I planted some of them in the ground and out of each tooth grew a mouth and out of each mouth grew a tongue, grew teeth, 20 new mouths in the dirt screaming and wailing. I poured water on them and dropped my leftovers into their chasms. This didn’t help; they had no stomachs to fill or throats to soothe. They had no eyes to see me nor ears to hear me. I don’t know if they knew I was there. They didn’t have brains to know anything. I rubbed my thumb on one’s lip, so it could feel me. It bit the tip of my finger off. I screamed. It chewed and continued wailing.
I haven’t checked on the mouths since. I hear them, sometimes. I’m waiting for them to die, but I doubt they will. I think they are eating the ground, the dirt, the rain that falls and the voles that step in just the wrong place. There is a hole in the yard now, growing and growing and growing. It will reach the house soon. With no body to stop it, a mouth can only consume.