Anarchism of an Antichrist
By Robert Paul Gass
Copyright 2014 Robert Paul Gass
For all the psychotronic torture victims,
who couldn't handle the pressure
paired with the injustices.
I-phone and injustice are
proper words according
to the spell checker.
Psychotronics isn't.
As a nation of free men we will live forever or die by suicide.
- Abraham Lincoln
And while the gut eaters strain to pull the mud from their mouths
they force our ears to go deaf to the screams in the south.
- Zack de la Rocha
Holy Diver,
You're the star of the masquerade.
No need to look so afraid.
- Ronnie James Dio
Prologue
Jason reclined on a chair in the stale and tedious dentist's office, while the dental assistant cleaned his teeth with a sickle probe. Every scrape was a test of his resolve.
Once the dental assistant had finished, she raised the back of the chair to an upright position and said, “Relax for a bit. The dentist will be here shortly.” Then she left.
Jason got a closer look at his surroundings. The window looked out on some shrubbery and a nearby parking lot, baking under the rays of the hot Tennessee sun. The brightness of the outdoors made him long to be away from the dentist's office. On the wall next to the window was a dental advertisement portraying a picture of a primate's decaying teeth. A caption beneath the picture warned against being primitive and it advised that he brush regularly. Like so many fifteen year old boys, Jason didn't take the warning seriously.
The dentist entered the room and washed his hands in a nearby sink. There was a smell of rubber on the air as the dentist took his gloves out of a package. The sound of the gloves snapping against the doctor's skin tweaked Jason's nerves and he longed for his evening cigarette.
“How are we doing today?”
“Fine.”
“We'll see if we can get you out of here soon. Open up please.”
The dentist probed in Jason's mouth for a while with a sickle probe. The portion of the appointment, which Jason disliked the most, was approaching. Soon the doctor would make his prognosis and begin the most uncomfortable thing Jason had ever experienced at the dental clinic.
The dentist removed the instruments from Jason's mouth. “You can relax for a moment.” He put the instruments onto a nearby counter. “Things look good. No new cavities.”
Jason braced himself as the dentist opened a nearby cupboard door and reached for the burnisher.
“You're almost out of here,” the dentist assured him. “Just need you to open up and you'll be out of here soon.”
Jason opened his mouth and the dentist inserted the burnisher into it. The first touch of the burnisher against one of Jason's molars caused a slight shiver to go through his body. The abrasive feeling of the burnisher against his teeth caused a rough and uneven irritation, like rubbing sandpaper against them. The worst part of the burnishing was the substance being applied to his teeth. It tasted like wooden heat, producing a slightly medicated aftereffect. He assumed the substance was unpleasant, yet healthy, like eating brussel sprouts. It didn't taste good, but it must be good for his teeth, because it was being applied by a doctor.
After the burnishing, Jason was given a fluoride treatment, with fluoride in dental trays put over his teeth. The unpleasant tasting fluoride coated the polish that had been put over Jason's teeth. It didn't matter which flavor he chose. It was always unpleasant.
Later that day, Jason ate a fast food meal. It was a treat from his mother for going to the dentist. He ate french fries and a burger and drank a soda. There was a slight taste of the fluoride and the dental polish mixing with the food at first, but the soda soon washed it away. He hated that abrasive taste spoiling his enjoyment of the food.