#16 - Toothbrush 9:15pm

This toothbrush is plastic. The bones of a living past, transformed by man into something wholly unnatural. A dream of the past, now dead today, and possibly even detrimental. Still, I have to use it.

Its bristles align a smooth head, only slightly expanding outward from a slender stem. The bristles are blue, white, and green, arranged in a pleasing set of concentric, broken circles. Vertically, there are three sets of circles that look somewhat like a traffic light. At the center of each "light" is a set of blue bristles, orbited by a solid band of white broken into four equal arcs. From there, the solid white arcs are framed by green or white and blue crescents.

They look delicate, really. Almost organic. When I get close I can see individual strands, meant to probe individual sections of my mouth.

On the back of the head, extending down just below the bristles, is a textured surface. From there, it is smooth down the handle: a plain white stem on the end of a colorful, flower-like head. There are ridges in the plastic handle. I can feel them in my hand as I grip it. It's both soft and rigid.

Then I brush my teeth.

First, apply a thick spot of toothpaste to the brush head, and line it up in the top, left side of my mouth. I can feel those rough dimples on the back of the brush head, tickling my tongue and cheeks. Now the toothpaste dribbles out the corner of my mouth, running into my beard. I watch myself in the mirror as it slowly drips off my chin. I know I'm finished when there's no toothpaste left.

I rinse the toothbrush off, and drop it into its cup. Then I shut the light off and leave it in the dark.