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---The young heir to the House of Chen was idly stirring the cereal in the bowl starring at the headlines in the morning paper. The paper was proving to be as b oring as it usually was on any given morning. There was some rock band from ano ther unknown place in North-Western Territories passing by on tour, playing onl y a one night show in town. Marcus never liked rock music, or any music in parti cular. it just seemed very overrated. The girls in his class were crazy about so me kid with a guitar and they would most definitely rip your throat out if you h ad a different opinion on the matterâ ¦or a courage to state this opinion to the face of those hormone-crazed little monsters. The scary kids were busy in their world of eternal gloom and self-absorbed misery. Although since that Bieber-fever sta rted Marcus didn't really know anymore who's the real "scary kids" were. Honestl y, he just thought it was silly. To put it this way - young Aurelius didn't even have any interests in particu lar, even though his dad was pretty firm that he should probably start develop a passion for horseback riding and fencing. The way Mr. Ling Chen saw it -those germanic tribes aren't going to pack up their camps and vanish into the woods, a nd the Empire might use another splendid soldier like Marcus that one day will r ise from a footman to a general. It seemed to Mr. Chen that with a dignified nam e like Marcus Aurelius his plan of making his son Rome's greatest general, or pe rhaps, even an emperor was absolutely flawless. As the matter of fact Mr. Chen, who woke up fancying himself a senator that d ay, was roaming the streets doing the only thing a truly patriotic member of the Senate would do -delivering passionate oratories upon the ears of all that woul d listen (sadly, no one was listening, since his craziness was a very known fact among the residents of Chinatown). Marcus looked briefly outside of the window, just to see his dad passing by, wrapped in a white bed linen he proudly called "tunica clava", sighed and return ed to reading the headlines. There also was a criminal on the run that escaped f rom prison a few days ago and his whereabouts were still unknown. The rest of t he paper was even less than outstanding, lacking any real news the editor though t it's a good idea to fill two pages with a completely dry and stale article on some ancient Mayan artifact found in Peru. "Looks like I'm going to be late for school again", he thought, picked up the paper and the empty cereal bowl and looked up. -"Ahh!", Marcus dropped everything he was holding in his hands once he discov ered a weirdo wearing neon-yellow robes standing by the kitchen sink and devoted ly trying to pick his nose. The guy abruptly ceased and stared at him in amazeme nt while still holding his index finger to his face. After a few seconds Marcus has regained his spirits and asked as calmly as he co uld, -"Are you a friend of dad's or something?" It was the first thing to come to his mind, and since the guy look as gaga as th e lady on the TV it wasn't such a far fetched assumption that his dad has finall y found some other looney toons to hang out with. The yellow robed weirdo looked around trying to figure whether the kid was addressing him or someone else in t he room. He instantly found out that there's no one else in the room and Jason t ook the same index finger that was lodged deeply into his nose a few minutes ago , pointed at himself and asked, -"Youâ ¦ can.. see me?!" Marcus was getting really late and tired of this game. -"Of course I can see you, you're standing in my kitchen!"
-"Youâ ¦canâ ¦ understand what I'm saying?!!" The kid had enough of this. "That's it". He turned around, grabbed his school ba g and headed towards the front door. -"Wait, waitâ ¦ where are you going?" -"To school! And you should go talk to my dad, he's just on the other side of th e street. Like it wasn't enough tolerating his antics, now I'll have a bunch of other kooks to deal with." Marcus stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door. Jason was astonished. Since his unfortunate accident resulted in his untimely demise, he's been wandering around for a long time. How long, he couldn't reall y tellâ ¦ since ghosts generally don't carry watches. But long enough to become depres sed and gloomy. It became quite apparent to him that this is not the way death s hould work, and something has terribly wrong. Most of the time Jason was just bo red and at this point he didn't really care what kind of afterlife awaits for hi m but he, certainly, wishes to get on with it already. About the same time as Jason was more and more becoming a perfect candidate for a role-model in certain youth sub-cultures, he felt an unexplainable calling. He didn't know what it was or how even to describe it. Yet even if he would find a name for it, I doubt any of us are such an experts in the matters of the dead t o be able to understand and relate. But it was as if something or someone was pu lling him towards somewhere unknown. Lacking anything better to do with himself Jason stopped practicing the tricks h e saw in an old movie called "Poltergeist", since it was becoming more and more obvious that Hollywood, as usual, lied and he can't kick bottle caps or seagulls no matter how hard he might concentrate on trying, and embarked on a journey le ading nowhere in particular. The only few advantages in being a ghost Jason had noticed so far were a lack of hunger and thirst (he couldn't remember even the taste of food anymore), la ck of a need in sleep (that was unfortunate, since Jason loved sleeping in throu ghout his time alive). Well, and being a ghost and all -you don't really have to pay for a bus ticket. And now the only person who could see and talk to him in God-knows-how-long just stormed out on him and slammed the door. The great ex-prophet certainly, wasn't going to let this to happen -he effortlessly hovered through the front door (af ter you do it so many times at some point you stop paying attention to this tric k) and went after the kid, determined to find him again no matter what!