The day started out well enough. I was working on one of those summer blockbuster action movies; you know the kind, the ones that make all of their money in the first two days and then you never hear about again. I was making plenty, though, so I had nothing to complain about. I didn't officially have any scenes, meaning I could sleep in without having to get up early for makeup. They still put the makeup on me, of course, just in case they wrapped up early and decided to shoot some unscheduled scenes—it's just that I got to do it later in the afternoon and then go back to my trailer.
She did an excellent job. Even after all of my years as a model, I almost couldn't believe what I would see in the mirror each day. She had put on just enough eyeliner to give an alluring look without overdoing it. She had chosen a light plum for my lips; I smiled as I saw how they curved, admiring my own lilly-white teeth for a moment as I did. I stroked my soft jawline for a moment; I don't know how she did it, but something she did with the rouge on my cheeks made my chin look more feminine.
I don't want to sound concieted, but if there had been a clone of me in the room right at that moment, I seriously would have considered becoming a lesbian.
Oh, perhaps I should have introduced myself. My name is Milla Jovovich.
Yes, that Milla Jovovich. From the movies and the cosmetic commercials. Desire and envy of men and women everywhere.
Well, if it makes you feel any better, I'm not that way anymore.
It all started with a phone call from a friend of mine; a film editor named Rachel who worked in this same studio.
“Hey Milla, I was wondering if you wanted to make some extra money.”
“Doing what?”
“Well, there's this indie director who's sitting on a fortune, and he's offering bank to whoever gets the lead parts in a movie he's making. Supposedly he's offering a hundred grand for only a few hours of filming. I figure with your reputation you'd be a shoe-in for the female lead.”
“A hundred grand, eh?” I said cynically. “It's a sex scene, isn't it?”
“I don't think so. But it's supposedly a dark film.”
“When is he running auditions?”
“He's pretty much just been meeting with people. I haven't told him you're here yet—do you want me to?”
“Sure.”
Big mistake.
Less than ten minutes later I got another phone call.
“Hello, miss Jovovich?” came a man's voice.
“Yes,” I said.
“I'm Zack Hunt, and I was told by Rachel that you might be interested in taking the lead in my film?”
“Yeah, though I'll obviously need some details first,” I said.
“Of course, of course. I'll tell you what--I'll be in lot B for the next two or three hours, and you can come and talk to me anytime you get the chance. If not, just let me know what would be a good time and we can get together.”
“Actually, now would be a good time.”
“Fantastic! Then I guess I'll see you when you get here.”
“Alright. Bye, Zack,” I said, hoping I remembered his name correctly.
“Bye,” he replied, and I hung up.
About fifteen minutes later I was in B lot meeting with this “independent film director.” Though still fairly young—probably younger than me, to be honest--He looked like the real deal. He had sandy blonde hair and a catchy smile; the sort that was so casual and confident that it could make anyone feel at ease, though looking back on it, that grin terrifies me now. Though he seemed to be of slim build, there were hints of muscle beneath the pressed white button-up shirt that hung from his shoulders. Most of all, he had a face that you just couldn't look away from, like it was straight off of an artist's canvas. It was no wonder he worked in Hollywood.
“It's mostly an artistic piece...” he was saying to me. “It's meant to illustrate to mankind just how vulnerable we really are, and what might happen to us if we truly had to deal with that. I think you'd be perfect, and having such a big name in our project would really lend it some weight.”
I smiled at him. “Well, I don't know if I'm *that* famous...” I said, mostly lying.
“Absolutely you are!” he continued. “In fact, when I heard you were auditioning, I couldn't believe it. You're practically the person I had envisioned for this role. You're perfect.”
I blushed a bit at this. Though I was famous, it always made me feel good to get this kind of attention. “So does that mean I get the part, Mr. Darnel?” I asked rhetorically, putting my pinky against my lips just to be silly.
“Of course! But please, call me Zack.”
“Okay, Zack.”
I couldn't stop smiling. He shook my hand, and I found it made my heart flutter.
“So, I know the basics,” I said. “Sort of a dark film, with the protagonist being eaten at the end?”
“Yes...well, sort of,” Zack said with a smile. “Come upstairs later tonight, around six, and we'll run through the important parts.”
“Sounds great,” I replied. I actually wondered if this meeting was going to be one of those “casting couch” sort of deals...actually, I sort of hoped it would be. You have to understand--this man was gorgeous. Having sex in his office would be a win-win situation even if I didn't get a movie part out of it.
