Brynhildr Aria

Chapter One: Pitch-Black Brynhildr

Brynhildr Aria

By Alexandria Francetic

Chapter One: Pitch-Black Brynhildr

Dreaming is a strange thing, isn't it? I mean, think about it. We do it so often that we tend to not even acknowledge it when it happens, never mind understand it fully. We close our eyes, drift off into the clutches of sleep, and in an instant, our minds whisk us off to some faraway land: an imaginary place where anything is possible. Our darkest fears can be realized in the form of a nightmare, and sometimes, we can live out wonderful experiences beyond our wildest imaginations, all within the confines of our own heads.

It's strange to think that while we're in a dream, we usually don't know we're dreaming until it's over. In that moment, the dream is our reality. And reality...perhaps that is the real dream all along. Like the Red King in Alice's Through the Looking Glass. Are you simply an observer, standing by and watching him sleep, or are you yourself a part of his dream, destined to go out like a candle once he wakes up?

My name is Yuki Takanashi. I'm 19 years old. I like to believe I have a normal life. I was born and raised in Tokyo, but I moved to London to study at a prestigious university. After my classes, I pick up my shift as a waitress at a rather unsavory cafe in downtown. Between my studies and work, I probably spend more time sleeping than the average person. So needless to say, I have a lot of dreams.

But one thing that has always intrigued me is this recurring dream that I always have. I'm present in the dream, but merely as a spectator. I'm sitting in this white room, naked, not a scrap of clothing on my body. I'm chained to a wall, and in front of me is a large pane of glass. On the other side of that window is a man with messy brown hair and sharp, cat-like green eyes, clad in an elegant chesnut-colored trenchcoat and suit. He doesn't move, he doesn't talk to me, he doesn't do anything.

All he does is stand there and stare at me, unblinking, like a statue. I'd call out to him, but I don't seem to have a voice. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I can't speak a single word, and neither does he. We just stand still, gazing at each other into oblivion.

I swear I've had this dream at least ten different times, and every time I have it, it becomes more and more vivid, to the point where it feels like I'm actually there, feeling the ice-cold floor beneath my feet and the metal shackles around my wrists. I don't know who this man is or why he's here, looking at me like a pet store display. And he never appears in any other dream except this one.

But even in my situation, I have this unrelenting urge to reach out to him, to touch him. I feel like deep inside, I know him.

And yet, I cannot reach him.

The hollow clang of the Big Ben echoed across the streets of London as I raced through the congested, bustling downtown sprawl, trying to get to the cafe in time for my shift. I'd get chewed out this time for sure if I showed up for work late again for the fourth day in a row.

My entire life felt like such a jumble. Sometimes I didn't even know why I was doing any of this, or why I was even here. I was a stranger in a sea of strangers, in a country I didn't recognize. Nothing seemed real. I felt as though I was living on another planet. I just went through through the motions, living through each day as it came in an empty, hollow existence. Why was I even doing this? What was the point of it all? At that moment, that was when everything became blank.

I stopped and noticed a scruffy, rough-looking blonde man spraying graffiti on a wall. He was disheveled, his clothes torn and ratted. Although he looked young, probably only a year or so older than me, his orange eyes were dark, seeping with a deep blackness like that of a man who had seen terrible things. I wondered why no one had come in to stop his vandalizing yet. Strangely enough, he actually turned to look at me. Our eyes met, and a shiver shot down my spine. He gave me a hard, ice-cold glare, like nothing I had ever seen. He gazed at me as if he were cursing me. What did I do to piss him off so much?