FRANK

Frank awoke at 3:00 A.M.. He only looked at the clock to verify what he already knew. It was always 3:00 A.M., exactly 3:00 A.M.. He reached down and felt his cock. He thought about masturbating but didn't. The light coming in through the window allowed him to see a few things: the dresser, the door which was slightly ajar, his towel hanging from the top, the heap of the blanket which had wound up at his feet. He thought about his two little girls, 9 and 6, who were sleeping at their mother's, the filthy fucking whore. He smiled, thinking about their sweet little eyes, closed, sleeping, dreaming. What were they dreaming about? He hoped it was something good. He hated them having to exist in this ever worsening world. Maybe he would one day get rich on his writing and be able to protect them somehow? Does that even happen anymore? No, it doesn't. And even if it did, it wouldn't be enough. Nothing would be, not anymore. He heard a car drive down the street. He thought about masturbating again. He reached down and felt his cock. It was sad and limp, cold and clammy. He played with it a bit and gave up. He then felt his balls. They were uncomfortably tight. It's so true, he thought, the state of a man's cock and balls is always in direct correlation with his mind, with his spirit. Just then, an image flashed through his mind: An elephant tumbling down a cliff. It was the saddest, most grotesque thing he had ever seen in his life. The elephant kept falling, contorting through the air. Frank winced as he fell back to sleep.