He had done it. He had officially done it. He had gone mad.

Frank had always been ailed with mental health “issues.”

For as long as anyone could remember, Frank was disturbed.

He had pretty much alienated everyone around him. You know those guys that don’t look outwardly crazy, but have that look to them…that look-at-me-wrong-and-I’ll-pop-the-eyeballs-out-of-your-head-with-my-fingers look. Yeah, he always had that. He would twitch periodically, and asserted statements as if they were manifestos:

“Moose have pink testicles.”
“My nose hairs hurt.”
“The sunset reminds me of death.”

One day, he was walking down the street. He threw himself in front of a Geo Metro.

He didn’t die.

He thought it would be an experience. An experience he could learn from. He wanted to experience “near-death.”

The powers that be forced him into an asylum.

He was strapped. He was fed. He was washed. He had lost his independence.

He took solace in blurting out what he considered his final successful act and mark for the human race: “My DNA is on a dented Geo Metro.”

He felt he had lived. He felt he had accomplished his mission in life.


Caitlin--not my best efforts, but I felt like I had to...it's been months. I'll have a topic for you soon.