We shook hands again and Zack turned to meet with some other casting executives. I headed back down to my trailer. I was working on another movie at the time, but there were a lot of days where I didn't have scenes, and Zack's film sounded awesome. Starring in it would help burn off some of the free time I would otherwise have to burn off in some incredibly overpriced shopping mall in Beverly Hills.
I didn't have any scenes that day, or the next few days for that matter, so I flittered away an hour or two trying to read a book before accepting that I was just too excited. I must have spent a solid hour fiddling with my makeup; by the time 5:30 rolled around it looked like I was ready for an appearance at the Emmy's. I actually had to tone it down before I left, though I still wore my red silk evening dress...the elegant but extremely provocative one.
I headed up to Zack's office floor and walked into the receptionist's area. It was empty, but that wasn't completely surprising given that it was after hours. The door to the adjoining meeting room was open, so I peeked around to see if there was anyone inside.
“Milla! Perfect timing,” came Zack's voice. He practically jumped out of his chair to greet me, taking my hand and gently leading me inside. “Please, have a seat,” he said as he walked over and shut the door. I felt another flutter as I heard him lock it.
Looking around the room, I didn't see a “casting couch,” but I did notice a few cameras had been set up. Their recording lights were on.
Zack seemed to notice that I was looking at them. “If you don't mind, I wanted to try out the main scene,” he said. “Just to see how it works on camera.”
“Sure,” I replied. It was the worst mistake I ever made, and I once had unprotected sex with a truck driver. But I had no way of knowing what was in store for me...had I known I would have dove out the window sooner than stay in the room with him.
“Okay. Let's do the scene,” he said. “The protagonist is you, and the antagonist is me. I'm a man who has the power to dislocate his jaw and stretch his organs and is going to use that ability to eat you alive. You, in turn, have just learned that this is going to be your fate.”
“Okay, what are my lines?” I asked.
“Oh, you don't have any lines, you're just going to get eaten.”
“Oh. Um...how are we going to go over the scene then?” I silently cursed fate. Why were the cute ones always daft?
“Like I said, I'm going to eat you.”
“Oh, so I just scream and do the horror movie thing?” I asked, suddenly worried that this was going to be a very cheesy part. It turns out it was entirely the wrong thing for me to be worried about.
“It doesn't really matter what you do, to be honest,” he said. He was standing up now. Something about his demeanor put me on edge; he didn't seem casual anymore, and I wasn't sure if it was just because he was a really good actor or because I was in danger. It didn't help that a moment later he pulled out a knife as long as my forearm.
“Get down on your hands and knees,” he said.
Hoping that this was part of the scene and that I was not actually dealing with a crazy person, I complied. The crazy person theory proved the more accurate of the two, however. I yelped as he grabbed the turf of my hair with one hand, holding my head in place as he slid the knife between my clothing and my skin. Before long I heard ripping and I felt my dress and bra falling forward onto the floor.
“What are you doing!?” I yelped. The knife continued until it was between my legs. With a violent jerk he ripped the rest of my dress off, and with another jerk my panties were gone.
I was almost certain I was about to be raped. The irony was that if he had just asked before I would have fucked his brains out perfectly willingly. Now, not so much.
I waited for the requisite events—I imagined his pants falling onto the back of my legs and the knife going to my neck as he started saying “move and I'll kill you” or something like that just before he rammed his cock up my ass.
As it turns out, he didn't plan to put anything of his into me. Quite the reverse.
My body was already trembling. I felt ice cold, though my body was beginning to sweat. There was a lump in my throat. I felt tears beginning to fill my eyes, blurring my view of the carpet beneath me. But the first thing I felt wasn't a knife point or an unwelcome reproductive organ. It was his mouth going around my foot.
I was too terrified to look back, worried that he might react, so I did my best to keep still. My foot went deeper into his mouth, then deeper still—so deep, in fact, that part of my mind was momentarily distracted from the fear. I could feel his teeth cresting my heel and his tongue was past my ankle. That's when I realized it couldn't have been his mouth. It was too big. But what was it? It sure felt like somebody's mouth—or something's mouth.
I turned my head and tried to look back, but since I was holding myself up on my hands I couldn't really see what was happening. I was about to move to get a better view when he grabbed my other foot and stuck it inside whatever this thing was, instantly shoving it halfway in.
I turned my upper body towards him and suddenly there was this loud, inhuman swallowing noise. It felt like something wet inside the mouth-thing had grabbed both my ankles and dragged me a solid foot backward. With my hands pulled out from under me I hit the floor with a thud, painfully squashing my breasts against the carpet. The lowermost part of both of my legs suddenly felt like they were wrapped in some sort of hot, fleshy material—like something's throat.
