The Field

Dump

Will knew it had to happen; he just wasn't sure how. His elbows, resting on his thighs, had put his legs to sleep long ago. The top of them were now marked with circular red spots the size of coasters.

"Crap."

Unfortunately, uttering that word didn't coerce his body to expel the gravel-covered softball of a turd. Why would his body manufacture something it couldn't squeeze out? He imagined all sorts of things: his asshole splitting, the surrounding veins rupturing from the pushing. He had recently learned what a hemorrhoid was. His mind wandered from the mental image of a giant inflamed vein, trying to escape his rectum, to the possibility that this thing could have life. A crude form of life, made up of sharp and spiky scales.

Was this what having a baby felt like?

Maybe if he ignored the situation, his body would solve its own problems. He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to think of anything besides pooping. Oceans, meadows, clouds. Water trickling down his bedroom window after a hard rain. Something peaceful, calming.

Will's eyes snapped open to a resounding sploosh.

"Holy crap, it worked."

What was this thing going to look like? No way would it float. It had to be a sinker.

Part of him didn't want to look. The aftershock of the event burned as if he had pooped lava. Hopefully, there was no damage.

As painful as it was going to be, maybe the wipe would give him some clues.

Will wiggled his toes. Still numb, full of pins and needles. He pushed himself up, keeping a firm grip on the bathroom counter.

"Crap, crap, crap!" His feet still felt like two dead stumps brought back to life by a mad scientist. Electric shocks coursed from the tips of his toes to his knees.

His awkward balancing act was slipping, but his feet and legs regained their feeling just in time. He ripped off a handful of toilet paper from the roll and wiped.

Clean.

"Man, this thing must be a rock."

Peering into the bowl, he expected the worst. What stared back at him was indeed floating, not sinking, and only slightly larger than a golf ball.

"What the—"

Will dropped the wad of toilet paper to join the nugget in its watery grave, amazed at what pain such a small thing could inflict. He pulled up his pants and flushed, then stepped over to the sink to turn on the faucet. The large mirror above the sink showed him his grisly reflection. The collar of his shirt was stretched and ringed with salt. Dirt crusted at the corners of his eyes and on the right side of his face.

He lifted his shirt to check his throbbing ribs, pinning it against his chest with his chin. The skin was reddish along the faint bumps of his ribs, but not black and purple like he expected. It still hurt like a hell.

Arctic water hissed out of the faucet, spilling through his fingers, numbing the scuffs and scrapes. His dead hands fumbled with a towel, dropping it on the floor. When he bent over to pick it up, he saw a line of water coasting along the linoleum, stretching the width of the bathroom, coming straight for him.

"Oh, no."

The toilet brimmed with water, the rock he left behind bobbing at the top in a final hurrah. He grabbed the plunger and eased the rubber end into bowl, hands shaking.

At least he hadn't peed.

Water spilled over the toilet bowl's edge, adding to the torrent, as the tiny natural disaster continued its assault across the floor, decimating ecosystems of microorganisms. Only the crumpled towel and the frayed floor mat slowed it down, and that wouldn't hold up for long.