Requiem For An Old And Weary Denture
I have served many years.
I have destroyed my foes: deviled eggs, cottage cheese, and even ham sandwiches, but I could not defeat all. Steak always bested me, and I would shrink in terror from almonds.
Now I am being replaced.
Replaced, but rightly so. I have broken many times and each repair has made me weaker. I can feel it. My surface is full of pores that shelter the plague of candida that could infect my master’s gumes with a yeast infection. I no longer give enough support, so my master has a sunken face that makes her look older than she ought to. It puts her at risk for sores on the sides of her mouth.
My time is done.
I am told that my successor is augmented, and is that he is better. He will be supported by implants that make him more secure and able to function better. Maybe he will even be completely implant supported, staying in the master’s mouth the whole time, not needing to be removed, not pushing on the gums.
Maybe he will even be the one foretold in the prophecies, the one that will defeat the almighty Steak.