What Happened When Frank Died: The Play

Frank died.

A field of dead grass stretched out before him. Nude bodies roamed. He frowned.

Frank looked down at his own naked body. It wasn’t cold. It just was. He tested his limbs.

“Hm.” He told them. He walked. Aimed for the closest person; an elderly looking woman. It wasn’t far.

“Hey!” he called to her. She glanced over at him and sighed. She stopped. He jogged up to her

“I don’t know,” she said as he approached.

“Don’t know what?”

“Anything. I don’t know where we are, or what this is, or why or anything at all so, if that is what you’re wondering you should press on.”

Frank frowned. “But, where are we?”

The woman scowled at him before he’d finished the question. She turned and walked away.

“But, wait!” She didn’t. Frank tried the next person, and the next, and so on. Some were pleasant enough, some were mute, some only screamed obscenities. All seemed to know nothing.

Frank wandered. Every direction seemed both more and less promising than the last, so Frank walked straight. Dead grass and nude roamers were all that greeted him for a long time. Then, in the distance, something.

“What in the hell?” Frank said, outload, standing next to the odd construct.

The entire thing was made of people, stacked on top of each other, snoring. A gap in the flesh big enough for Frank to pry himself through led him into an open room. In it, three people were in the midst of a performance. Frank assumed it was a performance anyways. They kept using words like “thou” and “ere”.

Across from them on a pile of bodies resembling a chair, a large hairy man sat.

“Hello?” Frank said. The large hairy man turned around.

“Well, Hello!” he said, smiling.

“Pause,” he told the performers. They froze. The large man stood up and approached Frank, hand outstretched.

“I’m Charlie.”

“Frank”

They shook.

“How long you been here Frank?”

“Not too sure.”

“Ah, that’s alright,” Charlie said jovially, “none of us do either, kind of lose track of time here.”

“Where is here?” Frank asked.

“Not a damn clue.”

Frank frowned. “Are we dead?”

Charlie screwed up his face in mock thought. “Unless they were treating me with LSD instead of cancer medications I’d say yes, we’re probably dead.”

Frank looked around the room at the snoring flesh. Not all were asleep. Some peered out lazily, scratching a nose or buttock.

“What is all this?” Frank asked, motioning to the walls.

“Ah, I can imagine this would be a bit weird for someone just getting here. This is a collective. There are many. We rotate creating as normal an atmosphere for each other as we can. Keeps us sane. It is my day so, I wanted to be at the theater.”

Frank looked at the actors, frozen on the stage.

“Don’t judge,” Charlie said, looking at Frank’s face. “We can’t get turned on or hurt each other so, this is all we got.”

“I see.”

“Would you like to join us?”

Frank scanned the walls of pressed flesh.

“I think, no”

Charlie laughed. “We can’t sweat or go to the bathroom either so it isn’t so gross as it looks.”

Frank nodded, pretending to consider it.

“I have some people to find.”

“Whew, that’s a task, but, best of luck to you.” Charlie said, clapping Frank on the back. And then, he went back to the couch of bodies and slumped down.

“Play!” he called out. The actors resumed. Frank turned and ducked back out through the gap in flesh. He spun himself around a few times then, walked.

 

For more of Frank click any of the icons below:

frank frank_ii img_1152 frank_iv frank_v frank_vi frank_vii frank_viii frank_ix frank_x

 

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