Mark collapsed onto the cold concrete floor, curling his body as if a blade were tearing through his intestines. He let out a suppressed groan, a raspy sound of pure agony.
"My stomach. It feels like it's being twisted," Mark whimpered, his voice trembling. His fingers clawed at his grimy t-shirt until his knuckles turned white. "I think my ulcers are flaring up again. Damn it, this hurts."
Mark glanced at the guard, his eyes brimming with a calculated desperation. "Can you... find me some antacids? Please," he added, his voice weakening until it was nearly swallowed by another groan of pain.
The guard stood frozen behind the bars. "Is it that serious?" he asked, weighing the situation. Doubt clouded his face as he watched Mark roll slowly onto his side, clutching his stomach with a face contorted in pain.
