The Father of Teeth

Text for today: Premolars clxxiv-clxxxiii

But almost immediately the Father of Teeth ran into a moderation custodian, and moseyed with him a while down the stained and echoing corridor.

"What bothers me most about this job," said the custodian, fumbling with his keys, "it isn't the sacrifices, you understand. Moderation and compassion are our watchwords here, even if there's a crisis on again. That isn't what bothers me at all."

At last he got the cell door open and the prisoner threw himself on his knees, The custodian drew his pistol and shot the prisoner neatly between the eyes. Despite the neatness, there was a certain amount of matter and splatter.

"It isn't even the untidiness that bothers me," said the custodian as he locked the door behind him. "I mean, I've asked time and again for the cell floors to be given a slope and a drain, just to make the cleaning-up easier, but I'm always told the budgeting isn't there. Because of the previous administration, you know. Too easy on the Other."
"There's a lot of it about," said the Father of Teeth.

The custodian opened the next door. The prisoner in this cell threw himself on his face, and the custodian had to step back before firing in order to keep the shine on his boots. "It's the mess that bothers me," he said. "I don't know if it's harder to scrub the blood off the floor or the grey matter off the walls, but after a month or two it can all get a bit demoralising, frankly."

He opened a third door, stepped in and fired. "Fiddly too, a lot of the time," he said. "It's amazing how far some of those skull fragments fly. They end up in places you wouldn't believe." Rattling the keys again, he shook his head. "Moderation and compassion are all very well, but you wonder sometimes if we couldn't do with a bit of extremism and callousness around here, just temporarily to move things along a bit."

"Anything to oblige," said the Father of Teeth, and as soon as the next shot was fired he pushed past the custodian and ground up the remains among his extra-strength mahogany molars. In a remarkably short time nothing remained of the cell's late occupant save the delicate olfactory trace of his gastro-intestinal tract's final testament, and that was quickly smothered by the Father of Teeth's belch.

Nevertheless, the custodian appeared less than impressed. "I'm sure you meant to help," he said stiffly, "but cannibalism is taking things too far."
"It wasn't cannibalism," said the Father of Teeth, jabbing at his gums with a bone splinter. "Still, it is true that, with a little imagination, you might save yourself some trouble and also relieve that food crisis we've heard so much about." The Father of Teeth exerted delicate leverage and something sprang from the horror of his gums and clattered resoundingly off the wall. "I say, you're right about those skull fragments."

But the custodian would have none of it, and before opening the next cell he firmly requested the Father of Teeth to refrain in future, no matter how compassionate his motives, from such immoderate demonstrations of efficiency.