Hello Readers (living, dead, undead),
Our What Happened When Frank Died series is going strong in Talk Vomit! There are two new stories up with two new stunning works of art by Nikita. In the second episode, Frank finds himself in the hellish landscape of an overpopulated heaven:
What Frank Saw When He Looked Between His Legs
Frank fell hard onto something soft. It moved. It made a sound.
Frank looked down between his legs and, apart from his own genitals, he saw the face of an old man. The man looked as surprised as Frank felt. Frank almost said, “Sorry,” but something sharp jabbed him in the right side of the head. He turned; a naked young woman was glaring at him.
“Hand!” she said.
Frank looked at his own hand and saw that it was resting on the woman’s breast.“Ah!” he cried. “Oh, I am sorry, Miss, I—” He looked past her; as far as he could see, bodies were everywhere, some mounded a little higher than others—people piled together, uncountable knees and elbows, legs, hands, feet, arms, attached to bodies with heads of different sizes and colors poking out. And most of the heads were screaming. It didn’t smell like Frank imagined it should—not like B.O. or fetid crevices. It smelled simply of skin.
Frank was startled back into his immediate surroundings as the woman grabbed his hand and threw it off her.
“Pervert,” she said, and tried to stand but fell and crawled away from Frank as the bodies beneath her called out, “Gah!” and one shrill voice said, “That’s my eye, you bitch!”
Frank felt uncomfortable watching her crawl, so he turned away and scanned the scene ahead of him. Everything he saw was the same: an ocean of limbs, as far as he could see.
Frank looked down. The man tapped Frank’s leg with one arm and pointed to the other that was trapped beneath..
“Oh! Sorry.” Frank lifted his leg so the man could free himself.
“Cheers,” he said, and shifted a bit before closing his eyes and seeming to doze off.
“Do you have a sense of humor?”
Frank turned left toward a deep, melodic voice and saw a large man, covered in hair. From the knee, this man’s leg disappeared beneath Frank’s buttock.
“Sorry,” Frank said and tried to shift his weight. He looked behind the man. Many of those closest were either sleeping, crying, screaming, or staring, dead-eyed, up at the pale sky above. He pressed his hands into his face and tried to breathe, to think.
“Please don’t do the freak-out thing. You look like you’re going to do the freak-out thing. Just—don’t,” the large man said.
Frank slid his hands back and frowned at the man. His eyes were a sharp blue, more alive than others around them. He smiled.
Frank asked, “What? What is the freak-out thing?”
A few yards in front of them, a teenage boy fell from the sky. He sat up and looked around at the endless sea of squirming meat. His eyes bulged and he joined in the chorus of screams, “Oh God! Oh God! Where am I? What is this? Help! Help!” The boy began to cry.
In our third installment, All Dogs (And Frank) Go to Heaven, yeah, you guessed it, Dog Heaven
All Dogs (And Frank) Go to Heaven
A vast field opened up before him. He looked around, left then right. He frowned. To his left was a green plain of roaming hills. To his right, a landscape of nightmares. For as far as he could see, a squirming, wriggling desert of fat worms stretched ahead. Frank moved closer to it. His vision wasn’t great. But still, it couldn’t be. As he got closer, the sound started. Skin on skin, bone knocking against bone. It was an endless field of writhing hands, all sprung up from the earth. Frank wretched and staggered backward. “Ugh – oh god!” Then, from behind him, he heard, “WEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
He spun on his assailant, but it whizzed past him. First one, then another; then there were a dozen or so. Poodles — a whole pack of tongue-wagging, fluffy poodles. They dove one by one into the sea of fingers and began rolling around. The fingers clawed at them — no, not clawed. Frank took a step closer. The poodles were all on their backs and sides, rolling, eyes lolling as the hands scratched and scratched: their butts, their ears, their backs. Frank couldn’t hear the gnashing of skin and bone, but instead, the field of hands was humming. It was a light tune, encouraging, and without lyrics. It was almost as if the string of notes was saying, over and over, Whooooosssaaaagggooooooddddboooyyyywhoooosssagooodddboyyyy.
“Fuck this!” Frank cried.
He turned; he ran. In the distance, dogs barked. For a long while, he ran across the green hills. When he got tired, he walked. While he walked, he tried to come to terms with what he’d seen. He decided this must be someone else’s heaven. Maybe everyone had individual afterlives and he’d just stumbled into some old dog lady’s fantasy. That had to be it. Then, straight ahead, there was a Boston terrier rolling about in the grass. Frank approached it. He clapped his hands gently.
Thank you all for your continued readership. We are very proud of this project and grateful to Talk Vomit for the opportunity to bring these Frank stories to life.
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