The Onset of Dreams

Hello everyone, this is my first attempt at a fanfic and I'm honestly not sure of my capabilities. I've been wanting to do this for a while and I'm now dipping my toes into the water. For reference, I will signal the beginning and ending of dreams with a small break line "_" or underscore because I don't want to write dreams fully in italics. If anything is confusing or you have better suggestions, I'm open to them in the comments. Okay! I hope you enjoy. Also, I apologize in advance for any errors. I'm doing this by myself.

Dororo's first unusual dream happened at the age of eleven. In the middle of the day, Dororo had traveled to the Biwamaru Books and Things to pass time close to her house while she awaited her mother to come home from work. Biwamaru's bookstore was small and cozy and Dororo had become a frequenting visitor at the onset of 6th grade. After sidling up on one of the old recliners near the back of the store with a book that caught her eye, she read until slowly her eyes drifted and her consciousness faded into a rem state.

I'm selling knock off goods in the marketplace and charming my bystanders with flattering words and convincing details to snag a dime to feed me supper. The villagers slowly gather round as I lay out a silken-like cloth, a vase, and a few other trinkets. I bend towards my spread on the road near the town and present my goods, "Step right up and feast your eyes on these goods straight from the capital!" My enthusiasm is enough to reel in a few shoppers, and I began marketing the silken cloth as material once used by a princess from a distant land.

In the middle of my storytelling, I attract the attention of a cynical bunch of burly men who have confronted me before for my shameless lying and my fake goods. As they approach me my brows furrow in frustration as they have no qualms messing with a young boy...girl. I better run for it, I guess I'll have to set up in the next town over.

The chase is exhilarating and my naïve mind doubts that they can catch up to me as I'm small and swift. I was so wrong. I barely make it to a nearby river before their leader grabs me by the collar and proceeds to hold me up while his goons deliver blow after blow to punish me for my crimes. I'm angry and aching from the onslaught but the men are huge, and I can't physically stop them.

Finally, the leader throws me on the ground, "Get it through your thick skill, we'll kill you if we see you ripping us or anyone else off again."

I can feel the dirt on my face from the landing and my fringe clings to my forehead and sides of my face. I glance up to see a decent sized rock by my left hand. As the man continues to lecture me gruffly, I carefully wrap my hand around the rock and wait until I can hurl it at his ugly face. Secured and ready to fling, I quickly flip around and launch the rock and it hits him square in the forehead. I probably shouldn't have done that. His lackeys descend upon me once more, but this time I'm on the ground and they deliver harsh kicks from both sides. I can feel my teeth scrape my inner cheeks as I'm jostled around roughly from the abuse. Blood splatters from my mouth as they continue, and I pray for them to die slowly.

I'm hurt but not defeated.

I protest loudly, "You guys can go to hell!"

They pause momentarily and I grab another rock and hurl it towards their leader again. This time it hits him in his right eye, and I know I've enraged him further. He yelps in pain and then stomps towards me. Yanking me up by my collar again, he slams my face into the river in an attempt to drown me. My nose burns. My throat is flooded and I'm flailing for oxygen. He yanks my face up by tugging my hair and I realize he has paused because his goons have pulled his attention away from me. I blink painfully as air fills my lungs and the sting of water resonates in my nose and throat. I'm heaving as my ears slowly distinguish their words.

There appears to be a strange man on the bridge above the river. I quickly glance up and I see him. A pleasant warmth spreads through my small frame as I gaze at this young man. A familiarity blooms within the recesses of my mind and I have the urge to call out to this boy with a name I can't produce but sits on the tip of my tongue as if I've said it all my life. His face is that of a porcelain doll, perfect, inhuman, and his long dark hair is gathered in a ponytail with some hair left out framing his face. He is not looking at us, not at all. I'm not sure he can even hear us. He stares out into the distance at something unbeknownst to our eyes. The burly men start freaking out as the young man draws his sword, they argue in disdain about the boy's intentions and whether he will interfere with our conflict.