My heart was hammering in my chest. “Wh—what's happening?” I finally asked as the very first tear streamed down my face.
He didn't answer. I twisted my body and finally saw for myself—his lips were wrapped around my calves, the lower half of which had already disappeared down his throat. His jaw had come away from his skull and his throat bulged visibly with the shape of my feet.
“What the fuck--” I gasped.
He suddenly grabbed my knees, pulling me in towards him as another loud gulping sound erupted from his body. I was painfully dragged along the carpet another foot as most of the rest of my calves disappeared into his mouth.
No longer willing to play along no matter what the hell this was, I grabbed one of the chairs and started swinging it at him. He grabbed it and easily wrenched it away from me. I tried to grab another, but it was too far away. The only one within reach was back towards him. I bent sideways and tried to grab it...that was a mistake. He grabbed my hand and used it to pull me even deeper. With another swallow I was almost up to my ass. I wanted to punch him, but he already had my one hand pinned, and with my body bent in that direction I couldn't reach him with the other.
I started to scream.
“HELP! HEEEEEEELP!” I yelled. I screeched at the top of my lungs. Zack ignored me, and if anyone else could hear, they didn't respond. I yelled and yelled even as he swallowed me up to my belly button. I truly was terrified. This was impossible, but it was happening. Now I was almost sure that I was trapped in a nightmare, but I had never had a nightmare this vivid, nor one that had lasted this long. Either I was on one hell of a bad acid trip—which was unlikely, considering I never touch the stuff—or I was becoming a meal for an indie film producer.
I tried to kick and punch and wriggle, but it was no use. He was too strong. He shoved my one hand into his mouth just before a swallow, pinning it to the side of my body as it went down his throat. He was up to my ribcage now. I was swatting uselessly at him with my other hand, looking desperately around the room for something that could save me. There was nothing—only the red lights of the cameras staring at me like voyeuristic demons.
He grabbed both of my shoulders and pulled hard, his fingers painfully digging into my skin. I felt the whole lower half of my body slide against the macabre, oozing embrace of his throat as he took me deeper into his body. I felt his lips stretched around my breasts now. My legs had started to bend, apparently having reached the bottom of his...his...I didn't want to think about it. I couldn't.
But I did.
The second I thought about where I was going I couldn't help but scream my lungs out for a second time. I started begging, pleading at the top of my lungs for him to stop, stop, please. But he didn't. He didn't even slow down. I wrenched myself back and forth and clawed at the carpet with my one free hand until my fingers were raw and my nails were practically coming off, but all my panicked thrashing seemed to do was make his job easier. Every time I flung myself to the left or hurled myself to the right, a little more of me would go down his throat. When he swallowed, it still felt like a pair of meaty hands had grabbed me and dragged me a foot deeper into him. My legs were locked together and were now bending upward towards my chest, my ass having touched down in the slimy pit of his belly. His lips were around my neck. My shoulder and arm flailed uselessly outside his mouth.
I held my breath in terror, my teeth and eyes clenched shut. His hands locked overtop of my head and forced my face to the floor. He began to pull. His powerful arms put massive pressure on my head and I felt another swallow beginning to brew beneath me. The second it began I felt my head shoot back just in time for the fleshy muscle of the throat to wrap around it, forcing me down towards my horrific fate.
The muscular contraction stopped with my head about halfway down his throat. My mouth and face were wrapped tight in the flesh of his esophagus; I quickly realized couldn't breathe. As the seconds dragged on I began to jerk back and forth, fearing I would suffocate inside his neck.
Finally, one last swallow took place. The muscles forcefully shoved my head down and I felt the esophagus release me. I took a desperate breath of air, and the second I did, my whole body lurched violently as vomit forced it's way out of my mouth from the thick, overwhelming stench of his own. Though it was only a few inches deep, it flowed around me like hot soup as the stomach moved.
I coughed and gagged, the choking stench filling my lungs for what seemed like an eternity. I was dimly aware of my body being spun around as he stood up. It was extremely disorienting; I was in total darkness and now I was being rotated one way or another every time he moved. I felt incredibly nauseous at this point, and were it not for the fact that I eventually ran out of things to throw up, I may never have stopped. By the end practically a third of the liquid in the stomach was mine.
I still had burping coughs from inhaling the thick gas, but gradually I got used to it—enough that I could breathe, anyway.
“Does this...” I said weakly, trying to ignore the taste of my own bile in my mouth, “...does this mean the scene is over?”
“The protagonist dies in the end, remember?” I heard him say. “And remember, you're on tape. Try not to break character.”
