Rudimentary Vanity

She woke up stiff and irritable, rolling from an aged and lumpy mattress to her feet. Tediously removing the retainers from her mouth a sick feeling swelled at the seat of her stomach as she nudged her teeth with her tongue. They were loose. The pine air was acrid in her nostrils. The familiar smell of wood-rot provided only moderate solace. She was at Jan Lake in Alberta and pivoted to examine the loose set of teeth in the adjacent mirror. A hand lifted to her insipid complexion and gently passed over them. Six fell out, including an eyetooth, a few molars and a couple incisors.

Vanity. She wanted to cry. Tongue wriggled in the plush holes, rolling over hot-red gums, now raw and available to open air. She didn't concern herself with how it might affect her health, only her appearance. She grimaced at the mirror and then tore out of the room to find another conscious person rousing them to the situation. They seemed apathetic and idly related how it would be several days before they could get to a dentist to fix the problem. They were at the lake after all.

She sat on the porch. The smell of fresh rain on the bark and foliage was rank. Vain tears struggled down her face. A couple teeth were cradled in her hand. She rubbed cartilage lining the stubby root with a dry and cold thumb while staring out at the other four teeth, which lay on the verdant ground surrounding her. She thought of how she would require dental surgery to get new teeth and the pain that would follow, but at the apex of her priorities was how the lack of teeth currently affected her appearance.

Her perfect smile was ruined. Now all they would see is a marred simper. Woe, woe, woe.