The streets were packed. Someone, a child, stuffed a pamphlet into Frank’s hand. Frank looked down at it, a man’s faced looked up at him, a big hairy man with his hair tied back in a pony-tailed, white-robed.
“Vote Now!” it said. Frank looked around. A city rose around him, miles up, miles ahead. A crowd–no, a horde, it moved around–through, and over Frank. He fought his way up to the side of a building. Everyone carried signs, shouting, laughing, chatting about the weather. Frank saw one sign, the same hairy man’s face with big red letters over it.
“MURDERER,” the sign said.
A teenage girl walked, topless near Frank, “God? God? God?” was painted, over and over, and over, over every inch of her skin. Frank took a breath and moved with the crowd. As he let himself be led, he looked up. Buildings stretched into a clear blue sky.
Twenty or so minutes later the crowd funneled out into a vast, open half-stadium. At the far end of the horde. Signs floated above them, drifting on the cries of the masses. The air was full of a voice. Frank squinted. A man, the same big hairy man on the signs, stood on a stage. Frank listened.
“What has God done for you lately?” he asked the horde.
“Nothing!” they cried, almost entirely in unison. The painted girl beside Frank let out a cry, something closer to “AHH” or “RAH” than any actual word. Frank weaved his way away from her
The voice spoke again. “When was the last time God spoke to you?”
“The last time he listened?”
The man leaned into the noise, screens behind him zoomed in on his face,
“Is this the heaven you prayed for?”
An elderly man in front of Frank was openly weeping, hands held high.
“Is this the God you wanted?”
“NO! NO! NO!” The horde chanted, over and over. Frank held his ears. The man on stage was nodding, pacing. He held up a finger.
“So,” he said, to the quieted mass, “this Sunday who are you going to vote for?”
A sign fell at Frank’s feet, he looked down at it. “LIAR” it read. The elderly woman who had cast it away was walking off, drowned out.
The man on stage opened his arms wide and bowed. A woman, Frank couldn’t make out, came and took the mic from him, she kissed him on the forehead. They walked off stage together to the tune of an incensed crowd.
She was wearing a blue dress.
**For more WHWFD click HERE
**Note for new readers: What Happened When Frank Died is a series of stories we have done every Saturday since our challenge began. You can read however many you want in whatever order you want. They are each individual stories. There is a backstory that you can figure out by looking for clues in all the stories but it is not necessary to enjoy them individually.