This chapter is short only because the next it was originally so very long and as I was editing it ended up getting longer. So for my sanity's sake I have decided to split it up making this the proper length for this chapter.
Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time
Chapter 6; Of Dreams and Rings
Storybrooke, Maine
Dreams, his were fleeting as he lied in that moment between being asleep and awake and although his dreams were nothing but fantasies brought on by his subconscious mind, they seem very real. Except for those few moments when they were. Then, they became nightmares. A face it stands there unclear and hidden beneath a distorted fog and so does the voice. Though one thing was certain, that the voice was cruel and it belonged to a woman. Red hands cupped August's chin as she stroked his neck before whispering into his ears "no one is coming to find you because your unwanted, unloved, and above all a mistake." Then there was the burning of his flesh as she sears the letters of his name against his heart so that he can never forget it no matter how many aliases he may use to cover it up. The scene changed and August screamed in pain as over and over, silver whips descended upon his back splattering the once grey floor and wall with bright red dots. The sound of growls, screams, of teeth, and claws echoed in the background admits what sounded like a cannon being fired off, as August's hurled forth once again from the world of slumber, dreams, and nightmares into that of the living.
August opened his eyes to find it was still dark outside and the clock on the nightstand displaying the time as 12:00pm flashed up above him. The word up and not across would be a sufficient descriptive word in that the writer was no longer lying in his bed but on the floor tangled in his bedspreads. The sound of a cannon going off was the thud August had made as he tumbled out of his bed taking his covers with him. Because when one has a nightmare in the middle of the night staying in the bed is usually the least of their concern. Despite all the sheets being ripped off the mattress the two pillows, by some feet had managed to not land on the floor with him.
Beads of sweat coated his hair leaving it matted in several places and the socks he forgot to remove last night felt like glue against his feet. He knows that the Sandman was far from returning for the rest of the night and so he takes to the mahogany desk that his room offers. It is under the light of the moon that pours in through the opened window and the glow of a desk lamp that he takes a pencil to paper, the hand of a writer and artist marred by the small callous along the ring finger of his left hand making lines of different length, shade, and texture as they bring an image to life. The clock meanwhile ticks on. By mornings first light the sun's rays found August passed out at the deck the image of a woman in red with no face drawn on the piece of paper laying beneath his head. It was this woman who has haunted his dreams for years as she silently whispered 'off with their heads'.
August's awakens to the sound of a woodpecker hammering away at the bark of a tree as it openly mocks his attempt to sleep in late. A matter that wasn't helped by last's nights restless sleep filled with hazy memories of his haunting past, which had only gotten worse now that he was back in Storybrooke.
August yawns taking stock of himself as he noticed his odder was like that of a wet dog. Taking a quick shower to remove the sweat and grime of last night, August left the bathroom 15 minutes later with a fluffy towel wrapped around his waist and another rubbing through his hair. Shaking the last of the water droplets before letting the air do the rest he slaps the damp towel over the end of the desk's chair.
From the wooden drawers he selects his outfit for the day. Slipping into a pair of boxer shorts with a Dalmatian print and a black undershirt over which he puts a dark grey dress shirt with the first button undone and a pair of matching jeans. A round his neck he adds a purple bandana from which the color has all but faded turning it shade of pink, a gift given to him by an old friend, and a necklaces with a platinum chain which holds a cross with a dove on it, and a small pendant with the image of saint Augustus. His boots go on next and his gloves remain temporally on the bedside table over a small brown box with black, red, and white encrusted jewels as he attacks his otherwise messy locks of hair and beard making quick work of them with a brush, comb, razor, and the small mirror in the front of the pocket watch he always wears around his neck. From the jeweled box August removes a mental gryphon with three heads, tails, and pairs of wings each one corresponding with the colors of the jewels that adorn the box. Picking it up August holds it for a moment almost as though he was hesitant to put it on. But practicality wins out in the end as he stroked his right hand over the spine of beast that was no bigger than his thumb. With a wire of its wings the gryphon springs to life blue eyes shimmering as it saunters forward towards August ring finger coming to rest on the platinum band that lied there. In one swift move the gryphon wrapped itself over and around the band obscuring it completely from view as each mouth closed down on the corresponding tail. With one last click the wings dropped into place as the eyes grew dim once more. Finally, he slipped his leather jacket and gloves on completing the look of a bad boy with an air of mystery that the black clothing seemed to invoke as he left his abode behind for what was his first day back to the town where time had once stood still.
To be continued
