His breath was coming up in short gasps. He couldn't stop thinking about it. He kept willing for it to arrive. For hours, he sweated, for hours he waited, but still nothing happened. He cracked open a bottle of water and doused himself with it to cool himself down. He gripped his hands tightly till his knuckles cracked. He pushed, and pushed, and pushed some more, but still, nothing. In frustration he banged against the walls. Bad idea. The small house he was in suddenly started rocking. It had been days since anyone had changed the water, and multiple people had already been in the house. He narrowly dodged a flying chunk and was repaid by being splattered with water. Sighing, he took out a pack of tissues and started wiping himself dry. Three packets later, he was dry, but not clean. Cautiously he sniffed his sleeve. The smell made him gag and nearly pass out. That was rancid. He decided to concentrate and try harder. Inside, he berated himself for not giving his best. He gathered up an unwelcome deep breath and pushed. Suddenly he felt something happening. It was time. He took several short breaths and pushed. With a rapidly beating heart, he looked down and was filled with euphoria at the sight of it appearing. He pushed a bit more and it fell out with a plop.
At that exact moment, he was splashed with toilet water again as the poo fell with a resounding splash into the bowl of the Port-A-John.
THE END
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