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KAAMOS (A Tale For Grown-up Kids)	By : runningnakedinthepark Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Rammstein Views: 2131 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Rammstein. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 14
- 15
- 16
Title: KAAMOS (A Tale For Grown-up Kids)
Author: Robby a.k.a. Mr Naked
Rating: NC17/AU
Pairing: everyone and then some more
Disclaimer: I was smoking some really good stuff when I came up with this. Betas: Flowers and thank yous go to Hannelore_K & Ketene

KAAMOS (A Tale For Grown-up Kids)
Part II. The Mark Has Been Made
Chapter 15.

First, I feel as if the whole world is shaking with me, then, the poke in the ribs.

“Wake up!” This grumpy voice transcends through the darkness behind my eyelids. “Wake up, or we’re all fucked, Till!”

I open my eyes, slowly, as if afraid of what I might see. But when I look I realize I know this room: small, all covered in bluish white – the cabin on the ship. Near my bed, Flake, but he looks, oh so weird! White painted face, around his eyes – black circles. His lips are black as well.

“We reached the ice, Till,” he tells me, whispering, on a concerned tone, as if he is trying to smother his panic.

I rise on my elbows and look around the small room, as I feel the slight balance of what I suppose to be the ship. Then I look back at him. He leans a bit more above me.

“And what the fuck am I supposed to do?” I ask, whispering too, faking the same concerned tone.

Actually I had no fucking idea what he was talking about. What ice?

“Why the fuck are you coming to me?” I add, still whispering.

Flake straightens his back, his eyes scrutinizing my face.

“You are the chief-butcher here, Till,” he tells me on a calm, yet very grave tone. “You are running the show here. You are taking us to the place where the Dragon hides the Sun.”

“Oh, ok,” I mumble.

“The others are waiting, we should make a plan about navigating through the Ocean with Ice.”

Ok, then, if the others are waiting...

I get off the bed with numbed movements. I feel dizzy and the slight turns of the ship don’t help me either. It’s cold, so cold.

I follow Flake through the narrow and freezing hallways of the ship until we reach a larger room that looks rather like a sitting room. Flake enters first, but I remain startled in the threshold.

The room is barely lit, only its center, where there are four still silhouettes, four guys. Seeing them I hesitate, not knowing whether to freak out or to just burst into laughter. On the left there’s Olli – his face is painted white, making his baldhead glow like a fluorescent skull in the dimly lit room. There are dark circles painted around his eyes; he is wearing one of those 18th century suits of velvet, with white lacey shirts and pants ending under the knee and with white long socks. He is sitting at what resembles a judge’s desk, and his right hand holds a judge’s hammer. Near him there’s Paul, standing, holding a golden horn in his hands. His face is also painted in white and wearing heavy black make-up. His clothes are the same 18th century style. Next to Paul is what I recognize to be an electric chair; Flake is heading toward that chair and sits on it. Near the chair is Christoph, wearing the same black make-up on his white painted face. He’s dressed with one of those white and large shirts, and has spiky hair. But what creeps me is the fact that he is hanging by his neck, by a rope. And on the right, near the wall, I recognize Richard; his face is painted in white and covered with black and blue make-up too. He also wears one of those large white shirts. His face is turned to me, but just as the others, not a muscle moves on it – he stands still near that wall, with his hand on what seems to be the handle to charge the electricity and then discharge it through the electric chair.

Christoph’s body that is dangling slightly as the ship balances through the wave catches my attention. His blue eyes glisten dementedly through the shadowiness of the room.

“Ok, I’m here, what happened?” I dare to ask, struggling with myself to refrain from any other reaction. I have the feeling that I recognize this image.

“We reached the North,” comes what I recognize to be Olli’s voice, even if I haven’t seen his lips moving. He’s not looking at me either; he is rather facing Flake who is sitting on his electric chair. Yep, I know this image, for sure.

“And this is good, right?” I ask, not knowing what to say.

“The ocean is covered by blocks of ice,” comes Paul’s voice. I can’t see his lips moving either.

“We must navigate carefully, that’s why you have to be here.”

“Yes, Richard, but why...?” I start, but this stumble of the ship cuts my words off. The whole room shakes with us all, and we all fall to the floor like pieces of dominos wiped down with a single gesture.
Suddenly, the ship stops. Then – this long metallic moan, as if this iron whale we’re in is fighting the ice block that stopped her from her way. After this grunted lament we hear the waves splashing the exterior walls of the ship.

Paul stands on his feet and runs out of the room, followed by Richard. Then Christoph – God knows how he got down from that rope – rushes out of the room. Olli and Flake run outside too, and I decide I should follow them as well.

As I climb the narrow, elliptical metallic stairs, I remember – it was that picture from Nele’s fairy tales book she asked me to read for her. I used to have a house in the country with walls covered by shelves filled with books. And I was reading to my daughter from some of those books.

I stop on the last step - the strong white light coming from outside suddenly blinds me. We all climb on the deck of the ship; my eyes get accustomed to the light bit by bit and I see our ship that looks rather like a war vessel, in the middle of a white field. As I turn, wherever I look, there’s nothing but this immense surface covered by white ice. But, slowly and with long moans, the ice cracks; lines slim as hair strands, growing slowly wide enough to allow our ship to move forward.

“Do we have any idea where are we heading?” I hear myself asking as I step toward the metallic grid at the edge of the ship’s deck.

“We are going to catch the Dragon, fight it and get the Sun from it,” I hear Richard’s voice near me.

As I am near the edge, I look downward to see all those ice blocks floating around our ship, on the black waters of the ocean.

“Yes, but do we know where it is?” I ask, while looking fascinated at the ice blocks amongst which our ship is making its way with difficulty.

