January 13th

I run my tongue over the enflamed gum above my upper left capsid. My sharp, slimy teeth have never had cavities. I poke the swelling with my tongue. The spongy pain is temporary, caused scraping from the metal pick. I don’t mind the dentist, except for when they dig near my gums.

I need a night guard for my teeth. The upper bone in my mouth is large from clenching, and I constantly have small wounds self inflicted by my own teeth. Yesterday, on my left cheek, I noticed a large gash. But this is normal, I have been chewing the inside of my mouth for years.

Apparently I gnash my teeth in my sleep. I chew my lips, I bite my tongue, I lash out at my poor, quickly regenerating inner mouth cells.

_ _ _

A dead elephant will feed an entire pride of lions for a week. They tear away the dusty, leathery skin, to expose the tough meet. Snarling, gouging, they demolish the elephant. One sits and knaws on the trunk, blood smearing her curling lips.

Elephants and lions need to share the same watering hole, and by day they tolerate each other. But the elephant’s vision at knight is akin to a human’s, and the lions are hungry. Twelve of them stalk the elephant. As he runs, terrified and trumpeting, they leap onto his back, tearing the skin with their wide spread claws, grasping his back as he charges. Clutching onto the sides of his body, all eight sink their teeth into the animal. Twelve sets of lions teeth, twelve pairs of claws clutching at his underbelly eventually slow him down.

_ _ _

The sky is purple in Wisconsin, too, and I never noticed it. Shards of sparkly snow highlight the greying Western sky as I walk home.

_ _ _

Hundreds of geese nest in the plains, splattering the air with the pattern of their white wings. A fox is hunting, attempting to steal some chicks.

It dashes, and chases the hissing parents from their roost. Six fluffy yellow blurs are exposed, and the fox bites the necks of all of them, and then uses the ground to ambitiously scoop all of them up, stuffing it’s mouth with the squealing infants. All six fit in its ravenous mouth, yet one falls out of it’s jowls and runs away, as the parents land on the back of the fox. Breaking, the fox only manages to hold onto the leg of one, and as it escapes, the bird squawks for rescue from it’s parents, who are too busy mourning their other babies.

The fox bounds back to a ledge, where ten fuzzy grey cubs are waiting. It drops the chick and waits as the little foxes pounce on each other for a turn at the chick.