3 things to inspire 1 story written in 20 minutes. #story320
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The gag has to be one of man-kinds clearest signs of revulsion. A crystal indication that the mouth and throat have had plenty, thank you. A spasm made possible by some sort of muscle in the neck or throat (I don’t really know if a muscle is responsible at all).
I do know that the magic spell for the catalyst to vomit is brushing my tongue. Without fail, if I linger too long on the attached part of my tongue, I gag.
My face shoots forward, tongue flattens and sticks out, eyes squint and sometimes squeeze out a tear. If the brush has really landed in the right spot, I’ll expel a grunt that seems to come from deep in my gut. A warning groan from that yellow acid in my stomach.
It sticks its finger sternly in the air and clears its throat with an “Aahhk!”
A deep breath is usually required afterward to recover. It seems a relief, much like the moments after expelling 96-day-expired ketchup or rotten fish. A wave of relief letting you know that you dared to be alive.