stomachache's blog

(This is part of a new series, depicting the deaths of alternate parallel versions of characters from other stories. WARNING: These are very gory and very graphic. If you do not enjoy that, do not read these. Contains gore and extreme violence.)

Sam cut through the woods up the hill to get to the top of it. He managed to get permission to leave town to see the solar eclipse in its totality, traveling to a small town where he knew no one else and staying at a hotel until the following day. He knew it was risky, having no one to call apart from 911 if anything went wrong, and he'd be going to the outskirts with limited cell service, but it was worth it to him to see the eclipse from such a good vantage point. It was perfectly cloudless; the perfect day to witness the moon pass in front of the sun.

Halfway through the trees, he took off his shirt and tucked it into his jeans, baring his body to the air. He felt it was the most vulnerable expression to the heavens, showing his courage in the face of such an event. On some level, he understood the moon and sun to be divine, or as close as possible given his beliefs, and he felt like he was presenting himself for judgement in their eyes. His tits and belly were his most sensitive points, and he wanted the sky to see them in turn for its upcoming display.

He took a few more steps before hearing a loud bang from the distance, and feeling something hit him in his gut, knocking him backwards a bit. It burned, then morphed into a deep pain, and he looked down to ascertain what it could've possibly been. There was a hole just to the left of his navel, blood dripping out and staining his light jeans. He clasped it, then he finally processed that he had been shot in the belly. The pain quickly grew as he dropped to his knees and attempted to soothe the pain, but he had no idea what to do.

He reached into his pocket with his free hand and attempted to call 911, only to have no service. He dropped his phone and let himself fall to the ground, then felt sick and vomited all over the grass, unsure of whether it was the pain or the fear that inspired him to expel his contents. He knew enough about anatomy to know that the bullet would've passed near or through his intestines. He reached painfully around to his back in search of an exit wound to find none, proving that the bullet was still steaming somewhere in his guts, probably caught on his various digestive organs.

He started groaning and screaming by the time someone approached. He looked up to spot a middle-aged man holding a hunting rifle. Sam's face paled as he realized that he had been shot by a high-caliber bullet, and the organs in that part of his belly were no doubt turned to mush. Even if he could get help, the surgeons would still have to fix his insides, and he'd definitely come away with digestive issues, if he came away at all. He strained to turn his head fully towards him.

"Fuck!" Sam spit some lingering puke out of his mouth. "I think you shot me! Fuck, my stomach! I need help!"

The man said nothing until he got face to face with Sam, then flipped him on his back, earning a pained gasp and scream from him. He looked him up and down, observing the shirtless, chubby man with a bullet in his gut, and smiled.

"Damn it! It fucking hurts, asshole! Just call for help!" Sam noticed the smile a little too late, and at that point it took him little time to piece together that he shot him on purpose. His heart dropped into his stomach - or maybe that was just the feeling of his shredded innards shifting in his abdominal cavity - and he swallowed an agonized breath and screamed, earning him a kick to the side from the man.

"High-fat, but when did that ever stop me?" The man laughed. "What's your name?"

Sam grunted. "Why would I tell you?"

"Just thought we could make conversation." The man grabbed Sam and swung him over his shoulder with surprising ease, making him scream into his ear. "You are very loud. Maybe we'll talk more at my place."

The man started off in the other direction, further into the woods. Each step jostled Sam's injured belly, causing him to consistently groan as more blood spurted from his bullet hole, collecting on the man's clothes and drying on them. He observed the small puddle he left as he got carried off against his will for what seemed like an hour before finally reaching a cabin. The man unlocked the door and continued past the living room to the kitchen before plopping Sam in a large plastic tub on the middle counter.

Sam was breathing heavily, trying to ease the knot of agony inside him. He knew his aorta wasn't hit, because if it was then he would've bled out before he reached the cabin, but he did lose enough blood for him to be woozy. He had heard that it could take hours for a gut-shot person to die, and he knew that infection was as likely to kill him as blood loss was. He lifted his head to look at his wound and the dried blood around it. The man opened a drawer and came back with some tools, including a large combat knife. Sam's eyes widened upon seeing the knife.

"I can tell you're from out of town." The man approached Sam and looked into his eyes. "There have been a lot of disappearances around here; I'm surprised you didn't do more research. Of course, no remains were ever found, but neither were the people. The meat is easy enough to get rid of, but the bones take much longer to degrade, so you can't just toss those anywhere."

"Please." Sam started crying. "Whatever you're about to do to me, please just kill me before you do it."

The man smiled. "Sorry. The meal isn't the only part of the cuisine." He put his hands in a circle over Sam's wound and squeezed down, spurting more blood from it.

The pain was blinding, and Sam screamed more loudly than he ever had. The man smiled as he began dry-heaving, gagging and choking on nothing but his agony. He released his pressure and grabbed the combat knife.

"Last wishes?"

Sam cried some more. "Lay me out in front of the eclipse."

The man thought for a moment, then nodded. He brought the knife to Sam's navel and pressed, quickly breaking the skin and plunging inwards, severing more of his fat and intestines. Sam screamed once more before something broke within him, and he simply lied there, silently, still conscious and croaking as the man sliced his way through his digestive tract. His mind was regrettably clear as the man dragged the knife up and down, then pulled it out and let it clang to the side, covered in Sam's blood and waste.

The man reached into the wound with both hands, intermingling his hands with the organs underneath. Sam's deepest place was in someone else's hands in the most literal sense. He was paralyzed by the agony and weight of the experience, and he was only grateful when he felt a torrent of warm blood rush down his sides, spilling out of the fresh ruins of his gut. He knew he would die soon, and if it was possible, he did not want to be saved from his fate.

He finally felt his consciousness fade, lulling to a peaceful sleep for the last time. His last sight was of the man holding a large bullet to his face, the bullet that put him on the ground to begin with, and the agent of his demise. His thoughts drifted to space, how he hoped he would be one with the inner workings of the universe in his death, escaping the pain of mortality forever. His last thoughts, however, were not of the heavens, but of Wyatt, and how he was one of the first people in his life to make him feel not quite so ashamed of being human.

The local police recieved a call from a landline; an anonymous tip of something strange on a giant rock on the top of the hill. They arrived during the few minutes of totality, averting their eyes from the black sun as they approached the rock. They observed the body of a man in his twenties, shirtless in blood-soaked jeans and tennis shoes, with his arms to his side and part of his large intestine sitting on his naked torso. It was arranged in the shape of a heart, the bottom emanating from his torn navel and the tops circling his chest.