Stomach Ache

6:15a.m. Bruce’s eyes flicked open, focused. His guts didn’t feel right. Groaning like an old door he attempted to sit upright, but the protests of his stomach forced him down again. He lay there, breathing slowly, fighting the gruesome feeling in his abdomen. It wasn’t too bad if he lay still, so he rested his head on the pillow, and closed his eyes. The pain felt a little like trapped wind, but somehow more solid – as if there was a football wedged in his intestines.

He pressed his swollen belly with his fingertips, and immediately regretted it. A rolling wave of pain swelled up and then escaped up his spine. His body reacted immediately, and he rolled to his side. His stomach muscles heaved and spewed a hot geyser of vomit onto the pillow next to him.

Bruce’s eyes streamed from the acid stench, he lay back again, feeling the fluids soak the pillow under his neck, but unable to move. The waves of nausea passed. I could die here, could’ve choked on that. They’ll have to break the door down to find my corpse. The thought galvanised him into action. Ignoring the protest from his innards he forced himself upright. As he did, something in the pool of vomit on his bed caught his eye.

Amid the usual detritus of the human digestive system, was a large, loose clump of wet, matted hair. Despite his revulsion he reached over and picked it up between thumb and index finger. Blonde, long, and quite a lot of it. Closer examination of the vomit revealed another gruesome surprise – a set of three teeth. The smaller of the three was a pointed little canine, as well as a broad incisor. The other was a fat molar with a filling in it. I've never had a filling in my life, I've always had good teeth. That’s when Bruce realised that it couldn’t be his.

He vomited again, an involuntary reflex, this time between his knees onto the carpet. It tried to stick in his throat halfway up, but a twitch of his oesophagus forced the mass out, his tongue burning with the foul stuff. More hair. More teeth. An ear, with a small diamond stud through the half-digested lobe. Bruce had bought a pair just like it two weeks ago, a present for Sofia.

Bruce picked up his mobile phone from the bedside table. Dialled. Waited. “Hey, John, yeah it’s Bruce… not really… no… I think I’ve eaten something I shouldn’t have. Yeah… will do… thanks… bye”. He placed the phone back on the table, and looked down at himself. Gently, he felt his stomach again. There was definitely something in there. Something with teeth and hair and ears. Something round, like a football.

A nipping sensation in his stomach. A rumble, a growl, and something more. What's happening? The voice was hidden in the sounds of his stomach, like a subharmonic, but instantly recognisable. Bruce? Bruce stared at his abdomen, incredulous. The nipping sensation again. I'm sorry about this, Bruce, I can't stand it in here. I've got to get out.

Bruce doubled as a sharper pain twisted his gut, and another. He tumbled from the bed to his knees, sweat already starting to bead on his forehead. Burying his face in the carpet, he reached back and gripped his belly. The mass was moving, shifting around inside him. Suddenly a wave of agony rolled through him. She's got through the stomach lining he thought, and threw back his head and howled.

Bruce, darling, I know this hurts, but it will be over soon. Not far to go now, hang in there. He tried to rise, blinded by tears and sweat, but only got as far as his knees when a crimson stain appeared across the front of his t-shirt. Come on Bruce. Help me. Push.

Down again, hair hanging sodden, holding himself upright on clenched fists. Bruce vomited again - this time it was mostly blood. The force of the convulsion was accompanied by the worst pain yet, and a wet tearing sound. With nothing to hold them in, Bruce's innards spilled onto the carpet, a steaming mass. His vision started to fade. Desperately he reached down to try to push his fallen organs back into the cavity they'd escaped from. Instead, his hands found the object from his belly.

As he slowly uncoiled from within, he brought the object up to his face, and with his dying breath he looked the ruined head of Sofia in the eye. Her jaw was still twitching, her remaining ear still wearing the glistening diamond.

Goodnight, Bruce.

He pulled her closer, and kissed her lips, the taste of blood and digestive fluid. Her eyes widened, and then closed. Bruce soon followed her into sleep.