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Denialist by SlimeBeast

"Excuse me, which way is the Dentist's office?"

I held my tender cheek carefully with a palm that felt cool against the hot flesh. My pained look did little to evoke any reaction from the young woman at the desk.

"Down the hall, on your right, can't miss it."

"Thank you."

Down the hall. On my right. Couldn't miss it. Not true. I stopped at a black door with silver handle and pushed it open. A plate attached to it at eye height read "DENTAL". Or so I had thought.

"Well, hello!" croaked the small, elderly man standing in the corner of the stark white room. His yellowed skin seemed all the more sickly against the bright, clean walls.

"You're the Dentist, I suppose?" Not much else I could say, really.

I looked around the small space and noticed something odd. There were no cabinets, there was no desk. All that resided there was an old, weathered examination chair at the center of the bleached tile floor.

"No." he replied, laughing.

"No?" I repeated, not laughing.

"You stopped one door early. The Dentist and I share a wall."

I shook my head and snorted disapprovingly.

"I saw your sign. It clearly read 'Dental'. Maybe you went one door too far."

"You misread." The old man wiped his greasy hands on the off-white, moth-eaten coat the hung around him like a trick or treater's improvised ghost costume.

"I think you should check again." I stepped away from the door as it slowly closed itself.

"The sign you're talking about says 'Denial'. I am a Denialist, my dear boy."

"That's ridiculous."

"It isn't."

"You are not a 'Denialist'." I snapped, having little time for games in my current condition, "There's no such thing as a Denialist. Denialist isn't even a word!"

"I see you've studied our methods!"

"I have not!"

"Excellent!"

With a wave of the hand, I dismissed the small fossil and turned back from whence I had come.

"That's it. I'm leaving."

"That isn't going to happen."

I stopped. I wasn't sure why.

"See?" The old man said smugly, "I'm an expert in the field."

"I..." collecting my thoughts, I reached toward the handle, "I have every right to walk through this door."

"There is no door."

There wasn't.

Shocked, I stumbled back from the blank surface that I suddenly found myself facing. Back toward the man I would've run from had I been able to think clearly.

"That's not possible!" I shouted.

"I like where this conversation is going." The old man chuckled.

Turning back to focus my growing outrage on the true source of concern, I saw the man now seated in the examination chair. He was leafing through a dusty old novel, back to front, and in his other hand he held a glass of wine.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"I have no idea."

"You MUST know. You're controlling this."

"No, I'm not."

Pushing down my rage, I let out a hot breath and stepped away from the man.

"Listen, I don't want any trouble and I'm sorry if I did something to offend you. Whoever you are. Needless to say, I have a very bad toothache, and--"

"You don't, actually." He rudely interrupted.

The throbbing pain that had plagued me for nearly a week was gone in an instant. I should have been relieved, but it was strictly unsettling... especially when I felt with my tongue and found no cavities or fillings at all in my mouth.

It was as if I'd never required the slightest dental procedure.

Frantically, I searched the wall for any crease or seam that would show me where the door had been. There was no break in the surface. I knocked on the wall and found studs where the door had been.

"Alright, so maybe I can work this to my advantage..." I mumbled to myself.

"You most certainly cannot." He took a long sip of his wine.

"I..." My words stopped once again as I realized the full weight of my next word choice, "I am trapped in this room with you."

"You aren't." He lazily turned a page. Right to left.

I blinked, and we were trapped in an entirely different room altogether.

"There is no door." I insisted.

"See? You're getting better at it."

Of COURSE he wouldn't respond the way I wanted.

I paced the room for a moment, careful not to step in the pools of purple liquid. Finally, I thought I'd come up with the perfect solution. I almost whispered the last thing I could think of.

"I am here with you."

The old man turned, gave me a leathery smile, and shook his head.

"You are not."

With that, I ceased to exist.


"But wait," you say, "In order to write this account you MUST still exist. How would you even share this tale at all if you had no physical form and no mind? I'm far too intelligent to buy into what some random nut job says!"


No you aren't!

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