Bleached Walls and Crimson Ghosts

I look around me. White walls, white chair, white coats and medical masks, silver, sharp instruments. The dentist has kind eyes peeking behind his glasses, it’s the only part of his face i can see. He signals that it’s time. I clutch the armrests and slowly open my mouth, the bloody cave it has become. My teeth hang by their nerves, desperate for repair. They are cracks and small and my hands shake when i softly touch them with the tip of my tongue. My body feels hollow and frail, my mind clouded with a blue haze of pain. He starts using a sharp tool to poke around. The soft gums split, the teethe wobble, the nerves burn. My eyes roll backwards as blood gushes, soaked up by the little cotton balls stuffed into every empty space. He prods and pulls on nerves, cutting them off as they are no longer needed, they have died. My scream of my nerves shrills in my ears, a screeching whistle of ache. I am tied down with green straps. The nurses warned me and decided it would be best because I have no pain-killers, no anaesthesia, just my balled up fists to fight the pain.