Life of a Toothbrush

Bill Garner. That is the name of my owner.

Every morning, he comes into my room and rinses me under the cold tap water. He always put a blue tube labelled 'toothpaste' above me and squeezes out its content which then ooze on me. Then he proceeds to put me into the hole on his face. Every day, I greet the same rows of cubical bones. I wonder why they are so clean in the morning, but not so at night.

I have to admit he has a bad breath. I cannot complain though, there is someone who has it far worse than me – the lavatory. Bill will throw me out in a month or two, but the lavatory has to endure his excrement for years. I wonder… how does he keep his sanity?

And I wonder… why does Bill look different today? His eyes are bulging with fear His clothes are wet with his sweat and… red-brown stain?

Eh…? Isn’t that his wife Marcy? What is she doing lying in the tub with some sticky liquid? I’d never thought she would take a bath in crimson water. She is a woman of hygiene. Everything in front of her has to be spick-and-span.

A strange tool I have never seen is in his hands. It’s a C shaped frame with a long blade. I heard that the strange tool can cut through anything – metal, plastic pipes, branches, even flesh and bones. He presses the blade against Marcy’s thighs and starts to cut them off. The same red liquid spurts out, tarnishing the blue tiled walls. He then puts her legs in a big black bag. He does the same to her long arms and again, the scarlet fluid paints the room red.
And last, with his alien tool, he severs Marcy’s head.

Oh no… I got some on me too. I guess I can’t clean Bill’s mouth anymore. That’s a relief. I hope I will be recycled as something better in the future.