Invisible Women

The Soundless, Bloody Whistle

So I began one tooth at a time, and without anesthetic, it was difficult and bloody. My fingers became pliers, and they twisted and pulled with strength even I did not know I possessed. Perhaps it was out of desperation or out of coldness, but my fingers were chisels and pick-axes, and I performed the most skilled operations until all of my teeth were gone. Even my wisdom teeth which had been so firmly nestled in the nerves running along my throat that dentists and surgeons alike were too frightened to remove them.

I took out all of my teeth, even the ones that had not yet formed, and I put them in a small pail for the little girl to inspect. They jingled a pretty melody, which I wanted to whistle but could scarcely manage a piddle of a sound without my teeth.

I took a swig of something that burned my throat, and it stung the corridors of my gums, but I didn’t mind because there was some sort of numbing agent contained in it so I took a few more swigs until swigs became gulps and I was firmly intoxicated.

Intoxicated, I hastily plunged my icicle fingers into the sockets of my eyes and scooped them into the pail.

Without eyes, my hearing suddenly became muted, but I could feel vibrations in the ground with great accuracy. I could feel the little girl’s little feet stomping down the stairs, skipping through the hallway, and pausing only briefly to unlatch and unlock and open the front door.

She did not invite me into her house, but this time, I did not wait for an invitation.