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KAAMOS (A Tale For Grown-up Kids)	By : runningnakedinthepark Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Rammstein Views: 2133 -:- 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
- 20
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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: Ketene & Hannelore_K

KAAMOS (A Tale For Grown-up Kids)
Part II. The Mark Has Been Made
Chapter 21.

The way out is through, the way out is through…

I open my eyes. I sigh, exhausted. I can’t just stand here. So I start walking again. I feel my forehead pulsating, aching. I wasn’t able to even knock myself out.

He said that this isn’t the personal hell, but it’s what I make out of it. It means, it is me making this place to be like this? Does it mean that…?

I stop again. What if…? No, this is stupid. What if I have to make a door if I want out of here? The way out is through, through what?

I lift the torch above my head, inhale and squint my eyes, as if I’m trying to look beyond the small circle of light, like I try to penetrate the darkness with my glare. Nothing.

I should think of a door. A door! A way out!

I freeze, stunned, breathless. Like drawn with light, by an invisible hand, I see the two vertical lines appearing on the wall, merging to meet the horizontal lines, one near the ceiling, one, on the floor. Then, another line appears like from thin air, dividing the square formed on the wall by the previous lines. Just like the words appearing on the book I was reading for Nele!

I step forward, one step, two steps, three steps, until I’m in front of the door, hesitating, not daring to touch it, thinking that this was way too easy. But I gain the courage and stretch out my arm until I feel the coolness of the stone under the tips of my fingers. I don’t have to push, the door swings open slowly, with sounds of crumpled paper, as I freeze like dumbstruck in the threshold.

It’s like someone released a million paradise birds in that instant from their cages – I’m invaded by colors and lights, sounds and images. Perfumes of musk, vanilla, and roses invade my nostrils. Different tones of soft music complete the scene. I don’t even realize when I drop the torch from my hand as I look around this new place. It’s an immense room, filled with semi-transparent veils hanging from the ceiling, in all the colors of the world. There are also carpets, like millions of them, bright colored and with intricate arabesques; couches, sofas and pillows everywhere, fountains pouring water, perfume and wine, golden cages with exotic birds, furs, gems, pearls, flowers of all sorts, old papyrus scrolls, different awkward devices and machineries, maps and toys, modern gadgets and marble statuettes…

“Is this some sort of heaven?”

Something moves through the veils, slowly like a breeze, sneaky. I step in the room, but I’m aware of it only when I hear the stone doors slamming with a huge thud behind me. Then, with the same sounds of crumpled paper, the traces of the doors [disappear] into the white with golden flowers patterned wallpaper.

I spot a big reptile on a bed covered with tens of silk sheets; it just stays there, motionless, ignoring everything around it, as if it were its place there and everyone and everything else were just intruders. It’s an iguana, I think seeing the spikes on its head and neck. I turn. The veils are shivering again, and I catch a glimpse of a feline shape, something like a panther or a puma walking lazily through the room. I remain still, but the huge animal seems to ignore me too.

I start walking through the room, pushing the veils aside; the furs and the texture of the carpets soothing the pain in my feet, a bit. Now I can hear the music more clearly. It’s like in the same place there are different people singing totally different songs, yet sounding great as a whole. And among these, there are the chirpings and chatters of parrots and other birds.

At one point I turn around and I realize I don’t know anymore where I came from, it is as if I got lost among all these treasures. There are small pools, fountains, beds and pillows, valuable stuff, near worthless but shiny objects; on the golden columns of one bed I see this huge, thicker than my thighs snake coiled there. I rush toward the opposite direction – beyond the veil there are two women singing on the lascivious tones of an oriental song and dancing.

“For you it’s only a gambling game,” one of the women sings, as the notes and the body of the song seem to coil around the furniture and objects in the room, just like a serpent. “White cat, black cat,” the other woman completes the first one, and they both smile at me. But I don’t stop, I keep wandering through the place, and as I leave the spot where the women are dancing, their song unites with the sounds of another song, coming from a place not too far. The deep notes of a piano, completed by a violin, and higher notes of another piano, a classic guitar, horns and trumpets…

I push aside another veil and I find myself in what I think is the center of the room. Afar, I see a large balcony, and a bare wall. It looks as if whoever filled this place with all these objects left that part of the room empty. But, beyond it I can see only other fountains and beds, carpets and statues, gems and jewelry, modern machinery and ancient treasures.

