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Tyler involuntarily bit down hard on the ridge of his knuckles, but instead of pulling his hand away he drove his fingers deeper down his throat. A bittersweet mixture of vodka, rum, chocolate ice cream, and bile rushed past his finger tips, over the top of his hand and into the sink. The ice cream was still cold enough to stay in chunks… He had only eaten it 90 seconds ago. Five more minutes of purging and Tyler had reached yesterday’s dinner. Soggy bits of unrecognizable food began to wedge themselves in between his fingers and stuck to his chin and the hair on top of his hand. Tyler had an impulse to glance into the mirror above the sink, but made the quick and wise decision to focus on the drain. Between the violent heaves of his diaphragm, the sludge began to loose itself from the top of his hand and slide over his cheeks. Tyler took a break. He slowly pulled his hand out of his mouth. He stared at the white indentations on his knuckles through the slimy, speckled, orange layer of bile and vomit that coated his hand. He spread his fingers apart and watched strings of goo fall from in between them into the sink, and then he took one quick glance in the mirror and smirked at himself, his bloodshot eyes glazed over with thick viscous tears. They ran down his cheeks to intersect and moisten the bile drying on his face. Snot trickled from his nostrils… He felt like he needed to pee. Tyler was always astounded at how all of his other bodily functions seemed to follow suit when he purged. He turned the cold water on and splashed it on his face, then all over his arms, and through his hair. He grabbed a towel and wiped himself clean. His face was flushed, and his eyes were still moist, but he looked almost normal. Then he turned around and used the toilet, first standing, and then without warning he was sitting. His stomach had been stirred up and decided to empty the rest of its contents. After cleaning himself thoroughly, Tyler splashed more water on his face, took a swig from the faucet and spat it out, popped a pimple below his lip, and jerked open the bathroom door. The sound from the TV came in from the living room and instantly exploded the hold of the loud but steady bathroom fan As the cold air of the rest of the house met his face, he felt released from the clutches of the small 5X7 room, and the memory of what he had just done was tossed like a card into the deck.


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The following comments are for "Purging Story"
by siredwinsantos

about that...
ok yeah it was pretty good, but also nasty. oh the pimple part... wat? lol

( Posted by: markayla [Member] On: April 10, 2006 )

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