Nightmares and Dreamscapes

James gently opens his eyes, he's floating in the ocean, under the surface. His lungs don't burn, and he doesn't feel cold, just a warmth as the rhythm of the waves going overhead cause the silver moonlight break and scatter through the water. Slowly sounds can be heard. First a soft whooshing sound of the movement of the waves above. Then in the distance muffled shouts. The shouts get louder, and all other sounds are are drowned out by a shattering boom. The first one is followed quickly by several more. Behind him the sounds of pain, anguish and people dying bad and ugly deaths, followed by more explosive booms, this time, the silver light is marred by the flashes of red and acrid artificial clouds of black powder from cannons. The sound of cannon balls screaming over head, tearing through the air, and then the hammer blow of a god into the side of the ship, iron hitting wood, thin wood splintering, shattering, more screams. The light overhead, that silvery pure moonlight is washed in red. Blood spreads over the water, covering it as the sounds of screaming are now mixed with the booms of small arms, and the clash of swords, and voices screaming in the lust of battle and blood. More red, the water turning to blood, he's no longer floating in water, but in a sea of crimson. A spike of fear drives itself through his heart, he knows he's not alone. There's no place to stand, he's floating, he flails around, trying to see what's out there, what's in the water with him. In the distance, at the edge of vision, a form moves, massive, sleek, gliding through the crimson sea, a shadow. It moves away and James looses sight of it. The spike of fear grows thorns, panic seizing him, suddenly he needs to breathe, his lungs burning, on fire, turning around he sees it, a massive shark speeding toward him, it's too late, too close, nothing he can do. He feels the impact of the beast and the ripping of the teeth, just before he's torn from the dreaming world into the waking one. Sitting in bed, soaked in sweat, heart racing, and his body hurting from the impact and teeth. His lungs hurt, breath coming ragged from his mouth. The terror and panic slowly subsides, but the sounds of the cannons, and the screaming stay with him for a while yet. No matter what he tries, it doesn't leave.
 
He get's up in frustration, opening the chest in his room and pulling out a bottle. Popping the cork he starts to drink. The smell of strong alcohol, along with vanilla, molasses and spices fills the room. With every swallow the sounds get less and less. When the bottle is three-quarters empty, the last of the voices fades to silence. James puts the cork back on the bottle, and tries to put it back in the chest, but misses and the bottle bounces to the floor, followed quickly by James slumping over out of the bed and onto the wood of the floor. The cold of the room bites into him, and he tries to get up, grab the blanket, anything, but his body is no longer listening, his vision fades and darkness, and sleep finally claims him.