Post by readilygrey on Aug 10, 2012 0:05:14 GMT -5
This is rough. It's a second draft and I usually do four or so before posting. Please help me spot errors. I need to post it to my class in less than a day and I'm so tired! I've just had so much work as well as all the kid and house stuff I'm not having a lot of time to put into anything 
I'm going to sleep for six hours and I will be back ;D You guys are all amazingly awesome and I am so grateful for any assistance!
Note: It's about two sentences too long.
James’ felt something hard and flat wedged beneath his tongue. He forced his arm up to his mouth, his movements slow and heavy beneath the weight of the anesthesia. It was only after his fingers closed on the source of the warm, wet metallic taste that he remembered he needed to be careful not to pull the IV from his arm. But there was no bite of the needle being wrenched from his vein so maybe that wasn’t the arm it was in. Or maybe it had already been removed.
The object was a silver coin. It bore an inscription that was indecipherable in the dim light of the hospital room. But whatever was on it didn’t matter because it didn’t belong in a postoperative patient’s mouth. James reached for the nurse call button but instead his fingers closed on cold, damp leaves.
James sat up and the haze of anesthesia slipped away. He was not in a hospital room. Leaves and flower petals were spread beneath him. His hospital gown had been replaced with the jeans and grey t-shirt he’d worn earlier in the day. He was sitting on the shoreline under a dark, threatening sky.
He’d been kidnapped. He got to his feet and there was none of the soreness he would expect after surgery. How long had he been unconscious? After looking around to make sure he was still alone he lifted his shirt to look for the four incisions the surgeon had mapped out with a marker.
There was nothing. No scar, just pale unmarked skin. Even the faint pink line where he’d lost his appendix as a child was missing. For a long moment he stared, slowly smoothing his hand across his abdomen. Nothing.
James dropped his shirt and with it went the tension from his shoulders. He knew exactly what this was.
Calmer now, he noticed a trail of petals winding toward the water.
“Ok, Dream, this better lead to someone good-looking and naked. Either that or I get to fly. No left-over, brain-cleaning junk, got that?” James snorted. He began peeling off the leaves and petals that stuck to his clothes as he walked.
The sand was softer than he’d expected. His shoes sunk into it like mud. At the end of the trail he could just make out a pier jutting into the river. As he moved closer he was aware of a figure standing at the end, shrouded in a vast, crimson cloth.
“You’re losing points, Dream,” James said as he stepped onto the slick wooden walkway. “Watch it or you’ll end up ranked below the time you made me spend the night painting my first-grade teacher’s shed.” He could see now that the figure was an old man. He was broad and at least a head taller than James. A white beard rested on his broad chest where it mingled with his long white hair.
It wasn’t until James was within touching distance that he saw that the man’s eyes were wrong. There were no whites, only glistening blacks and reflections that moved like smoke and were of nothing that was present—nothing that ever should exist. James took a step back, prepared to run back to the sludge and sand before this turned into another sort of dream all together.
“Payment,” the man said, his voice a low rumble as he held out his hand.
“For what?” James took another step back.
“Safe passage.”
“Passage…?” James noticed the small boat, bobbing in the water.
“No, thank you. I don’t need to go anywhere.” And definitely not with someone like him.
“This offer will not come again for one hundred years.”
James laughed but it was nervous. “Unusual sales pitch, Buddy. Creative, I’ll give you that.” James pointed beyond the man’s shoulder. “But maybe I’ll see what that guy has to offer.”
The man frowned as he turned to look at the pale, shanty boat drifting through the dark waters. “I am the only one that traverses these waters,” he said, sounding like a professor James had once had that refused to believe anything illogical even with the evidence right before him.
“Apparently not.” James smirked.
The man picked up a massive thing, bone-colored and long, with one end was broad and flat and the other terminating in a sharp and wicked hook. With no apparent fear of being pulled into the water, the man snared the support post on the boat. His powerful muscles bunched visibly beneath the fabric as he dragged the shanty in to the dock.
The door opened and a young man stepped out. His furtive, wide eyes peering out from beneath too much dark hair.
“Charon, please,” the young man said. “I meant no harm.”
“I am the only one that traverses these waters,” the man—or Charon apparently—repeated. Holding the oar steady with one arm he drew a large dagger from his cloak with the other.
It looked like James had reached the point where he was going to have to choose a tour guide. The decision wasn’t hard.
