Remix
Copyright© 2007 by Detroitmechworks
Prologue
Time Travel Sex Story: Prologue - James is a bitter tired artist, who suddenly finds that he has been returned to a time before everthing went to hell. The only problem, is that some things have changed. (No Explicit Sex.)
Caution: This Time Travel Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including ft/ft TransGender Time Travel DoOver School
Pain. There was nothing but pain. Fire behind his eyes, leaping forth and cruising down the right side of his face. His eyes could not focus, seeing nothing but light and shadow. Shapes eluded him. A taste of bitter copper and earth swelled in his mouth. Heat, and a light wind that played across the exposed skin on his hands, bringing a cooling evaporation of sweat, or ragged pain to the insides of new wounds.
"Help me..." The words were barely a whisper in James' mouth. The pain seemed to crawl into his lungs, robbing him of the ability to breathe. The fire that had swelled in his head leapt to his voice. Attempting to swallow and clear the disturbance brought a raw, gritty sensation. What's going on, his stunned mind queried. What happening to me?
A voice, clear and unambiguous formed in his eardrums. Unlike the rush of blood and rapid heartbeats that were the only sound that he could comprehend, his mind could hear these words. They cut through the mist obscuring his thoughts, bringing consciousness to that one aspect of his fractured psyche.
"Are you just going to lie there?"
The question was crazy, nonsensical. He couldn't move. The slightest motion brought nothing but pain to every aspect of his senses. Willing his voice to come forth, James tried, desperately, to say some word in response.
It came out as a sob of agony, followed by a whimper.
"Ugh. Pathetic." The voice took on an aspect of reproach, tinged with a faint patina of amusement. "The least that you could do is acknowledge my presence."
James could not reply. The dust he inhaled into his nose forbade any action save a desperate racking cough. That too brought his pain to the fore. He lay there, pressed against the earth as he sprawled. How had he come to this, such pain? He couldn't remember, couldn't remember anything but pain.
He rotated his eyes in the direction he thought the voice had spoken from. The shapes still swam in his sight, seeming the shapes of a dog, of a man, a bird. They were all one and nothing, clouds and starlight points of ether. No sense and no meaning ascribed to any of them. Willing the straining muscles of his arm, he reached, trying to touch. The dirt shifted under his fingers as his hand inched forward. He contacted something, but in his condition he could not tell if it was stone, man, or nothing at all save the raw earth.
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