"There was a tightness in his lower half, around where his tailbone was. A cramping, of sorts."
They knocked him out.
When the blackbirds came next, they came in with syringes and medical supplies. One of them walked forward, a syringe in his hand. He tapped it teasingly, and he brought it down to Gerard's left arm.
The way Gerard's body went rigid at the sight of needles always made the injections themselves a bit more uncomfortable. And as you can imagine, the blackbird was far from gentle.
Yet he had not much time to contemplate his disdain towards any type of needle, as less than a minute later, Gerard felt himself being pulled into a very rapid yet very peaceful sleep. He would stay in it for hours, a welcome change from the nightmare ridden slumber that he usually got.
When Gerard awoke, he was propped up in bed, the pillow supporting his back.
He was dizzy. The room around him spun slightly, a strange tilting madhouse. And aside from this, there was something else.
Something felt different. There was a tightness in his lower half, around where his tailbone was. A cramping, of sorts. It was not painful, barely noticeable if he did not focus on it -- but he felt it there.
Yet that was not the only thing that was different. There was still but another change that was more enormous and more interesting than both his dizziness and the tightness in his bottom.
For before him, there was a feast.
In front of him was one of those tables you saw at hospitals, which they used to serve patients their meals. Upon this table was a large bowl of mashed potatoes, another bowl of pasta salad, chicken fillets, a plate of salmon, there was a heap of cheeseburgers, a small container of golden french fries right next to it. And suddenly all Gerard could notice was his growling stomach, who had forgotten that such foods even existed.
There was a note on the table:
Only food you'll be getting in a while.
Gerard wondered if the healer had been behind this. It didn't matter though, at the time he didn't care. He began to devour everything within his field of vision.
He was eating much too fast, he knew. He couldn't stop himself. Even though Gerard was smart enough to know that a deprived stomach such as his own could not handle such large quantities of rich foods without facing terrible repercussions later. Sure, they had been feeding him more as of recently, but nothing like this. And he must have known that all this was going to come out of one orifice or another, and when it did, it would be horribly messy. But he didn't care.
The warmth of the comfort food sliding down his throat wrapped him in pure ecstasy. Gerard thought that this may just be the best moment of the remainder of his miserable existence.
The gravy and mashed potatoes were his favorite, as they tasted remarkably similar to someone's cooking. But for the life of him, he couldn't remember who. All he could think about was the small chunks of solid potato buried in the mush.
Gerard even thinks, for a moment there, he may have actually smiled.
His stomach, however, began to make some noises of displeasure. It was not at all the growling of hunger and starvation, but something different. That sound it makes, that bubbling you feel, when you know you've eaten something funny.
Gerard did not pay attention to this when it first started, continuing to eat until the first signs of nausea were upon him.
Finally, his belly seemed to be screaming at him, and so he paused. He looked down at the plates, and inspected his work.
The food that the plates had carried were nearly entirely gone, and Gerard may have eaten far more than he would have back in his past life, when he was at his normal stomach capacity.
But he saw no real problem with this and laid back on the pillow, his tummy looking like that of a pregnant woman in her third trimester. He inclined his head upwards, trying to calm his ever growing nausea.
And suddenly, a pain ripped through him, bringing his attention back to that odd feeling near his bottom. With the food less distracting, he suddenly thought it would be a good idea to inspect it.
Gerard brought his fingers under his buttocks, twisting himself around the best he could. His hand aimed a bit higher at first, feeling around for any changes, or anything unusual. He found that applying pressure on the nearby flesh helped to guide him to the source, measured by the amount of pain, or discomfort he felt.
Finally, he stumbled on it, his fingers having to go between his cheeks, to the very asshole itself. He felt it, although he couldn't comprehend what it was at first. Stitches. Tightness. He rubbed the thing, and it finally dawned on him:
They had sewn his asshole shut.
The roaring of Gerard's upset stomach there and then became much, much louder.
Next chapter: Hey Judas, your Christess was our love! Hit and run, your will be done! Never sorry, never wrong! More more more more more!