Windscript Volume 24, 2007-2008 - Saskatchewan Writers' Guild

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The Magazine of Saskatchewan High School Writing Hayley Muench The Chinese Restaurant The long string of dingy brass bells tinkled against the dull silver door frame, stirred by the sudden thrust of the glass door and the reckless gust of winter wind that followed it. The thick, warm atmosphere of the tiny restaurant immediately evaporated the cold, its unwelcome guest. It was replaced with the all too familiar mugginess, a combination of the sizzling deep fryers and the balmy breath of undisturbed conversation, melding together from each individual table. Patches of haze lingered in the room, from smoke emitted from smouldering ashtrays and steam from the hot dishes of Chinese food. Candles flickered a red glow from inside their molded, wax covered glass jars, contrasting the dim illumination overhead from the low brass fixtures. The oriental print rug, worn and faded, seemed to be the only thing that tied the restaurant together. Mismatched pictures of strange faces from the homeland hung unevenly on the wall, coated with a thick layer of dust that seemed to have an intention of permanence. No music played in the background; instead the room was filled with the insignificant sounds of clinking silverware, and voices as dull as the tablecloths the words were exchanged over. Sometimes, over the hushed chatter of the couples engrossed in their meals and conversation, the broken English of an ancient Chinese woman, skin like the bark of a bonsai tree, could be heard. This restaurant was her home, with bits and pieces of her memories, life, and culture, cluttering the walls – its only purpose to remind her that she was not lost in this windScript 26 strange country. Yet behind her small, creased eyes, were secrets held as the novelty fortune cookies held their trivial messages. Each couple eventually cracked them open, eyes grazing the red typed message printed on the slip for a small instant before they became less favoured to the crunchy treat. And after that, they got up, carelessly slinging their coats on and venturing out into the frigid evening as the forgotten paper fluttered with silence to the oriental carpet. When closing time finally crept upon the restaurant, the old woman carefully tucked each slip away in a hand made box sent back from her home country. She never forgot the people who came and went, as they were not trivial to her, and neither were the printed fortunes she so devotedly saved. volume 24
The Magazine of Saskatchewan High School Writing 27 Amanda Ahner Toothflesh I sit in their chair, the sole performer on this stage lit by an overhead lamp. Four rubber hands execute murderous ballet in my mouth. Dull eyes blink back at me from behind thick-lensed and masked mouths. With antiseptic tones they address one another, ignoring the subject upon their operating table, sterilized words. A slight waver betrays excitement in his voice; she hands him the needle. Silent screams shatter inward silence. The spider vines creep through my cheek, numbing my nerves, my tongue, my throat. Impossible to breathe through accumulating spit. He whips out his shiny pokers and prodders, tools with names known only to him. His pride is the drill, handed to him last. I see a smile hidden by his mask, an antiseptic smile, before he zealously assaults my enamel. Spectral chains enclose my wrists and ankles, preventing a speedy escape, mentally shackled by hardwired codes of etiquette. Vapours of nauseating toothflesh attack my nostrils, inhaling the dust of my slaughtered self. Held captive by a blue sheet of rubber, electric drill buzzing in my head; I wonder how they might silence my screams. I clench my teeth together trapping all in my jaw. Broken stubs of former fingers spill rivets of blood down my throat. Suffocating, I choke on thick life. Held captive by a blue sheet of rubber, a mist of water and bone shavings sprays my face, I realize the freezing is just for this purpose; to prevent rogue teeth from biting precious dentistry hands. Between that and the bright lights, a complete sedation to create the perfect complacent victim. Lying in their chair, I let myself fade, and wonder what etiquette demands of meeting my dentist in the grocery store. windScript volume 24
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Windscript Volume 24, 2007-2008 - Saskatchewan Writers' Guild

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