The walls were a blinding white - almost too pure. They felt less like paint and more like calcified bone, caging me inside. I felt the graze of torn leather against my back, as toothpaste forced its aroma in my nostrils. The idea of the dentist has always settled in my stomach like a clump of lead. But today marked my 21st, meaning it was time for my Final Alignment. My parents had been looking forward to this day forever. My mother had kissed me on the cheek outside the door, saying, "You've grown up so fast!" 

This memory shattered as a sharp rap struck the door. It was time. But when I saw who entered, I almost laughed. This kid couldn't be a day over 18. He paced the room, inspecting each machine with parental love. Eventually, he noticed me. "Good morning. I'm Dr. Adam. I'm looking forward to helping you today." My face must've betrayed my surprise, because his upper lip curled in a smile. "I know. But I've done this for a while. Most of my life. It's always what I've wanted." He spoke in a monotonous tone, presenting no emotion in his boyish face. It was as he looked directly at me that I noticed something about his eyes was too old for his age. 

My voice eventually cracked the silence, "What do you enjoy most?" A flicker of light danced across his eyes for the first time. "May I show you?" He flicked the lever, reclining me back into my chair with a jolt. A light immediately flashed on, forcing me to slam my eyelids until they seemed stuck together. 

Dr. Adam began his work. His hands flew from instrument to hose, a blur of efficiency that should have demanded two people. As he worked, he tried to make conversation: How was my day, the week, etc. My monosyllabic grunts appeared to satisfy him, so he drove on. "What is your purpose? What do you want to be remembered for when you die?" How did he expect me to respond with all this dental equipment? I tried to make eye contact, but his dark eyes looked far away, showing he didn't want an answer. 

"My purpose has always been to be a dentist," he murmured, his gaze sweeping over the array of steel tools. "More than that, a cleaner. Nietzsche once said, ‘What separates two people most profoundly is a different sense and degree of cleanliness.' His right hand, slightly trembling, selected the long, thin scraper, the tool I dreaded most. He set it against the corner of the tray.  "Give a dentist your time and they can completely clean you," he continued. "No matter how dirty you are, how many stains you possess, a dentist can fix you!" He paused, glancing down at me momentarily. Seeing me staring, he took a shaky breath and reassumed his stoic demeanor. "Sorry. I got carried away." He turned away stiffly, fumbling with his tools, and returned with what I'd been dreading. 

The scraper prompted my lips to curl upward, becoming a shield. My gums still remembered the pain. "I'm sorry," I confided, "I know it's childish, but I've always been scared of the dentist." He chuckled sharply, a dry, grinding sound. "It'll only hurt for a second." 

He started with my teeth, scraping fervently. My body tightened. My shoulders caved in, my fists clenched, and my body temperature rose rapidly. The loud scraping on my enamel sent a jolt through my entire soul. Worse, he started on my gums. I felt the first stab of pain, tasted the first drop of blood as it was drawn, over and over. 

"It's okay. You're doing great," said Dr. Adam. He had stopped momentarily, giving me a minute to catch my breath. He'd been scraping so aggressively that my gums almost felt numb. "Rinse?" I asked. "I'm bleeding." A silent pause loomed, broken only by the hum of the light. Dr. Adam said nothing, so I glanced up at him. I almost recoiled. 

His face was split by a full, wet smile: a teeth-baring grimace that reached his upper gums but never touched his eyes. They were wide and stark, utterly empty, creating a violent, soulless mismatch.

Through his smile, a thin, silver-tinged stream of blood leaked from his upper gum - unlike anything I'd seen before. But before I could say anything, he resumed his work. More pricks, more and more. My heart began to hammer an even more violent tune. I raised my hand to tell him to stop, but nothing changed. He kept scraping, tearing my gums repeatedly. 

Tasting a surge of saliva, I opened my eyes, risking the glare, and nearly fainted. A thick slurry of blood, dark red traced with silver, coated my chin and throat. The silver and the red were being sucked into separate tubes across my body. I began to gag. How had it gotten to this point? I rose with a jolt, but with a hiss, a cold band of metal pushed me back, pinning my chest. I thrashed, trying to protect my teeth, but Dr. Adam was relentless. I screamed and sobbed as the scraping continued. 

 

After what felt like ages, it stopped. "You did great." Dr. Adam looked at me. In his right hand, he held a small paper cup. "Do you want to rinse out now?" He had the same sinister smile on his face. I realized then why it unsettled me so much. He looked just like my parents had this morning. 

I bolted upright, sprinting out of the room, out of the building, not even stopping for my bag. I ran across street after street, the car horns not registering. All I heard was the continuous screech in my head. Tears blurred my vision as blood continued to drip down my shirt. I stopped alongside the highway, hands on my head, unsure of where to go. 

Then suddenly, nothing. The screeching faded from my eardrums, replaced by a calm I hadn't felt at any point in my life. My mind, which moments before had writhed like a netted animal, became still. All the messy, complicated edges seemed scraped away, leaving an effortless bliss. I opened my eyes softly. Every color seemed more vibrant, every person's face more pleasant. What was I worrying about? I knew I had to go back to my parents, and found my way there with perfect accuracy, though I thought I'd had no idea where I was. 

I tossed the front door open. My mother and father sat silently at the table, while my younger brother Marco played in the next room. When they saw me, their eyes widened. My parents leapt to their feet in ecstasy. It was my father who acted first, running to shut the door as Marco stayed frozen in place. My mother enveloped me in a warm, loving hug, tears running down her cheeks, repeating how proud she was of me over and over. My father stood there, pure joy in his eyes. He smiled. "You too?" I smiled in return. "Yes. Me too!" 

As daughter and parents embraced, Marco inched closer to the door, peeking through a small crack. Pure terror engulfed him as he tried to make sense of what was happening. How did they not notice the blood all over his sister's shirt? And she just stood there, smiling, as their parents embraced her. Blood stained her teeth and dripped down her chin, forming the shape of a red crescent moon. And her eyes. Marco saw it: too old, the cold detachment he'd see in his parents from time to time. Inching closer, the door creaked slightly. They turned towards him. His whole family had the same expression: a wide grin with eyes pried open. His parents both had a slight stream of silver blood weeping from their upper gums. Marco tried to scream, but the sound felt trapped in his throat: a weak, hopeless squeak. He tried to run, but his feet felt rooted, as if the white floor had become the bone of the earth itself. Marco finally understood: the only thing now missing from the white room was him.