The baby’s teething. Red cheeks. Fussy. Rashy. Dribble. Dribble. Bites down on Mama’s nipple and squirms away. Lucky, the baby’s teeth aren’t all the way out yet or one might get stuck in Mama’s boob. Like shark’s teeth are sometimes left stuck in things they clamp down on.

I smiled pretty proud after the dentist, who gives free tooth care for some of us at school, told me I had a perfect bite, whatever that is. For a long time after, if someone made fun of me or my brothers, I’d open my mouth. Like a shark before it attacks.

Then two of my front teeth each fell out twice. Mama worried they might not grow in a third time, said that’s not a good look on a girl, but they did. Like a shark’s teeth that grow back over and over. But they came in crooked, so now I usually keep my mouth closed, even when I smile.

I still open my mouth when I’m mad at someone though, like Mama’s stupid new boyfriend. He’s missing a lot of teeth, I think they just rotted out cause he doesn’t brush them, and I don’t think they’ll grow back. If he ever raises his hand to me, or Mama, I’ll know what to do. Just like a shark.

Louella Lester

is a writer and photographer in Winnipeg, Canada. She is the author of a collection of flash and CNF, Glass Bricks (At Bay Press, April 2021). Her work has appeared in a variety of journals and anthologies, including: Litro, Five Minutes, The Drabble, SoFloPoJo, Daily Drunk, Dribble Drabble, The Odd Magazine, Shorts, Grey Sparrow Journal, Reflex Fiction, New Flash Fiction, Spelk, Vallum, Prairie Fire, and The Antigonish Review.

Author’s blog, Through Camera & Pen: http://louellalester.blog