The Darkness of Tooth-Brushing

The Darkness of Tooth-Brushing

A Story by Lambo

I finished my Chinese grapefruit at breakfast and then walked to the bathroom. Two crystalline knobs, one for hot water and the other for cold, operated the faucet of the white sink. Out of a long-standing habit developed from an innate desire to simplify routine, everyday actions, I turned only the cold-water knob to fill a cup. I deposited some toothpaste onto my brush, and then brushed my teeth. When I had finished, I twisted the cold-water knob again, rinsing my toothbrush and right hand in the stream of water. The water came out pleasantly warm at first, which surprised me before I realized that the last person to use the sink must have used the hot water as well as the cold. But within seconds the temperature of the water had faded into the frigidity I had initially expected. It crossed my mind that the changes in the properties of the water could have been interpreted as a metaphor for life. Any aspect of one’s existence may appear comfortable and wholly beneficial as it first arises. Soon after its arrival, however, that new state of being will sour until it can be viewed only as a negative event. Deterioration is so omnipresent in this world that it seems almost unnatural for a shred of positivity to endure. Feeling slightly depressed for the ponderousness and formulaic nature of my own entity, I washed the last of the minty suds from my fingers. Some toothpaste residue still remained in my mouth, so I rinsed with the water from the cup. I was mildly surprised again, this time because the water in the cup was of a warm and calming constitution, just as had been the first water to contact my skin that morning. If I had operated the faucet once more, the liquid would still have been chilling to the touch, just as it would always be from that point on. But here was an unexpected throwback, a memory of what the water had once been. It had used to be soothing, reassuring, but now it could provide only pain and discomfort. Life is like that, too: even after one has become acclimated to the fact that a once-pleasant activity can no longer be enjoyed, small reminders always resurface later on. The good times that are long gone, the romance that didn’t work out, the serenity or nirvana that is forever lost; all of these will echo spontaneously. But the reappearances are no more than empty ghosts, and the startlingly warm water from the cup serves less as comfort than as a reminder that nothing good ever lasts.
(01/03/10, 2:08 AM)

© 2010 Lambo

My Review

Would you like to review this Story?
Login | Register

Share This
Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Added on June 19, 2010
Last Updated on November 4, 2010



Ashland, OR

The name is Lambo. I am creepy. I enjoy strange music, darkness, good salads, clutter, and seclusion. more..

Halloween 2010 Halloween 2010

A Story by Lambo

Parade Parade

A Poem by Lambo