Stop the rot

She clawed at his back in rage, expecting to draw a little blood at most but instead yanking out a large chunk of rotting flesh. As he span to look at her and retaliate, his right leg came free at the hip joint and he fell, his head making a muffled thump on the floor and rolling away as blood seeped lazily from his neck out onto the shit-smeared linoleum.

Let freedom ring

She was so beautiful and had such poise and social sensibility that it was hard to imagine her pooping one off. But it was even harder to imagine her not pooping one off, since she had just started doing exactly that, and soon would have finished the off-pooping. Thereafter it would have been a fait accompli. Imagination would have been shoved aside, just like the anal folds that the steamer shoved its way through on its way to freedom.

In which we serve

A breathy fulmination narrowed into a pinched squirt, and ended in a sudden crescendo of rippling fart and a finale which comprised a near-silent squeezing seamlessly becoming the release and falling of the turd. And yet there was no plop where one should have followed. His suspicions piqued, he knelt to look under the toilet door, but since it reached almost to the floor he lowered himself still further, appending to his person many sodden shreds of toilet paper and no small amount of common floor filth. Under the door he saw the explanation, but was scarcely relieved to be freed from his curiosity, for there between the squatting legs and feet of the defecator lay another whole body, upturned, and he knew then that the presence of an open gullet accounted for the absence of a splash.