bam.
In one side, out the other.
He traced the rim of his lips and the walls of his gums. Bloody, rusty, bloody and then there was the hole. The gap left between his two canine teeth that made his joints lock up. Uh oh. He tried to swallow, but he couldn’t really because of his tongue so saliva and blood dribbled down his chin and stained his collar.
He started to cry.
He made that awful face kids do when they trip and graze their elbow. He opened his mouth and wailed and hiccupped and covered his tears with unsteady hands. Nobody stopped, nobody helped. Poor kid was just another collateral victim of the daily life they called war. Poor kid probably lost his mama, his papa, his sister, his brother, his cousin, his last meal, his last everything. Nobody noticed that Janek had tasted more than a fist to the teeth.
Janek tasted his first kiss.
It tasted like war and bullets and dead siblings. It tasted familiar.
The corners of his mouth were tainted and rusting. It tasted horrible. It tasted like bullets and war and everything he didn’t want to taste again. Janek could taste death inside his mouth but he didn’t want to. All he wanted was his tooth back. The last time Janek had blood in his mouth he had a boot on his face and a rifle near his temple. “Eine, zwei, drei.” The clip clicked and the bullet missed. He could still feel the scar on his cheek with his tongue – well, what was left of it.
Bam.
In one side, out the other.
He traced the rim of his lips and the walls of his gums. Bloody, rusty, bloody and then there was the hole. The gap left between his two canine teeth that made his joints lock up. Uh oh. He tried to swallow, but he couldn’t really because of his tongue so saliva and blood dribbled down his chin and stained his collar.
He started to cry.
He made that awful face kids do when they trip and graze their elbow. He opened his mouth and wailed and hiccupped and covered his tears with unsteady hands. Nobody stopped, nobody helped. Poor kid was just another collateral victim of the daily life they called war. Poor kid probably lost his mama, his papa, his sister, his brother, his cousin, his last meal, his last everything. Nobody noticed that Janek had tasted more than a fist to the teeth.
Janek tasted his first kiss.
It tasted like war and bullets and dead siblings. It tasted familiar.