Time was passing excruciatingly slowly for Faisel. It had been maybe a week now, maybe longer. You see, time was a concept that the newly dead wizard found difficult to grasp since his unfortunate demise. The days now all seemed to blur into one. The reason for which, much to Faisel’s annoyance; was likely the fact that the dead didn’t seem to sleep. He’d tried, oh how he’d tried. Lain flat on the horribly hard stone floor, his ghostly bones creaking in protest, but what choice did he have?

He’d already found out that chairs, stools, beds and anything else that provided even a smidgen of comfort shunned him completely, his ethereal form passing straight through without even so much as a whisper of resistance. So, there he was. Spread out flat on the floor like roadkill squashed to the dirt by the wheel of a cart, cursing every gods name he’d ever heard, learned or read about, as he desperately searched for the realm of slumber to no avail.

He wasn’t even tired, not at all; in fact, that was potentially the only thing that had changed for the positive since his ticktock stopped a’tockin. Before, as a miserable old living wizard, he was constantly knackered. From the moment he woke, to the moment he slept, a bone weary exhaustion stayed with him as his constant companion.

But now, as a miserable old dead wizard, the complete lack of energy had vanished altogether. Sure, his bones felt as if they were made of brittle glass, his joints studded with tiny needles that tore open old wounds at even the slightest movement. But at least he wasn’t tired. Well, it was nice at first anyway, but really there’s only so much you can do when your only option is to walk within the confined space of one room unable to touch a single thing. 1. walk to one end of the room. Faisel began to mentally list the possibilities. 2. walk to the other end of the room. End of list.

With a glower, the angry spirit rolled onto his back. His unfruitful chase after the evasive “Z’s” abandoned.

Knock, Knock. With a speed that belied his age, Faisel was on his feet. An ecstatic expression rode his face as he bounded youthfully for the door, the aches and pains ignored in his excitement. Come in! he mouthed, then frowned as the words made no sound.

Knock, Knock. Faisel’s mouth began working relentlessly, his tongue flapping from side to side as he screamed soundlessly at the top of his lungs capacity. Nothing.

Click. The door edged open.

“Master?” A timid voice called from the darkness beyond. Faisel’s face twisted into a scowl as he stared balefully at still mostly closed door, his impotency in the situation dropping him deeply into a dark fit of anger. Push the door Sid! just push it! come in! He prayed. Sure enough, the door began to move ever so slowly. Yes! Yes Sid you beautiful child! you glorious little shit! Eventually, a small round head popped through the crack of darkness, a child, a mop of unruly black hair curled around his grubby ears half hiding his left eye.

“Master?” He repeated, his tone tinged with a faint element of fear. Get in here Sid damnit! Further the boy stepped into the room, as if he had actually heard the words of the silent ghost. His apprentice was a scrawny child, around nine years old. A far too large dirty linen shirt worn on his top half trailed down past his knees. Which was just as well seen as the idiot appeared to have either forgotten or lost his trousers. Again. Dammit Sid, that’s the third pair! Faisel began to berate the boy before he remembered how pointless the effort was. The boy tiptoed closer to the wizards body, curiosity getting the better of him, all the way up until he was next to the chair. Then slowly began to lean forward towards Faisel’s prone form, as if searching for something.

Suddenly, with a grin, the child shot back upright and began to back away, careful not to make a noise. No! Dammit you idiot child, I’m not asleep! Get back! The boy had stopped. With a mischievous chuckle he began to root about in the small pouch over on the writing desk that Faisel had kept his writing implements in. What the bloody hell is he doing? The boy let loose a short squeak of excitement as he apparently located what he was looking for, before he started moving back towards the dead wizard. You little shit… Faisel immediately realised what the boy was planning. Sid, being a mischievous little bastard, had located his EverInk inc rod, a small cylindrical piece of wood about the size of a skinny pinky finger. The EverInk inc was made by a wizarding corporation, imaginatively named “EverInk inc”, the purpose of which was to eliminate the need for a quill by providing a precision writing tool that stained the surface it touched black at a fine point with magic. Even better, it could write on literally anything.

Unfortunately for Faisel, that “Everything” right now, was his own forehead. Faisel watched helplessly with a rage that burned like hellfire as his young apprentice defiled his corpse, whilst thinking him asleep. What the hell is he do-… Faisel watched as the boy connected two round ball like objects with a long tube, topped with a bell-like helmet. No… You absolute little bastard! The apprentice had drawn none other, but a huge cock. Two hefty balls began on his left cheek, the shaft spanned up one side of his face then down the other, to finally end with two artistically drawn droplets of ejaculate being fired into his own mouth.

With a giggle, the lad stepped back to admire his artwork, the laughter he so obviously warred with a constant threat as his chest shook silently. Then, slowly, his right arm raised, up until it was parallel with the floor, his fist clenched with the palm side facing the ceiling. Sid’s grin spread even further as a dark twinkle sparkled in his eyes. abruptly, his middle finger sprang up so fast, a mental “boing” sounded within Faisel’s transparent noggin as he watched.

It was in this exact moment that Faisel straight up lost his shit.