Life of a Tooth Fairy

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My hand fumbles around the small covers of  the index card out of my breast pocket. “Elisa Watterson- Age: 8,” it reads and I put it back in my breast pocket….

The tip of my middle finger hits the smooth hard surface. “There!” I reach in even deeper, my feet are now in the air, torso almost sucked in along between the pillowcase and the sheets. I gag when I feel the wetness of the end of the tooth where it’s pulled from the gums.

“God, I hate my job.”

Either way- I suck it up, wrap my hands around the tooth and pull it out from under the pillow. “Got it!” I hold up the front tooth and in the moonlight I notice that there’s a patch of dry blood at the bottom and a forming cavity. Facing away from it, I close my eyes and desperately try not to gag and fail miserably.

“Did I mention that I REALLY HATE my job?”

Placing the tooth in my bag and replacing the empty spot with a shiny quarter. The child- Elisa turned to her side in her sleep and I froze, wings twitching until I heard her breathing pattern went back to it’s usual softness.


I quickly jumped out the window, flying to my next stop.

Unless you haven’t figured it out, I’m the tooth fairy and I HATE my job! Children-bless their little hearts, have this idea that the tooth fairy is all smiles and fairy dust. Someone that collects the teeth of the children all over the world and does it happily.


As if! When you’re about the size of a grown person’s hand and you have to tuck yourself under pillows grabbing a tooth covered in dried blood, and sometimes covered in slobber, with pieces of gums stuck to them and the endless cavities. Sometimes the cavities are black little spots, sometimes a patch of brown, and sometimes the whole dang tooth is rotten. My wings just twitched again and I’m trying to smooth down my goosebumps.


If I could be the fat man in red that sits around and delivers presents around the world once a year- I would, but noooo I get the creepy job of collecting teeth. Ugh.

I fly off.

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