My eyes follow the attention of the boy to what appears to be a raft floating down the river. The leader holding my head up by my hair becomes apprehensive as he stares out at the river trying to see what the young man or boy sees. All of a sudden, a huge murky blob springs forth from the river and swallows the leader whole. Shock is an understatement. Fear raises the hair on my body, but I don't have time to dwell on my impending death for long as the boy unsheathes his...arm? A blade or sword appears to be imbedded within his right arm and he lunges towards me and throws me behind him as he begins to attack the deadly creature.

I'm impressed to see him run up the bridge and unsheathe his left arm as well and hurl both 'arms' towards me for safety. As he fights the monster, his expression never changes, and his eyes never move. Seeing is not a necessity with the agility and prowess he possesses. He is powerful, unforgiving, attacking with intent and yet I am not scared of him at all. My eyes follow him until the battle is over. As the bridge collapses, he appears before me. I quickly retrieve his arms and hope to end the day with him as my new traveling companion.

No sooner do I give him his arms; he keels over and his face -mask- falls off as flesh and skin generate over his skull.

He shakes in visible pain and I stumble backwards, "Your face! What's happening? Are you even human?"

My words fall from my mouth in disbelief without a filter. His expression afterwards alarms me. He doesn't respond to my questions and when he gets up to carry on with his business, I chase after him.

A Biwamaru employee shakes Dororo awake gently, and she snaps up in her seat. A sheen of sweat hangs above her brows and her expression is dazed.

"I'm sorry for falling asleep" She sighs abashedly.

The employee, a freckled teenager with the name tag Meghan, smiles politely. "It doesn't bother me, but I figured I should wake you as we close in 10 minutes."

This makes Dororo jump out of the recliner with a quick thank you and she dashes out of the store in an attempt to beat her mother home. The Biwamaru bookstore closes at 7:00 during weeknights, and Dororo's mother gets home from work usually 15 minutes after. On bike, it takes Dororo roughly 12 minutes to get home. She slams the brakes on her bike with three minutes to spare and parks it hastily on the side of the house. Her mother will not care if she is late, but Dororo never wants her mom to come home to an empty house. When her dad was laid off five years ago, her parents went through a separation and then a divorce. Her mother loved the man, but he was angry and bitter and too stubborn to make things work.

Dororo and her mom were left to live life on their own and that had made them closer than ever before. Her mother, Ojiya, was a strong woman, but she had not moved on from her father and loneliness was a ghost that seemed to cling to her. Therefore, Dororo tried to be present, to be thoughtful, to support her mother with a warm embrace and companionship.

As Dororo busied herself near the entryway of their house peeking periodically out the window for a sign of Ojiya's car, she experienced a strange sensation. She closed her eyes in an attempt to shake the weird feeling and immediately saw the details of her dream with a vivid hammering of images.

Her selling goods. Her looking like a young boy in a village. Her being beat up by some big and rough looking guys. Her being shoved face first into a river. Her squinting up to see a boy on a bridge. Him. A boy with blades for arms. A boy that grew a face. A boy with long dark beautiful hair and a tantalizing presence. A boyish version of herself chasing after him.

As the images flashed through her mind, she felt the faintest feeling of a sting in her throat and a burn in her nose. There was a phantom ache in her sides, and she was experiencing whiplash at the realization that these feelings extended from the experiences she had in her dream.

Why was she seeing this? Why was the memory of her dream haunting her with a lingering importance? Why did her dream not feel at all like a dream but like a real event that she had lived through? Dororo was consumed in these thoughts when her front door opened, and her mom shuffled inside with a contented sigh to be home.

Well, that's it for my first chapter. I hope it looks promising to some of you guys. I'm not sure about an upload schedule yet. I'll see as the inspiration comes. I am a senior in college, so this is a busy year for me. I will try and juggle my life accordingly.