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Rated: 13+ · Other · Ghost · #973906
Anton's nightmare scene, for comparing and contrasting edited version.
This is an extended scene, which includes a conversation between Anton and his friend Chris. I'm interested in comparing an contrasting the extended scene with the original. I'm also interested in getting opinions about male POV.

Anton remembered the shadows beneath the boat looked like an ink spill in the water. Tenebrous tendrils cajoled darting little fish into the gloom, luring them with the promise of safety from oceanic predators in their midst. The water churned as a school of silver fish swam past him. He watched as they wove in and out of the shifting light, before vanishing into the murky swirling shadow.

It was too easy to lose your senses; your sense of time, your sense of direction, your sense of danger, in the vast body of water. The pageantry of fish amused Anton like few other things.

They were fast moving patches of color, or fragile glints of silver propelled effortlessly through the depth. He lingered just out of the reach of the boats intimidating eclipse and watched until the last twinkle disappeared.

A sudden realization shook him from his reverie. The water was empty . Smaller fish had departed at once, and even large throngs of the silver fish had thinned out. Anton saw something stirring in the gloom. A mackerel. A trout. Hell a Barracuda. He didn’t give a shit what, so long as it was not a-

His mind did not have the chance to dread the
possibility. With all the seeming of a monster, She slid from her hiding place.

There is a misconception about sharks and shark attacks. People believe that JAWS bursts out of the black, mouth open, and swallows it’s victims whole. Death is instantaneous. But the first bite is far more likely to wound than to kill. The mark almost never sees it coming.

Anton saw her for an instant, a single second that
seemed far longer than it should. The doctors said the shark must have been moving very fast, but she didn’t appear to move at all, rather she seemed to float towards him. Anton likened the sound to the start of an engine, but anyone who hasn’t heard the water roaring could possibly imagine what it is like.

Suspended in space, it’s image grew, and Anton
watched it’s eyes. “They won’t ever know the way it smiles,” he thought.

The teeth are so sharp you can’t feel the bite. If it wasn’t for the bump and the red, you wouldn’t know you’d been bitten at all. Anton felt the hard bump before he was engulfed in a cloud of his own blood.

As she clamped her jaws around him, Anton was already being pulled upward. The last sight he recalled was the shark vanishing like a ghost into the open ocean.

The ocean vanished as Anton’s eyes jerked open. He’d felt the pressure on his chest, a tight tearing sensation. It haunted him in the remnants of his nightmare. In his subconscious he loathed the white of the ceiling. It reminded him of the hull of the boat, the belly of the shark, anything and everything that terrified him.

Though it had been 12 years, Anton recalled the attack with excruciating clarity. He had not thought of her in his waking life for quite some time. Only in his dreams did She exist, swimming in and out of his fantasies. In fact, She had become the thing in the corners of his mind; the part that exists in twilight and silence. But She was here now. He sensed Her presence as he scrutinized the translucent shadows on
the white backdrop above him. The scars across his
chest ached fiercely, throbbing with the burning sting of a freshly inflicted wound.

Anton drew himself to his feet and gratefully inhaled the blessed , sweet, stagnant non-liquid air. Each gulp of dry atmosphere put distance between him and his nocturnal predator.
Unwilling, his eyes turned to the window, staring
through the pane of glass at the rolling ocean beyond the beach. Caught in the firm gust, the crests of low waves resembled shards of cracked obsidian churning in a vast and vacant abyss.
Anton detected movement below.

The kitchen was bright and clean, in sharp contrast to the dark and tomblike halls. Warm paper flowers and metallic letters spelling out the words W-E-L-C-O-M-E H-O-M-E clung to the walls, and crumpled heaps of discarded paper lanterns and orange and pink napkins blanketed the counter top. Anton swiped a pile off the center island, clearing a spot wide enough to accommodate a plate.
The island divided the kitchen in the center. Behind him were the cupboards. The plates were organized into neat little stacks. Anton plucked one off the top, trying his best to do it soundlessly. He rolled out the drawer and picked up one of Miriam's smooth gleaming knives. The refrigarator was in his reach.
He tugged the door open, and the light obediently came on.
Kaylie’s cake was untouched on the bottom shelf. The pink icing was just as the bakers had left it, covered with decorative yellow daffodils. Anton plunged the knife into the cake, removing a large rectangular portion, and plopping it squarely on the plate.

The thud that captured Anton’s attention came from the glass double doors across from the kitchen. It was a distinct and definite sound, vibrating the glass in the wooden pane. He was certain he didn’t imagine it, something was out on the beach.
“Who’s there?” Anton asked. He didn’t expect an answer. Anton dropped the plate onto the island. “Who’s there?” he questioned more forcefully than before.

The security lights on the beach were motion activated. They’d been placed there to discourage rouge midnight swimmers, and so far they’d been successful. Yellow light bled across the water for several yards, before dissolving in the tides, but Anton could see no signs of the catalyst.
Anton stepped out onto the small square of cement outside the doors. The night breeze, laden with the smell of salt and blooming flowers, was comforting. It eased the musty, sweltering summer heat that hung with all the density of a storm cloud.

“Hello?…You can’t swim out here, this is private property.” The ocean answered with a swell, and a scream of birds. “Shit!”

The lighted strip of beach was clear, but a line of dark painted a perimeter around the house. Anton moved down the beach, inspecting the surrounding sand. He hung close to the nimbus of light around the water. The beach was clear, despite Anton’s intuition. For a moment he stood and looked out at the water. The man sprung from his hiding spot, tackling Anton from behind.
“Ha ha! Pussy!” Anton tumbled to the sanding taking a mouthful of sand in the process. It took him a second to place the voice.

“Asshole! Get off me!” Anton yelled. He swung his elbow backwards, catching Chris on the jaw. “You scared the shit out of me.” Anton drew himself to his feet. Chris laid impotently on the sand. Anton kicked him once in the knee for spite. He looked at Chris for a moment, watching his bald scrawny frame writhing on the ground.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Anton was annoyed, covered in sand, and in his boxer shorts.

“I’m sorry. I thought Miriam might have went all
“Flowers in the Attic” on you.” Chris gawked at him apologetically.

“Yeah. I got your messages. I couldn’t call you though, my sister came home.” Anton suddenly realized he had no cigarettes. Hell, he didn’t have pockets. Just a thin layer of fabric flapping in the wind. He went through the motions of patting himself down, in search of a box he knew he wouldn’t find.

“Are you sure you’re alright? … You like shit.” Chris giggled. Anton knew it was true.
“Yeah I’m fine. Kaylie is still…” Anton couldn’t find a word that satisfied the image he wanted to convey. They all lingered on the fringes of extreme, the deep water Anton wished to stay miles away from.

“Kaylie is…” Chris plunged his hand into his jacket pocket, fumbling for a smoke. Anton shrugged his shoulders, eyeing the cigarette.
“You need to go. I have to get to sleep. You are so fucking lucky I don’t own a shotgun.” Anton tried his best to offer Chris a parting smile. “I’ll come see you when all this shit blows over.”
“Alright. I parked down the block. I’ll see you around.” Chris gave Anton a hard shove. Anton stumbled backwards several steps. His legs were still asleep. It didn’t matter that Chris shoved, how hard he shoved him, or if he was such an asshole that he didn’t offer him a cigarette.
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