“CHARACTER!?” I screamed. “YOU INSANE MOTHERFUCKER! LET ME OUT OF HERE!” I felt tears suddenly streaming down my face from my sudden rage. My own voice rang in ears.
He didn't answer, but I kept yelling, one thing after another.
“Don't do this! You can't!”
“Think of the police! They'll find out what you did to me!”
“Listen, maybe we can cut a deal...”
Nothing.
I planted my legs and tried to barge my way out. I kicked off as hard as I could. The first time I just slipped and ended up sliding around in the disgusting soup, nearly making myself throw up again. I tried again, trying to launch myself upward. I kept my footing this time, but it barely stretched his stomach. I tried several more times, but I quickly ran out of breath. As I panted, sucking more of the noxious fumes into my lungs, I sat in place kicked as hard and as fast as I could. Nothing. Exhausted, I tried to pry his throat open with my fingers. I even tried scraping the sides of his stomach with my fingernails. All that accomplished was filling the insides of my fingernails with mucous.
Between his movements and mine, I had become coated in every disgusting liquid his stomach held. My hair and skin were utterly soaked and bits of half-digested God knows what were sitting in tiny blobs and flecks on my body.
Just as I was beginning to accommodate myself to the horrible smell and other foul contents of the stomach, I began to feel a hot itch. It started in little patches, particularly around my crotch and toes, but soon it spread to my entire body.
As it gradually got worse, it began to dawn on me.
My body was burning. The liquid in his stomach had been gradually getting deeper.
His stomach must have started secreting digestive juices—juices that were meant for me.
I was going to be digested alive.
“No! NO!” I screamed. I doubled my efforts to escape. It couldn't end like this. I couldn't be digested. This was insane. I didn't want to die. I especially didn't want to die this way.
“Oh yeah,” I heard him say. It was the first thing he had said since this nightmare had begun.
It didn't sound like he was talking to me, though. As it turns out, while I was in his stomach thrashing around, he was having the time of his life. He started moaning with pleasure even as I tried to stop myself from crying out in pain.
Over the course of the next minute or so, as I thrashed around in Zack's stomach, the hot sensation in my crotch turned into a sharp, stinging pain. I gasped and winced suddenly as it began to throb and I tried to shift my body so that it would be out of the digestive juices that filled the bottom of the stomach. Unfortunately, I was already exhausted--I couldn't hold myself up like that for long. After a few minutes my muscles gave out and I plopped back down. The pain began to worsen. Before long I was panting both from exhaustion and from sheer pain, clutching my hands protectively over my genitalia as they throbbed in searing agony. It felt like someone was shoving white-hot needles into my vagina. The rest of my lower body—my buttocks, legs and feet—were also starting to burn more fiercely.
“Oh, fuckin' yeah...” came a low voice. Outside, Zack's pants had hit the floor and now his hands were on his cock.
Inside, it only got worse.
And it spread.
Zack's finger went up his ass.
I started to kick and claw from the pain alone.
“Yeah...yeah, bitch, do it...”
And it got worse still. I started screaming and thrashing around in the burning liquid hell.
In turn he started moving, as though stimulated by my constant struggles. His moans grew louder and louder until suddenly his whole body spasmed.
As I sad in blinding pain, he came all over himself.
That's how much the sick fucker was enjoying this.
His body sat still for a moment, then I heard his voice again as he slapped his belly.
“Well, that was fun. I guess there's nothing left to do now but digest you.”
“Burn in Hell!” I cried weakly.
“Now that's an ironic thing to say,” he replied.
I coughed and grimaced as I realized he was right. But it wasn't funny.
Unfortunately for me, he had only just gotten started.
I intermittently switched between sitting in the stomach exhausted and forcefully trying to escape for almost an hour. By the end of that hour I was in so much pain that I couldn't even focus on trying to escape anymore. My whole body was in agony. I couldn't even tell where the pain was coming from half the time. There were just horrible stings, waves of searing fire, and piercing, throbbing aches. The spaces between my fingers felt like they had cracked open and magma was pouring out of them. My eyes stung and burned as though I had dipped them in salt. My skin felt like I had submerged myself in molten steel.
I wasn't even sure if I was thrashing or squirming or screaming or drowning—everything blurred together. My whole mind was pain. And it lasted for hours. Hour after hour of blind kicking and screaming as I was tortured and tormented by his merciless digestive tract. I prayed for an end—any end to the pain, even if it meant death.
It reached the point where every movement I made made the skin worse. With each sudden movement I felt my skin beginning to split apart, and that only brought a new spike of agony as the digestive juices flooded in to fill the gap. After enough had split, entire sheets of my skin began to detach from my muscle all on their own. They sat half-attached to my body as they drifted in the acidic bath that now filled half of the stomach.
