Billy Hindle

Crowns, jaw deformities, fillings, teeth loss, teeth shape, x-rays, root structure, hell, I even saw before and after braces picking there.

32 fingerprints for each corpse.

The corpse.

I moved my gloved hands towards the corpse's droopy, gloopy mouth and prod it testingly.

Jaws fused together, as I thought.

I take a deep breath and pick up the scalpel.

The lips cut astonishingly similar to the clothing.

The flesh stretches and peels ever so slightly before giving way to the cutting blade.

Letting flakes of air-fried skin blossom down the back of the throat, I grab the oral retractor.

one prong under each jaw to pry the lips open, only the mouth is too tight to get a good angle.

I pick the scalpel back up and carefully carve open the corpse's cheeks, one prong under each jaw, and elevate the tissue.

I crank and crank and crank, staring at the widening mask of grinning blood and soot-stained enamel.

Why does this bother me tonight more than any other night?

Why did he have to leave me alone?

Who am I kidding?

I lean forward, towards the grin.

The blood is almost gone now.

Something doesn't look right.

The smile looks too... small.

The teeth aren't connected to the gums, the roots hanging suspended mid-air.