Eventually, the afternoon turns to evening. As the sun approaches the horizon, the plant that has been slowly invading your body for the past several hours finally halts its progress. It does not withdraw at all, but at least it has stopped advancing. With the vine's movement inside of you halted, the churning nausea that you had been experiencing quickly subsides as well, leaving you with an uncomfortable sensation of solid pressure in your guts, like the world's worst case of constipation, and also a strange internal feeling of itchiness.
For a long while, nothing happens. Then, as the sky darkens, the thorns that had been keeping you prisoner shrink back to nubs and then vanish all together. The looping tendrils gradually loosen their hold on you and then retreat. At first, all you can do is lie there on your side in the grass, scratched and naked and confused. When you do finally try to get up, every muscle in your body painfully protests the sudden movement after having been held in the same position for so long.
Eventually, you are able to roll over onto your back. The lurch in your guts that accompanies the motion is far from pleasant, and once you're on your back, sitting up nearly impossible. After all, your intestines are filled with twenty or more feet of vine that's thicker than a garden-hose and just as stiff. Every time you shift your weight, the heavy mass of vines inside of you needs to shift too pinching and stretching delicate flesh as it does so. There's no telling what sort of damage you might do to yourself if you aren't careful.
With that in mind, you decide that even trying to stand probably isn't safe until you get this thing out of you. Besides, that weird internal itching feels like it's starting to get worse. You slowly lean forward as far as you can, reach around the bulge in your gut, spread your legs, and wrap your hands around the vine. It's at least two inches in diameter where it enters your body, but you really don't want to think about that. Instead, you focus on making sure that you have a good grip on the smooth surface of the vine.
You take a couple of deep breaths, and then you pull. The vine doesn't budge an inch, but you don't even notice, because you're too distracted by the fact that pulling on the vine caused the itchiness in your guts to be replaced by horrible fiery pain. Desperate, you blink tears from your eyes and keep pulling. You pull as if your life depends on it, because you're certain that it does. The pain continues, as does your lack of progress.
Suddenly the vine squirms to life. You brace yourself, expecting to be tied up by the thorny tendrils once again, but they never materialize. Instead, the vine gives a single, massive buck, and your already distended abdominal area bloats even further. The fiery pain is washed away as your insides are inundated by a wave of cold liquid, probably the same substance the plant had previously sprayed on your skin to make your muscles relax. You barely have time to appreciate the removal of pain before the chemical gets into your bloodstream and removes your consciousness too.