When a commander’s anxiety makes even his teeth pay the price.
Thirty-two warriors lived bumping into one another.
They belonged to the same kingdom, but occupied different ranks.
They were not enemies.
Quite the opposite. They had known one another forever and knew exactly what each one was meant to do.
But for some time, a strange uneasiness had been disturbing the peace.
Whenever everyone was resting, something would begin.
First, a little pressure.
Then, another.
The upper ones would move closer to the lower ones.
Rrrr…
They would press against one another.
And grind all night long.
Rrrr…
Not because they wanted to.
Not because they were fighting.
But because, somewhere outside, someone could not relax.
The commander, exhausted by all the noise, decided to do something about it.
He separated the two ranks.
The upper dental arch kept its distance from the lower one.
The warriors below remained protected by soft tissue, hidden behind the tongue and cheeks.
The ones above did the same, standing firm along the gums.
And, for a few hours, there was peace.
They slept.
Or at least they tried to.
Because the problem was not really there.
The problem was somewhere else.
Inside the mind of the one who commanded the kingdom.
As soon as morning came, the barrier was removed.
After all, there was work to be done.
They could smell coffee.
The incisors, always on the front line, were the first to spring into action.
“Leave it to us!” they shouted. “We were made for cutting!”
And cut they did. They bit.
Slices and pieces.
But soon they realized they could not keep going on their own.
“Now it’s your turn!”
The canines charged forward, sharp and proud.
“Make way! We’re experts at tearing through things!”
And they tore through everything the incisors had prepared.
Then came the premolars, strong and sturdy.
“Push it over here! We’ll start grinding!”
And they began mashing.
Finally, the molars, the largest and most experienced of them all, took command.
That was how it went every day.
Cut.
Tear.
Grind.
Chew.
Until they noticed something.
The nighttime grinding was beginning to follow them into the day.
“He’s clenching again,” murmured a molar.
“Who?” asked a little incisor.
“Our commander.”
Everyone fell silent.
They listened carefully.
And heard a racing heart.
A breathless rhythm.
Thoughts running back and forth.
One worry.
Then another.
A bill to pay.
A problem.
A message that still had not been answered.
A meeting the next day.
Worrying about the future while forgetting the present.
And the teeth felt everything.
The jaw clenched.
The muscles tightened.
The warriors pressed against one another.
Rrrr…
“Again!” complained a little incisor.
“He can’t stop,” replied the molar.
“But we’re starting to pay the price for it.”
And they were.
Tiny cracks began to appear.
Some teeth became sensitive.
The enamel, which had protected the warriors for years, began to wear away.
One day, one of them lost a piece.
One of the oldest warriors could no longer withstand so much pressure.
“How much longer?” he asked.
No one answered.
That was when the molars called a meeting.
“We have to do something.”
“What?” asked a canine.
“We can’t go on like this. Do you think we’ve been bewitched by bruxism?”
“But it’s not up to us!” protested an incisor.
“I know.”
“Then who is doing this?”
The molar pointed outside.
“Him.”
Everyone looked in the same direction.
And finally, they understood.
That war had never begun inside the mouth.
The teeth were merely bearing the effects of a battle taking place somewhere else.
In the head.
In the heart.
In life.
It was then that, from the back of the mouth, the one who wore a gold crown spoke up.
He was old.
Very old.
He had already survived cavities, fillings, a few difficult meals, and even a root canal.
He cleared his throat and spoke:
“Here’s the thing…”
Everyone fell silent.
“If we keep going like this, it will be the end of us.”
“What kind of end?” asked a premolar.
The gold tooth looked up at his own rosy sky.
He paused.
“We’re becoming fragile.”
The warriors looked at one another.
“And what does that mean?” someone asked.
The old warrior took a deep breath.
“It means we’re cracking, breaking…”
He paused again.
“And if we keep going like this, some of us may not make it to the end of this story.”
Silence filled the kingdom.
That was when a little incisor, with the air of a philosopher and a veneer that shone brighter than it should have, took the floor and said:
“If we can’t control what happens out there, why do we have to suffer in here?”
The gold tooth thought for a few seconds.
“Perhaps we should send a message to whoever is out there.”
The four wisdom teeth looked at one another.
“If you start saying that pain doesn’t necessarily mean suffering…” said one of them, “I think you’d better keep quiet before we become the first ones to be discarded.”
Then a tooth with a filling signaled for the wisdom teeth to be quiet and asked:
“And what will we say?”
The golden crown gleamed. He sighed.
“We won’t say anything.”
He looked at them all.
“We’ll do something.”
“Do what?”
“We’ll make the commander think.”
Silence.
“He needs to understand that we weren’t made to carry the weight of the whole world.”
More silence.
“That we deserve to rest.”
The little incisor nodded.
“And if he keeps clenching like this…”
The gold tooth looked at them all.
“We’ll be replaced.”
The warriors’ eyes widened.
“Replaced?” asked a canine.
“By whom?”
The old warrior sighed.
“Artificial teeth.”
“Artificial?”
“Yes. Teeth that don’t feel anxiety, don’t lose sleep, and don’t complain when they’re clenched.”
Everyone was horrified.
A trembling little incisor asked:
“Really?”
The gold tooth replied:
“Absolutely.”
A long silence followed.
Then he added:
“And the worst part…”
Everyone leaned closer.
“You know how it ends.”
No one answered.
“With a beautiful artificial smile.”
“Porcelain?” someone asked.
The gold tooth smiled.
“Exactly.“
The thirty-two warriors looked at one another.
Finally, they understood that they were not at war.
They were simply trying to survive the commander’s anxiety.
The source of the problem was not at the root of the teeth.
It was in the head of the one who commanded the kingdom.
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