James stomped his foot down on the oar hoping to shake it loose. But what happened was better. Charon just let go.
The boat lurched as it began to move, the young man nearly toppling out of the door frame.
James tried not to think about the swirling waters of fog and death below, as he leapt onto the shanty’s platform.
Charon was screaming something that James was glad he didn’t catch. Trying his best not to stumble from the motion of the boat he stepped inside the door of the shanty.
“I’m James,” he said to the young man’s back where he was staring out the window.
“What have you done?” The young man turned to look at him. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-one or twenty-two. At least five years younger than James.
“Earned myself a free trip I’d say. What with helping you get away from that lunatic and all.”
“But you can’t be here.” He made a gesture that looked vaguely obscene and wasn’t particularly helpful. “You were supposed to cross.”
“I don’t know that I was supposed to do anything. It’s my dream.”
The young man shook his head. “You’re not dreaming. You’ve missed your chance.”
“The only one in a hundred years?” James snorted.
“Yes. You’ll be forced to wander the shores of the Acheron.”
“You know, of all the dreams I could have had during the operation, this one is downright strange. I hope I get a good laugh when I tell it over beers.”
“I’m sorry.” The man frowned and his voice softened. “An operation, is that how you died?”
“Died? I’m not dead.” He couldn’t be, or else his heart couldn’t be pounding the way it was. “I was just having my gallbladder taken out. That’s not even serious as far as surgeries go.”
“I’ve been told it’s harder to accept when death comes while you’re unaware.”
“I’m not dead and if you want to get along, that’s going to be the end of it.”
The man hesitated. “Ok.” He gave a twitch of a smile, just enough to let James know he was being humored. “My name is Len. I’ve lived along the shores my whole life.” He stuck out his hand and James shook it, although he was hardly aware he did so. “When we get to an area with other humans I can let you off.”
James laughed, but it sounded nearly hysterical even to his own ears. “You say ‘humans’ almost as though you’re not.”
Len shrugged. “Would it make you feel better if I lied about that too?”
James sat down on the worn quilt on the narrow bed without bothering to ask if it was ok. “Please tell me you have beer here.”
“No. But the humans might.”
“Well there’s that. How long till we get there?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never left the shore before.”
“Figures.”
“I have mead, if that will help,” Len offered.
“Yes, please.” James wondered if it was possible to drink until unconsciousness while already unconscious. It was worth a shot.
I'm going to sleep for six hours and I will be back ;D You guys are all amazingly awesome and I am so grateful for any assistance! Note: It's about two sentences too long.
James’ felt something hard and flat wedged beneath his tongue. He forced his arm up to his mouth, his movements slow and heavy beneath the weight of the anesthesia. It was only after his fingers closed on the source of the warm, wet metallic taste that he remembered he needed to be careful not to pull the IV from his arm. But there was no bite of the needle being wrenched from his vein so maybe that wasn’t the arm it was in. Or maybe it had already been removed.
The object was a silver coin. It bore an inscription that was indecipherable in the dim light of the hospital room. But whatever was on it didn’t matter because it didn’t belong in a postoperative patient’s mouth. James reached for the nurse call button but instead his fingers closed on cold, damp leaves.
James sat up and the haze of anesthesia slipped away. He was not in a hospital room. Leaves and flower petals were spread beneath him. His hospital gown had been replaced with the jeans and grey t-shirt he’d worn earlier in the day. He was sitting on the shoreline under a dark, threatening sky.
He’d been kidnapped. He got to his feet and there was none of the soreness he would expect after surgery. How long had he been unconscious? After looking around to make sure he was still alone he lifted his shirt to look for the four incisions the surgeon had mapped out with a marker.
There was nothing. No scar, just pale unmarked skin. Even the faint pink line where he’d lost his appendix as a child was missing. For a long moment he stared, slowly smoothing his hand across his abdomen. Nothing.
James dropped his shirt and with it went the tension from his shoulders. He knew exactly what this was.
Calmer now, he noticed a trail of petals winding toward the water.
“Ok, Dream, this better lead to someone good-looking and naked. Either that or I get to fly. No left-over, brain-cleaning junk, got that?” James snorted. He began peeling off the leaves and petals that stuck to his clothes as he walked.
The sand was softer than he’d expected. His shoes sunk into it like mud. At the end of the trail he could just make out a pier jutting into the river. As he moved closer he was aware of a figure standing at the end, shrouded in a vast, crimson cloth.
