Clearance

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Clearance
He stares down at the white porcelain, the oval fake-wood rimmed bowl slowly swallowing down the crimson-blotched remains of his lunch. His knuckles, white and bony, grip his sides as his head sways where his neck lets him, right, left, way to the back so that his mouth falls open, his hands balled into shaky fists as he breathes in the air petrified with saliva and mixtures of hydrochloric acid and numerous proteins that he cannot name, all parading up his esophagus. 
To him it is the mush version of the chicken salad he had had forty-five minutes prior, mixed with the artistic touch of his blood and some acidic agents residing in his tummy. That’s how his mother put it anyway, agents, with guns at the ready and dark sunglasses, cutting down protein and carbohydrate molecules with spurts of red and blue laser.
It’s like Star Wars inside your abdomen, Mitch. 
Dragged back into the moment by another fit of gagging he throws his hands to the fat neck of the toilet seat, dragging his cracked nails along the ceramic exterior. He glances at the orange bottle sitting neatly on the windowsill, one lonely pill lying in the powdery bottom, the letter that once was carved into it faded into an anonymous smudge resembling the topside of an H or an R. 
A wave of multicolored vomit plunges down into the wet whiteness, splotches of white accompanying the red, a polka-dotted chaos of half-digested meat and vegetables. He pulls his stomach in as though the tensing of muscles would roll the rest of it upstairs. His arms hug his abdomen as he rests his head to the wall, beads of sweat spilling down the sides of his face. 
Get your light saber, Mitch. We’re playing Star Wars.
He smiles, wiping at his mouth with his wrist as he curls over the toilet seat again.
————-
For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, R.L.W challenged me with ””You wasted life, why wouldn’t you waste the afterlife?” – Modest Mouse
” and I challenged Chaos Mandy with ”A man who eats hearts”.
Mainokset

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