As I tumbled down to the stomach, visions of my "few" years passed before my eyes. I remember when I was given a bath by my mum when I was 3 or 4; she pointed out that I had a mole on my ankle, and I said it wasn't a mole; I was having a party, and I had spilled gravy on my ankle.
I was given no more time to reminisce before I landed in the stomach. Well, this is it, I thought, the room that will kill me. I have, maybe, five minutes before the acids come.
The movement outside has long since stopped, the boy's likely sitting.
I feel some of the remaining air rush past me and up the throat, leaving me a little dizzy. The ground beneath me starts to shake. What's happening?
Outside, the boy could feel an enormous pressure building up inside, which culminated into a loud belch; so loud, in fact, that the other students in the cafeteria looked at you, some with legs flailing out their mouths. He could feel the judgmental stares of all the boys in the cafeteria, so, in order to break the tension, the boy gave a bow. Everyone in the cafeteria started cheering and applauding. The boy settled down in his seat again, comforted that he was, as of this moment, inflicting killing someone slowly, inside his stomach.
Inside the stomach the acid was quickly filling up, and I was screaming and pounding on the walls frantically. My end came as I slipped on the floor and sunk to the bottom of the acid.
***
A day and a half later my body had made the rest of the journey through the digestive system.
The boy was in math class when he felt the need to go. So after excusing himself, he went to the washroom. It didn't take long after sitting down that the crap came. After wiping, he stood up to see if he could see any traces of you; a few bones were in the crap as well as some pieces of clothing. The boy flushed the toilet, and headed back to class.
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