The dragon went beserk because she could sense the presense, but couldn't detect where the thing was. She punched out the human male in her rage at her inability, and grabbed the nearest sharp implement to complete the job. The knife proved far too wimpy for her, and soon snapped off when it struck a bone.
The ancient enemy was near and she had no idea where. The thought was frunstration incarnate and she longed to rip and tear into the vile things that had taken from her what was by all rights hers alone to have. This very rare planet. The blue marble of precious water and breathable air and high mountains of solid heavy minerals that made up what was laughably called mere rocks. And gold.Real gold was here. Sure it was buried deep within the rocks, meandering along river like veins. Gold was enough of a reason to seek this gem of a planet out.
Gold was essential to harmonize with the great Song. Every planet hummed with its chorus and her fellow dragons often found themselves fascinated by every single note of it, as it rang throughout the cosmos.
Oh the concerts she would enjoy should she manage to get that gold to sing back to her. She would take ahold of her audiences and never ever let them go. It was as a goal a true dragon should ever aspire to.
As the man staggered away, she realized that she really should be scarce from this place, and grabbed a cell phone to do just that. The cell phone she dialed, however, only provided the dull dial tone, and not the free trip home she had expected.
She fled out the door she had come in, and marched along the street for quite a ways before a passerby tried to tackle her. The lesser being didn't last that long against her blows, and after she relieved the foul creature of its skull, she found herself satisfied with her improvised weapon. She chuckled that she had armed herself with a garden shovel of all things, but as she was trapped for the time being within a human body, she would not make a fuss over such good useful thing.
She didn't much care that she was dripping blood all over the place as she continued on her way down what looked to be a rather primitive the street.
She mused to herself that these monkeys had such poor standards, and as she looked down at the pathetically plain white cloth, ok, once white as it was drenched in that iron based blood that strayed wonderfully from the bodies of two monkeys now, which covered the top of her stolen body, one that she certainly did not ever intend to return of course, she rather thought the lot had tragically poor taste in clothing as well.
A space filler..ooooo..a space filler
The month following Jan's death hit Mark hard. It was as if it were his heart had been ripped clean of his chest. The first week he didn't want to think, didn't want to feel, and most certainly, didn't want to even be. He knew vaguely that camping out over at his neighbor's, occupying a space on the floor by the couch most nights, wasn't a completely healthly thing for him to do.
He just couldn't bring himself to do much of anything else. Jan was gone. Just gone.
And the bitch he knew had taken him from the world was nowhere to be found. The fukken police had no idea where to even look for such a complete nutcase. Mark would have happily pointed out a few listings in the internet where such crazies tended to gather, but the police soon declared himself a complete nutter in response. Shoved aside, he had no place to vent his frustrations.
Mark regretted ever going to the store.
So he slept most days on his neighbor's carpet. For some reason it felt the right place to be. He knew that if he was in his right mind, what ever that meant, really he had no idea, that he really should be completely embarrassed at his behavior. He tried to make up for it by carefully replacing every bottle of whiskey he emptied each day. Clares annoyed looks she directied at her husband made him think twice of doing so quite so often.
If not for Jan's death, he would not have ever been aware that Sven had a problem with his drinking was well.
There was no helping it, really. So, they drank together.
Mark didn't mind the idea of a ghost possibly lingering around his apartment at all. He felt highly enthousiastic about the whole idea, and quickly consulted the internet for all possible ways to contact such a being. He ran across several ways, and tried them all. But he settled on one that seemed the most reliable. The was this entire concept about the phrase White noise. Somehow, ghosts lacking physical vocal chords and all, it was the one process that was entirely logical to Mark,
Each time Sven stopped by to check up on him, he would gleefully show the man his radio, and ask him to listen in on the previous night's recordings. Sven would smile a polite sort of smile that seemed a bit strained at the edges, and by the end of an hour or so, the man would simply chuckle and leave with a an amused shake of his head.
Ghosts are guardians without physical form. Or perhaps are a memory. He liked to think the former. He liked the idea that the ghost in his apartment was actually Jan.
How he missed the man.
The ghost didn't seem all that unfriendly, but wasn't particularly friendly either, as whoever it was it didsn't communicate much with the living,as in himself. The thing generally tolerated the people living in his house. And that was the real reason Mark thought his ghost had be Janoos. Janoos just adored people so.
Janoos had been featured occasionally in the dreams of both Mark and Sven. The all knowledgable internet explained that the noise in their heads was much quieter when they sleep.
Mark supposed he could become obsessed with the white noise phenomenon because of this aching need he had to speak with his dear departed friend. He missed Janoos the most.
His dreams featured Janoos as he remember him best. The man repeatedly told him to shower, becasuse even the ghost can tell the man stinks.
Mark refused.
When that proves ineffective, the shower sprung a leak. Mark liked to think Janoos himself had decied to shower because Mark had not.
Mark happened to stay the night at Sven's .He took to sleeping well away from the noise of such things, and he would explain that he didn't know exactly why. The shower dribbling along on and off in his own apartment did not sound quite as creapy as the same happening in Sven's.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
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