Years passed. The end times got around to themselves.
A hand burst out of the ground. It was Franks hand. He groaned. He emerged from the grave, rife with dirt and maggots. He wanted to brush himself off, but only walked.
He walked slow. It gave him time to think. His first thought in many years was, “buildings have gotten tall.”
And they had.
Frank found himself drawn to a group of others. They were equally dirty, equally empty-eyed; one actually had no eyes. Frank shuddered. They walked on, like an elderly gang, toward the tall buildings. Frank tried to remember who Frank was. It hurt, the part of his brain that was Frank had been mostly replaced with a family of spiders. Someone jostled him on the left. He turned to tell the man to watch where he was going.
“Guhhhh!” he accused the man.
“Flehhh!” the man apologized. Frank accepted it. They walked on. Frank heard screaming. Something in him was pleased, almost turned on. He, of course, was not turned on; he left his genitalia back in the coffin. But the feeling persisted anyways.
The rest of the gang seemed to share the sentiment. They all turned towards the screams. Frank, being a bit older to begin with, lagged behind. Soon, he found himself alone, wandering the streets, groaning. He felt no pain. The part of his brain that felt pain was sitting on his left shoulder, caught in his collar.
So, he meandered. Somewhere, something burned. Frank saw it. He tried to smell it, but his nose had left him back with the herd. This sucks, Frank thought, heading for the flames, unsure of why. A figure sat beside a bin, roasting something on a stick.
Frank approached it. The figure turned. It was a man. His face went into a panic. He began brandishing his food at Frank. Frank felt hungry. The food, that turned out to be a rat, flew from the stick. It hit Frank in the chest. Frank looked at the man.
“That was rude,” he tried to say, but instead said “Merrrrhhh”
The man ran at Frank, stick aflame, raised. It plunged into Frank’s chest. Frank looked down at it, up at the man. Then, before he could stop himself he bit the man, right on the neck. The man, face full of shock, fell.
Oh, shit, Frank thought. He bent down over the man, holding him. He tried to say sorry, over and over, but instead found himself taking more and more bites.
The man went still. Frank stood up.
“Oh god, oh god!” Frank tried to say. But, his mouth was full.
In a panic he tried to run, yet only limped, on off down the road, slowly catching on fire.
*For more What Happened When Frank Died, click here