Frank N Furter Mga Nobela at Kwento

If I waited with Frank, it would mean I didn’t have to climb the stairs again, which is a nightmare. Frank is a man who doesn’t have a home. He wears multiple layers of clothing to keep warm and has a lot of facial hair. Despite his bad odor, he is a pleasant man, especially when he knows he is going to be getting some food. I sat against a wall with Frank. Looking at him, no matter how bad I had it. I had a roof over my head. He told me he used to be in the army. But he got injured and was sent home from the service.

The guard’s voice dripped with sarcasm. "What? What the fuck are you talking about?!" Frank snapped, his mind racing. "If I were you, I’d start thinking about how you’re gonna survive in here from now on…" "What the hell do you mean? Do you even know who I am?" Frank sneered arrogantly. The officer’s smirk widened. "I mean, you’re a fucking idiot who just got his dick cut off." Frank froze. His breath caught in his throat. Slowly, hesitantly, he lifted the sheet covering him—and his blood ran cold.

He hung up quickly after, and just as he said, five minutes later, he was in my office, barely a minute with me missing him. Frank, as gruff as he sounded, looked precisely the opposite. He was a stout man with a slim figure, but of course, I knew it was a sleeper build hiding underneath his slightly baggy t-shirt and always slightly baggy trousers he liked to wear. His hair had been shaped so clean it glistened and reflected the light of the room back at me. His eyes, however, were enough to tell me he had seen it all—blood and explosions alike, as well as love and life.

"Whatcha working on, Goldy Locks?" Frank was known as the office rat. He was young and eager to work his way to the top, or better yet, kiss Mr. Jeffers’ butt all the way to the top. I didn't particularly appreciate being called ‘Goldy Locks’. Still, Frank was known as the office gossiper, too, and he always had the latest news, so I endured his playful banter and nicknames in order to find out the information I would otherwise not know.

Frankie called back. Finn smiled as he followed the music. Frankie loved the old crooners - Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis Jr. Frankie was only in his late forties, but he was an old soul born in the wrong era. He thought of himself as something of a playboy and styled himself after the greats. Finn couldn’t argue with the results. Women flocked to him - and they got younger and younger each year. The man was a Peter Pan, forever young with no intention of ever ‘growing up’ and ‘settling down,’ and he bore a striking resemblance to Michael Douglas in his heyday.

Framton cheers. For the people who were walking by, they couldn't recognise the family who were clad in furry weather coats and face masks and ear mufflers. In Framton's eyes, they looked like cute little cinnamon buns as he rejoiced watching them play and have fun without a care for this world. The old man scrunches his face up suddenly, a slight pinching pain erupting from the side of his left ribs and emerging all the way up to his left arm. "Ouch..." expressing to himself, Framton quickly climbs into the car to get some rest.

It was hard. "What is that?" she asked him, alarmed. Frank turned slowly, twisting his upper body to face her and greeted her with a smile. "These are screws, mister hair. I have screws all along my spine because of the accident." "Oh my God!" She crouched down next to him, and Dercy, the woman, laughed at her surprise. "Why do you think we call him Frank? Frankenstein, my dear." Dercy spoke, bursting into laughter. Clara still had a hand over her mouth, astonished.

“You know I never expected this coming from a well-known man in the business world. You are just like your son. Finding the way out of every mess that you did to other. Mr. Krumpus furrowed his brow and felt something was odd from him. he tightened his fist because of the insulting words he received from Mr. Miller. “Tell me who are you?” Mr. Krumus was just staring at him and studying his physicality made his eyes widened. “You want to know? Are you sure about that?” Frank threw a sarcastic look at the old Mr. Krumpus. He was seeing him eye to eye and having the moment like this that he would never let it slipped away. He leaned over and said. “You?!” Mr. Krumpus suddenly stood up with ter

he cries, holding the back of his aching head. “Ah no, he’s a tough lad, you need to hit him harder than that,” the man says. Through slightly blurry vision, Harken sees the man get up from the desk and his legs walk towards him, covered in suede dress pants and leather dress shoes. A face comes into view and Harken sucks in a sharp breath in shock as Frank smiles down at him. “Hey lad, long time no see,” he says with a grin, before planting his fist promptly into Harken’s face and knocking him out cold.

I was too afraid to call out. Behind me, the scraping sound of four limbs dragging across the ground grew steadily closer. I turned around. Frank was still coming. A length of cow intestine dangled from his hand as he chewed and swallowed. When he saw me standing in the front room, he slowed. Then he grinned. Frank had always been poor. He used to collect scrap metal around town and sell it for extra money. My grandfather often shared what little he had with him. Whenever Frank managed to get hold of a piece of candy, he'd save one for my grandfather to bring home to me.