Bullet Through Your Face (improved format) Read Online Free PDF Page B

anus--it felt more numb than
anything. When he rubbed his face, he winced; he could smell his
finger. When he sat up, the chain dragged a little. He could imagine
how ludicrous he looked—in spite of the horror his predicament
presented: he was naked, save for his t-shirt and black dress socks.
“Here ya go. Sorry I ain’t’s got no spoon. Yer’s gonna have ta eat
it with yer fingers.”
Gray’s vision focused on the object in her hand.
A bucket.
Actually, two buckets, one in the other hand. Just garden-variety
buckets. Gray’s chain dragged when he sat up. For some reason, he
tried to pull his t-shirt down over his exposed groin, as if he should
be modest. Or could it be the fact that terror and violation had shrunk his genitals to what must look like a
five-year-old’s? But the attempt
was futile. He’d put on some weight lately; the t-shirt could only be
pulled down to the top of his pubic hair.
“What’s in the buckets?”
    “This bucket here?” She held one up, then set it down in the
corner. “It’s fer—Well, you know.”
“No, I don’t know,” Gray replied testily.
“It’s fer ya to pee in, and . . .”
A shit-bucket, great. Well what do you know? There’s a men’s
room here. I wonder if there’s an attendant to go along with it, to
pump the soap for me when I wash my hands.
His sarcasm served no purpose. The wood floor felt warm on
his bare, ghoul-white buttocks. But what was that smell? No, not the
awful smell of dried shit on his finger—there was a pale aroma in
the room.
She set the other bucket down. It steamed.
“This here’s yer dinner,” she told him, and something close to
delight tickled Gray.
“Thank God, I’m starving.” After being abducted, beaten, and
raped? After spending the night nearly naked and chained to a wood
floor? You bet. Some sustenance was just what he needed to focus on
his predicament, and think of a way to get out of here.
“What is it?” he asked. “It smells sort of familiar, but I can’t quite
place it,” and then she slid the bucket to him.
“I cooked it up for ya. Don’t really know how to, so’s I figured
I’d steam it.”
Gray looked in the bucket. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” he
outraged.
Slabs of pumpkin lay in the steaming bucket.
“Well, I’se sorry it ain’t nothin’ better, but that’s all they’se said I
could give ya. Hull says we gots ta save money, an’ these pumpkins
grow all over the yard.”
Gray shot her a critical glare. “You don’t eat pumpkin, not as is.
    It’s just used for
flavoring in pies!”
“Hull says the Indians et pumpkin all the tam—”
All the tam, Gray thought, disgusted.
“—durin’ famines’n such when the pilgrims wanted ‘em ta starve.” Her eyes lit up, as if with enthusiasm. “But they didn’t starve,
see, ‘cos they et pumpkin.”
Gray just looked at her.
“It ain’t that bad,” she encouraged. “Er, at least, probably it ain’t.”
“Wonderful.” He pushed the steaming bucket away, no longer
even mindful of his shrunken penis and scrotum. “I can’t possibly
eat this.”
“Well-well,” she stammered. “Ya best eat it all, ‘cos Jory says
if ya don’t, they’ll come up here’n ruck ya about somethin’fierce.”
“Great.” That’s what this was all about, wasn’t it? Maximum
humiliation. Rape him, make him give blowjobs. Force him to eat pumpkin. And why? For the hell of it, Gray realized. If I don’t eat it,
they’ll just kick my ass some more . . . and that’s not the only thing
they’ll do with my ass . . .
“‘Least it’ll be somethin’ in yer belly,” the girl suggested.
She’s right about that. Gray decided to think with some
practicality. The pumpkin would provide some necessary nutrition,
some energy, and he’d need that to get out of here. I’m about to eat hot
pumpkin, with my hands. Or, hand, that is. The finger of one hand, of
course, had been up Hull’s ass, and he didn’t want to be eating with
that one. He reached in,