The pain shifted from a burning sting to a painful ache as the acid reached my muscle tissue. The stomach liquids were just shy of my nipples, and it felt like everything beneath that had begun to literally burn away. It actually felt almost as though the upper half of my breasts were going to start emptying into the rapidly-dissolving lower half.
As the pain began to lessen and I could think again, I realized that there was no going back. I was going to die. Even if I made it out of the stomach now, I probably wouldn't live. And there was no way I would make it out. I would suffer until I couldn't possibly suffer any more, and then I would die.
It all became too much. I began to cry. I lowered my face into my bile-soaked hands and wept, the tears clearing my eyes providing the first real relief I had felt since I had arrived in the stomach. I felt sick in a way that had nothing to do with my nausea. I felt cold inside despite the oppressive heat and burning that surrounded me. Over the disgusting gurgling I could make out the faint sound of my own sobs. My throat barely even had the strength to cry—I had screamed so much that it felt like someone had been scraping a rock across it.
I shook and cried and wailed. I just let myself go, bawling for it's own sake at the pain that had been wracking my body. I felt like a child, helpless and in pain, crying for her mother to come comfort her—but no one would be coming for me, neither for rescue, nor comfort.
There was no hope.
I let myself go limp.
What a horrible fate. What a revolting fate. How could I have deserved this? What had I done? What terrible sin could I have committed to deserve such a disgusting and painful end?
More and more time passed. As these hollow thoughts swirled around me, I found myself moving less and less. As more and more of my body slowly dissolved, the pain began to fade; there were only a few places intact enough to still be in pain. Eventually I found myself lying listlessly against the stomach wall, letting my head slowly sink into the merciless digestive juices that had been eating me alive for what had seemed like an eternity. This was it. My time was coming. I couldn't hold on any longer—it was too much. I was dying. I closed my eyes as I felt the burning liquid beginning to enter my bloodstream, one final stream of tears flowing down my bloody and melted face. My head sunk beneath the slime and I tasted his bile as it ran down my throat and filled my lungs.
And there, in the pit of his stomach, I died.
For several hours, the meaty remains of my corpse sat in his belly, stewing and dissolving as I was further broken down. My muscles gradually separated from my decalcifying bones amidst the drifting blobs of my half-digested flesh and organs. After several more hours his stomach crushed my now-brittle skeleton and the entirety of his stomach contents were emptied into his intestine.
Several more hours passed as I was pushed mercilessly through that narrow tube, his phillae greedily snatching up everything they considered to be of value. I was absorbed bit by bit, pushed inch by inch through his guts until there was nothing left that they wanted. The soft bolus of waste that was all that was left of me was pushed unceremoniously into his colon, which, in turn, carried me to his rectum and deposited me there to be eliminated from his body.
There I sat as he finally left his office, satisfied in his meal and seemingly invigorated by having taken my life. He went to the cameras and withdrew the film, doubtless so he could listen to my screams as he replayed my last horrible moments on Earth.
And that was it.
It was over.
I was relieved that the pain was finally gone, though I wasn't overexcited about starting a new life as a pile of shit.
How could this have happened? I had enjoyed so much success, and then, just like that, my life was over.
Was that what this was all about? Had I lived too much, too fast? I had had so many things...I had had everything everyone else had ever dreamed of. Was he right about all of us forgetting how vulnerable we are? How even the most successful starlet can...well...be ready for the Emmy's one minute and floating in the sewer the next?
Whether he was right or not, he was a monster. I wanted to hate him, but all I could feel was sorrow. I would never see my family again, and they would probably never know what had happened to me. Honestly, I'm not sure I would have wanted them to know. I wouldn't want them to know how much I suffered. My little baby Ever would never see her mother again; she was so young she probably wouldn't remember ever having been with me at all. Of all my regrets, that was my greatest—I couldn't tell her goodbye, and that I loved her.
I sat in Zack's rectum as he drove home and had the dubious honor of spending the night in bed with him, albeit not in the way I had originally hoped. The final, humiliating piece of my manifest destiny as a meal came the next morning, as Zack had himself a nice, long BM that consisted of yours truly. It's hard to really describe what goes through your mind when you're flushed down somebody's toilet. But there you have it. That was how my life ended. No hollywood funeral, no big announcements, no tears, no flowers...not even a gravestone. Just a silver handle and a sewage pipe. That's all I'll ever have to remember this life.
That, and that horrible, horrible grin.