[Ongoing] A collection of unsettling or unusual short stories. Some have monsters, some have humor, some draw tears, some make you think, and some have artwork. Each is a revealing glance of someone's life.
Every writer has their own methods of comi...
Original story below, but you can find a revamped version in my collection "The Joke's on Me: and six other twisted stories of absurdity and regret", available on Amazon!
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“Would you rather grow hair on your teeth, or teeth on your hair?” my sister asked, not letting our two younger siblings’ snickering affect her serious expression as she tapped me on the shoulder with the asking stick.
“Before I make my choice, there are a few questions I must ask,” I replied with a pretentious eyebrow lift as I swept the asking stick away. “If I choose the first, would I be able to shave the hair off my teeth? And, if yes, would it grow back?”
Our siblings began making retching noises, but my sister maintained her poise as she replied, “The answer is yes and yes.”
“And if I choose the second, would I be able to shave the hair off my head? And, if yes, would the new hair grow back in with teeth?”
“Once again, the answer is yes and yes,” my sister replied as our siblings squealed in disgust and scratched their scalps.
“And what would I use to brush?” I asked. “A hairbrush or a toothbrush?”
Our siblings found this question hilarious as they laughed and clapped. They always enjoyed it when we took things too seriously and dramatized our thought process, and they seemed to be particularly entertained as my sister and I introduced them to this game.
My sister remained unflappable as she replied, “If you choose teeth on your hair, you would use a wide-toothed comb. If you choose hair on your teeth, then a toothbrush if you decide to shave, or both a toothbrush and an eyebrow comb if you choose not to shave.”
“Hmm …” I pondered for a few seconds, stroking my chin with theatrical flourish. “Then, my dear big sister, I would rather grow hair on my teeth, because I could just shave it each morning and be normal for the rest of the day.”
Our siblings shuddered and giggled as they stuck their tongues out, spitting imaginary hair out of their mouths.
“You’re weak,” my sister scoffed with a superior head tilt. “I would rather grow teeth on my hair. And …” She flipped her long curls off her shoulders. “… I’d wear them proudly.”
“What on Earth are you two talking about?”
That was our mother, standing outside my bedroom door with a look of utter revulsion on her face.
“We’re playing ‘would you rather’,” my sister replied.
“Teeth on hair and hair on teeth? That’s not how I remember playing it! Where does your generation come up with horrifying things like that?”
Our younger siblings doubled over in laughter. It was always amusing seeing parents exasperated, disgusted, or out of their element.
“Actually, that question was pretty tame,” my sister said with a shrug.
