he table bowed slightly under the weight of the remains of the meal, and the chair upon which he sat creaked in sympathy as it, in turn, endured its not inconsiderable burden. For his part, he sat back and surveyed the array of plates, tureens, glasses, ladles, all stained and spattered with the evidence of excess.He noticed idly that some of that which hadn't found its way into his maw was trying, feebly, surreptitiously, to steal away towards the far edge of the table and from thence, presumably, to freedom. He magnanimously decided to let the scrap escape; and besides, he felt too bloated to make the requisite effort to reclaim the truant morsel. In its injured state, it wouldn't survive long, and probably wouldn't taste good either: injury tends to leech the flavour, somehow. The chair creaked as he put his feet up, haphazardly shoving a large dish aside to make room.
A rumble resounded deep within his frame, as the various acids and digestive mechanisms applied themselves fully to the recent intake. This was not, in itself, unusual -- the sensational and aural response to a full meal -- but the complaint from his stomach continued. A small ache began to grow, making itself only peripherally apparent at first, but demanding more and more of his attention as the minutes clicked past.
A stabbing pain made him sit upright, chair and table voicing their opinions of this sudden movement. He glared down as his distended stomach, trying to see through the opaque flesh to root out the cause of the disturbance that lay hidden beneath. Again, the pain came, and his breath caught short in his throat.
A third jolt made him reel in his seat, and for a brief moment, he regretted his predilection for live food. Then his mind reined itself around to practicalities, and he leaned forward over the table, searching with one hand whilst his other clutched his internally assailed abdomen.
Spoons went careening off the tablecloth, a pair of chopsticks was pawed at and discarded -- where had he put his knife? At last, a fork with sufficiently long tines was selected, and he regarded his girth again, waiting for the next jab of pain.
When it came, he focused on the area, identified it, and jabbed with all his might with the fork into the selected spot. Fluid bubbled from the puncture wound, but the resumption of the stabbing pain moments later indicated that he had missed. Again, he targeted and stabbed inwards with the fork, and again waited for a response.
It took two more repetitions of this sequence before the assault from within subsided. He tossed the fork carelessly back onto the table, where it narrowly avoided crushing the escapee, who had nearly reached the other side. Feet resumed their reclining position, chair groaned under its abuse, and he rested while rivulets of food seeped slowly from the fork holes in his belly.
The odd thought passed through his mind as he sat thus, that perhaps he had better watch what he ate... but this thought was dealt the rude, cursory dismissal that it so thoroughly deserved.
G1(8)