THE GLADIATOR’S TEETH
At the end of the day all was quiet. The success of the games had been complete. Some few teeth remained on the blooded arena dirt where they had flown when separated from the gladiator’s head by the blow which had also tumbled the gladiator to a well-earned rest. Two of the twelve teeth to be seen on the ground were sentient. The other ten were merely teeth. The two sentient teeth were incisors. They had been conversing one with the other across the tongue for years.
“So, what now?” asked one.
“We wait,” replied the other.
“Not for Godot, surely.”
“Ha. Good one. No, I’m figuring we’ll be collected by some slave sweeping up tomorrow morning and maybe hoarded as some sort of talisman or good luck charm, if you see what I’m saying.”
“I get the picture. Should we reveal our sentience when we’re collected?”
“No, let’s hold off on that until we see the lay of the land.”
“What’s your mother have to do with it?”
“Ha. Good one.”
The teeth chatted all night on various topics, most of them having something or other to do with the unobstructed view of the surroundings they enjoyed now that they were free from mouth containment. In the morning they fell silent to await the expected sweeper. Sure enough, they didn’t have long to wait, and as predicted, they were collected and hoarded as good luck charms. Why? Your guess is as good as mine.
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