The ship hits another ice block and it shakes, leaning a bit on a side with a groan, but it regains balance and continues its way.

“They say it’s on an island, in the North, that’s all anyone knows about the Dragon’s lair,” Paul intervenes.

“How did the others get there?” I recall that story that I was reading.

Richard and Paul don’t answer as I scrutinize the huge, gray and thick sky above us.

Then, it happens again. The ship hits fully a big ice block with a thud, followed by dull grunts and screeching while the black waters of the ocean stretch out through the crack in the ice like hungry tentacles ready to grab our old ship. Our metallic home moves slowly a bit further, but then bumps again into the tough ice. It groans and trembles, as the ice refuses to break.

“Oh, fuck!” That’s all I can hear, that desperate sigh, followed by that sound as if all the joints and screws on the body of our ship are lamenting together in unison, as the floor inclines on a side, making us all fall again. The ship moves with us, throwing our bodies from one side to the other.

I try to grab a bar, but it’s so cold that it almost burns my palm. As I withdraw my hand in reflex, before realizing what I’m doing, the ship inclines more and I feel myself swept away. All I hear is that shout of “Till!” before I feel that kick in my skull. Everything goes black before my eyes.

*

“Bombs! Down!”

Pushed. Shoved again. Thrown to the ground. My knees hit the asphalt. Pain spreads into my legs. Instinctively I cover my head with my hands.

The whole world shakes and shivers under my chest, under my thighs. Particles fall over my back like a rain. Then the sound, the “bam!” tearing my ears, splitting my brain, shatters my whole being. I figure that this was an immense explosion.

Cadenced barks of machine guns follow the explosion.

Then, silence falls harsh and brutal like the strike of a sword.

I dare to move my hands and lift my head. I can’t see anything through this mist of dust rushing to fill my mouth and my eyes. I blink heavily, I cough and I spit – there’s dust on my tongue and my lips, tasting like a hot powdery poison rushing toward my lungs.

“Phew, that was close!” I hear Christoph’s cheerful tone coming through the mist.

I stand up slowly, with unsure movements; the atmosphere around me is clearing up bit by bit and I start to see. I’m wearing black formal suit pants, just as Christoph, and a white shirt and black leather coat. As I feel an unusual weight on my shoulder, I notice that it’s the strap of a flamethrower I am carrying. Just as Christoph.

Wait a minute! Flamethrower?

Christoph throws me glances from time to time, as he’s dusting off his clothes. His hair is cut very short, military style.

“What was that?” I force my own voice to get through the cotton-like dust deposited into my throat.

“Bombs,” he tells me, calmly, as he’s wiping the dust off his black suit.

“Oh, that,” I mumble while wondering how come we’re wearing suits and shirts on this day, hot like hell. Where is the ship, where’s the frozen ocean, where are the others?

Silence again, only the merciless sun beating down on my face. I raise my hand to my head and pull down my sunglasses. Christoph puts his glasses on too.

I look around for the others, but it is only the two of us, standing in the middle of a street. On both sides are ruins - torn up corpses of what used to be buildings in a town. Bricks, white and gray remains of walls like rotten teeth sticking out of a monstrous mouth.

“Another hot day of August,” I hear Christoph muttering beside me as we start walking on the empty road covered with dust and potholes. I don’t reply, I am just thinking that this is wrong.

I keep turning my head, from left to right, from right to left, looking inside the houses through the ruined walls – scorched green wallpaper with smudges that used to be floral patterns, partial burnt family pictures hanging, pictures of families and people that used to live there.

I’m thinking that it used to be joy and happiness, tears and sadness, voices laughing, talking, singing, love and hatred. Now there’s only the stench of rotting corpses, a smell so heavy that seems to press over any standing thing in the deserted streets, in this dry heat.

Suddenly, my ears pick something, a low and far-off lament. So feeble at first, like a creature making its way shyly toward the hot as a frying pan skies. But with each step we make toward the source of that sinuous sound it is growing stronger, bolder and louder. Someone is playing a violin or a cello, pinching its strings, making them sound joyful and sad in the same time. Then, in the background, the silky voice of another cello or violin. They sound so soft and calm. A third one joins them, an intricate lament – dark and high-pitched tones one after another, until the three voices unite to become stronger and stronger.

What the fuck?

Death and music, the thought crosses my mind.

We keep walking toward the source of the music that coils and rises over the empty and motionless streets, like a vivid and lively playful creature. Jumping, crawling, now bold and daring, next timid and sad.

All three sound very powerful and loud, fast, threatening, growing quicker and quicker.

In a reflex gesture I touch slightly the flamethrower’s barrel, like to reassure myself; I feel Christoph just as tense as he is walking by my side.

At one point I feel this wave crossing under our feet, and the ground quivers under our steps as we hear explosions, but very far away from us.

The music continues, but all in unison, strong and furious like millions of bees chasing an enemy. Then, from the body of the melody, this higher sound detaches, like a violin played by an insane and angry mad man, getting faster and faster.

The raging music is getting louder and firmer, under the killing sun, among stinking corpses of humans and buildings. A weird requiem struggling to overcome the voices of death spreading bombs and spitting fire machine guns.

I take off my sunglasses as we reach the end of our street. In the middle of a round piazza, between fallen pieces of columns, glass and twisted iron bars, I spot three silhouettes sat on three chairs; three men holding between their knees the varnished wooden bodies of cellos. The three men seem to not have noticed us, as they continue to play their cellos with passion, furiously.

We stop in front of the odd trio; Christoph is taking off his sunglasses too, his face becomes grave, wearing a mien of respect.

The melody becomes slower, more tempered, and one by one the cellos get quiet, leaving the tune with a sad ending note.

~ To Be Continued ~
- 14
- 15
- 16
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KAAMOS (A Tale For Grown-up Kids)