“You’re losing points, Dream,” James said as he stepped onto the slick wooden walkway. “Watch it or you’ll end up ranked below the time you made me spend the night painting my first-grade teacher’s shed.” He could see now that the figure was an old man. He was broad and at least a head taller than James. A white beard rested on his broad chest where it mingled with his long white hair.
It wasn’t until James was within touching distance that he saw that the man’s eyes were wrong. There were no whites, only glistening blacks and reflections that moved like smoke and were of nothing that was present—nothing that ever should exist. James took a step back, prepared to run back to the sludge and sand before this turned into another sort of dream all together.
“Payment,” the man said, his voice a low rumble as he held out his hand.
“For what?” James took another step back.
“Safe passage.”
“Passage…?” James noticed the small boat, bobbing in the water.
“No, thank you. I don’t need to go anywhere.” And definitely not with someone like him.
“This offer will not come again for one hundred years.”
James laughed but it was nervous. “Unusual sales pitch, Buddy. Creative, I’ll give you that.” James pointed beyond the man’s shoulder. “But maybe I’ll see what that guy has to offer.”
The man frowned as he turned to look at the pale, shanty boat drifting through the dark waters. “I am the only one that traverses these waters,” he said, sounding like a professor James had once had that refused to believe anything illogical even with the evidence right before him.
“Apparently not.” James smirked.
The man picked up a massive thing, bone-colored and long, with one end was broad and flat and the other terminating in a sharp and wicked hook. With no apparent fear of being pulled into the water, the man snared the support post on the boat. His powerful muscles bunched visibly beneath the fabric as he dragged the shanty in to the dock.
The door opened and a young man stepped out. His furtive, wide eyes peering out from beneath too much dark hair.
“Charon, please,” the young man said. “I meant no harm.”
“I am the only one that traverses these waters,” the man—or Charon apparently—repeated. Holding the oar steady with one arm he drew a large dagger from his cloak with the other.
It looked like James had reached the point where he was going to have to choose a tour guide. The decision wasn’t hard.
James stomped his foot down on the oar hoping to shake it loose. But what happened was better. Charon just let go.
The boat lurched as it began to move, the young man nearly toppling out of the door frame.
James tried not to think about the swirling waters of fog and death below, as he leapt onto the shanty’s platform.
Charon was screaming something that James was glad he didn’t catch. Trying his best not to stumble from the motion of the boat he stepped inside the door of the shanty.
“I’m James,” he said to the young man’s back where he was staring out the window.
“What have you done?” The young man turned to look at him. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-one or twenty-two. At least five years younger than James.
“Earned myself a free trip I’d say. What with helping you get away from that lunatic and all.”
“But you can’t be here.” He made a gesture that looked vaguely obscene and wasn’t particularly helpful. “You were supposed to cross.”
“I don’t know that I was supposed to do anything. It’s my dream.”
The young man shook his head. “You’re not dreaming. You’ve missed your chance.”
“The only one in a hundred years?” James snorted.
“Yes. You’ll be forced to wander the shores of the Acheron.”
“You know, of all the dreams I could have had during the operation, this one is downright strange. I hope I get a good laugh when I tell it over beers.”
“I’m sorry.” The man frowned and his voice softened. “An operation, is that how you died?”
“Died? I’m not dead.” He couldn’t be, or else his heart couldn’t be pounding the way it was. “I was just having my gallbladder taken out. That’s not even serious as far as surgeries go.”
“I’ve been told it’s harder to accept when death comes while you’re unaware.”
“I’m not dead and if you want to get along, that’s going to be the end of it.”
The man hesitated. “Ok.” He gave a twitch of a smile, just enough to let James know he was being humored. “My name is Len. I’ve lived along the shores my whole life.” He stuck out his hand and James shook it, although he was hardly aware he did so. “When we get to an area with other humans I can let you off.”
James laughed, but it sounded nearly hysterical even to his own ears. “You say ‘humans’ almost as though you’re not.”
Len shrugged. “Would it make you feel better if I lied about that too?”
James sat down on the worn quilt on the narrow bed without bothering to ask if it was ok. “Please tell me you have beer here.”
“No. But the humans might.”
“Well there’s that. How long till we get there?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never left the shore before.”
“Figures.”
“I have mead, if that will help,” Len offered.
“Yes, please.” James wondered if it was possible to drink until unconsciousness while already unconscious. It was worth a shot.
Of all nights for that to happen 
