RollupsandBeer
03-22-2012, 02:30 PM
As the old man bends over the toilet emptying the sickness from his stomach, his wife watches from the doorway. A look or mild boredom and annoyance on her pretty face.
The harder he wretches, the more bile cascades from his mouth. His eyes shut tight against the horrendous vision before him.
"Honey, are you going to be long" she asks, seemingly oblivious to his plight.
Unable to answer, he grips the cold porcelain rim of the toilet as if his life depended on it. His arms outstretched holding himself against the toilet. His legs rigid, his bald head bowed spewing out vomit.
The force and longevity of his sickness weakens him, his legs slowly buckle and he sinks to the ground unable to keep his head out the toilet.
As suddenly as it had started the rushing bile stops. He opens his eyes and gasps for air. He sees the toilet almost full. Stinking and putrid an inch from his nose.
"We have to hurry hum, or we are going to be late for the divorce" his wife sighs, lighting a cigarette.
He starts to turn his head to protest at her unkindness but his stomach heaves and he snaps his head back over the latrine. He gags, staring into the sickness churning below him. Retching hard, his stomach convulsing but empty.
Weaker than he can ever remember, tears filling his bulging eyes he sees to his horror a darkness seeping through the vomit below him, deepening becoming solid. Disgusted, he can't move. The sickness in the toilet becomes solid, it takes form, the shape grows out the toilet enveloping the sick man. He is ingested by the putrid, his head and the top half of his body almost gone in an instant.
His pretty wife looks on, the frown of boredom not yet gone from her face.
The last of him disappears as his slippers fall to the bathroom floor with a soft plop.
Exhaling the smoke from her cigarette, she rolls her eyes, shaking her head slightly. "Such a a bloody drama queen".
She flips her cigarette into the stinking ocean of sickness and lowers the lid. Flushing the toilet and closing the door, before turning out the light.
The harder he wretches, the more bile cascades from his mouth. His eyes shut tight against the horrendous vision before him.
"Honey, are you going to be long" she asks, seemingly oblivious to his plight.
Unable to answer, he grips the cold porcelain rim of the toilet as if his life depended on it. His arms outstretched holding himself against the toilet. His legs rigid, his bald head bowed spewing out vomit.
The force and longevity of his sickness weakens him, his legs slowly buckle and he sinks to the ground unable to keep his head out the toilet.
As suddenly as it had started the rushing bile stops. He opens his eyes and gasps for air. He sees the toilet almost full. Stinking and putrid an inch from his nose.
"We have to hurry hum, or we are going to be late for the divorce" his wife sighs, lighting a cigarette.
He starts to turn his head to protest at her unkindness but his stomach heaves and he snaps his head back over the latrine. He gags, staring into the sickness churning below him. Retching hard, his stomach convulsing but empty.
Weaker than he can ever remember, tears filling his bulging eyes he sees to his horror a darkness seeping through the vomit below him, deepening becoming solid. Disgusted, he can't move. The sickness in the toilet becomes solid, it takes form, the shape grows out the toilet enveloping the sick man. He is ingested by the putrid, his head and the top half of his body almost gone in an instant.
His pretty wife looks on, the frown of boredom not yet gone from her face.
The last of him disappears as his slippers fall to the bathroom floor with a soft plop.
Exhaling the smoke from her cigarette, she rolls her eyes, shaking her head slightly. "Such a a bloody drama queen".
She flips her cigarette into the stinking ocean of sickness and lowers the lid. Flushing the toilet and closing the door, before turning out the light.