Frank stood up out of himself. He looked down at the hunk of meat that used to be him. The skin was pruned and tinted red from the water.
“Well, this is unexpected,” he tried to say, but no sound came out. He tried again to make any sort of sound, he tried “blah-blah-blah,” “boogie-woogie,” and eventually “ahhhhh,”
He stiffed the air and smelled nothing. He frowned down at the corpse.
“I thought you were supposed to be smelly,” he didn’t say. He got closer. Still nothing. He shrugged, turned, and walked straight into the wall.
“I can’t even walk through walls!” he didn’t yell. The door to the bathroom was cracked, not enough for him to fit through. No matter how hard he pushed, it wouldn’t budge. So, Frank sat down next to the tub and tried to figure out what to do.
Two days later Frank had given up trying to do anything at all, even cry. He just sat and watched as two men came into the bathroom and dragged the meat that used to be him from the tub. They placed it in a black bag and, with upturned noses, carried it out of the bathroom.
I guess corpses do smell, thought Frank, who’d given up trying to say anything at all.
The men had left the bathroom door open and so Frank went about exploring the house that used to be his. This entertained him for all of about ten minutes as a house doesn’t get more interesting just because it’s owner died.
Frank settled on the couch and waited.
The house remained still for some time after that until a woman arrived. Well dressed, she put out cookies.
More people arrived. A silent procession. Some Frank recognized, some he did not. As he scanned through the crowd he wondered how many of them had been at his wife’s service. Not many, he suspected.
No matter how dramatic the mourners or how loud the speakers, they fell on Frank’s deaf ears. He sat and watched and tried to mourn along with them best he could. But, it was like trying to empathize with a silent movie, as a rock.
Frank heard nothing, smelled nothing, felt nothing, said nothing. He wandered around behind his brother for a whole hour trying to push him, silently screaming.
Then, he found an ex co-worker of his, who he knew very well hated him.
“You don’t even like me you bitch!” he didn’t yell in her ear, but it only seemed to incite her to more tears. So, he spent the rest of the service following her around trying to slap a cup of apple juice from her hand.
The house cleared. As the cookie-woman left, Frank slipped out of the house behind her. He found himself in the middle of the street. He was naked and it was snowing, but it was no matter.
Frank walked on down the street, heading nowhere.
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