Sorcerer Hunters Fan Fiction ❯ Concerto di Tempo: Déjà Vu ❯ Preludio alla Memoria ( Prologue )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Disclaimer: Oh boy, to own Bakuretsu Hunters would be like Burger King…*my* way baby! Ah sadly I do not own this series, it belongs to it’s respective creator/s which I am not, I make no profit from this.

Authors Notes: The idea for this story has been floating around in my head for a while now, I just haven’t had the inclination to put it onto electronic paper. It’s going to be a slow process, just to warn you, because this is a very abrupt story and I have other projects. I needed a break from the overload so I shall try my hand at this.



It’s another one of those recurring dreams, or nightmares, I’ve had it, this same one in fact ever since I was growing up, but I can only remember the more horrific points. To me anyway, standing on the threshold as what I love slips away like ice scattering from a spoon and you’re holding on to no avail, is something I’ve always an illogical fear of.

The dream is of death and one by one four figures are skewered, heads on a pike rising to the skies. It’s like a sharp pain knifes through me at the ascent of the first, I don’t know this person but it hurts like a fucking bitch even in my restless sleep. It’s a boy, beautiful boy, I knew he was young, but he looked so much more than what he was…just a kid…no more than sixteen. How’d I know? I just do, he’s sixteen and that’s all there is to it, I try not to dispute with myself over it too much.

So why do I feel this much pain, it’s just a dream right? I know I’m an onlooker, one of ‘them,’ though I don’t understand my role yet. I digress, I tend to get sidetracked. So I blink and then this beautiful youth shoots up into the air, a jagged piece of…I don’t know what it was, but it jutted straight up from the ground and took the boy with him. It’s at this point I can feel myself go unconsciously numb, as I watch him ripped through the middle I know there was something surging within me, unfiltered rage, a maniac desire to kill…and yet at the same time I was grateful that his death had been an easy passing. The beautiful youth was already gone before the brutal suspension of his body…or perfection. He turns to stone, captured in that pivotal moment-

Now I’m faced with an obstacle, a man, a dark and merciless seeming man with a relentless agenda. I want to kill him, I want to tear him to shreds and I’m confident enough, oh yeah! You took something from me, and I want it back, so give it back you bastard. It feels like something I might have said, I don’t know what I said, though I know words were exchanged. It was like one of those silent black and white films, but without the subtitles, something I would never watch.

Every time I try to get close, however, to touch him, to rip that self-confident, irritating, and hypnotic smile right off of the dark-haired son of a bitch’s face I’m shoved, roughly, away. The next thing I know my chest feels ready to burst…a mirror shatters into a thousand pieces splintering into my skin and each one resembling his face…not the attacker, but the boy. Yeah, that beautiful boy with eyes of the most sympathetic honey, and hair spun from silk and pigmented in the blackest of dyes…and blood. At this point it’s over and I wake up in a cold sweat feeling empty, like I should have gone before him.

When I was younger I would cry over it. I’ve never really become acclimated to the dream, but I no longer wake up with tears in my eyes. I do feel a lancet of pain though, passing, and I’m glad these dreams occur less and less. It’s more like a seasonal PMS now. Sometimes, right after I wake from these suffocating dreams, I can’t help thinking that there has to be a meaning to this perpetual nightmare, that I’m not crazy, that something will happen. I’m ready to face that dark and dusty road, anything to appease the anxiety.

TBC

~Sylverdragonfly

[On a side note this may go from being R to NC17 eventually.]


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