Exhausted and frustrated, I let myself slip onto a sofa. Maybe I should go to that balcony and take a look outside; maybe I’ll figure where I am and how to get out of here.

“No one gets out of here once they are brought in,” I hear this man’s voice behind me.

I twist my head to see who it is, but he’s quicker and jumps on the sofa near me.

“How come?” I ask and turn to see him.

Richard! Oh, God, Richard!

I’m so happy to see him I could just grab him and cover his face with kisses!

“It has nothing to do with you,” he adds, as I just look at him, so pleasantly surprised to see him. Finally a friendly face, someone that I know, even if he looks so odd – face covered in white-bluish make-up, dark blue lipstick on the lips and his eyes are surrounded by these thick and weird drawings. He wears a dark blue top hat, blue coat and white shirt, dark pants with lines of silver spikes along the legs and boots with thick heels.

“Why does everyone have to think that it is always about themselves? People take things too personally, always,” he goes on.

But my attention is caught by this new apparition: they are four incredibly beautiful women standing, but it is as if their torsos have mingled forming only one. Not even their heads with long silky red curls are detached completely. They all play violins; they wear these very revealing semi-transparent dresses, with silvery shades. The women have immobile pale faces, and keep on playing this sad and melancholic song, oblivious to everything surrounding them, even to this huge wolf with white thick fur that appears from between some veils, walks to them, sniffs around a bit and then walks to disappear again between the veils.

I shake my head, like trying to wake up. What was he saying? But it’s difficult to take my eyes off those women’s thighs, the way each muscle tenses and relaxes as they play. He said it’s not about me.

“Who’s that all about, then?” I ask and look back at my dear old Richard.

“Him,” he answers pointing upward, to the ceiling.

I look up and then I see him – he’s young, thin, with dark longish hair, and he’s dressed in brown leather pants and jacket. But the odd thing is that he is up there, in the air, as if suspended; he’s on his back, facing the ceiling, one leg crossed over the other, as if he’s relaxing lazily on a sofa while watching some interesting show. His arms are stretched out and his hands move as if he’s pushing some buttons or playing some keys. His whole frame is spinning, not too fast, not too slowly either, but it makes him look weird, like an object put in the window of a store that is turned around for anyone to see it completely.

That’s when I see, like appearing out of thin air, this big device made of circles, right on that empty spot in the room. Near the device materializes this bare chested woman. She remains still, standing near the device as if waiting.

“What’s with him?” I ask watching all of this, stunned, with my mouth opened.

This sudden movement near me, makes me turn my head to Richard as he just jumped on the couch; he’s now standing crouched, with his feet on it.

“He’s on the pursuit of happiness,” Richard announces to me and leaps over my thighs, to sit on my other side on the sofa.

“He seems to have everything,” I reply, drained, looking around again at the jars with hearts still beating inside, at the elephants made of huge pieces of jade and amethyst, with legs of golden wires, at the old typing machines that type by themselves, at the four women sharing one torso as they are playing their violins.

“That’s the problem,” Richard answers quickly, and, just as fast, grabs my head between his palms and plants a kiss on my shaved skull.

“Hey, fuck off!” I growl, annoyed, and touch the place on my head Richard just kissed.

Richard grins and the tip of his red tongue licks slowly, with a lewd motion, the whiteness of his teeth.

“Nothing personal, I’ve just always wanted to kiss a shaved head, and now you came along.”

I grit my teeth, refraining from saying something really rude about kissing heads. Instead, I look at the guy suspended in the air. In his hand appears this bag of chips. He opens it and now he’s just eating as he’s there in the air, spinning around.

Somewhere in the distance, suspended from the ceiling too, I see this old Viking boat. Near a wall there’s this medieval Japanese armor. Tens of wind chimes are hanging from the ceiling everywhere; they are made of bamboo, ceramics, crystals and even metal and they make a music of their own each time this breeze blows from the balcony.

“You’re weird,” I mutter, exhausted. “Everything in here is so weird.”

“That’s why we’re here, me and everything else,” Richard says and jumps from the sofa to the floor, to sit now at my feet.

“Stop talking in riddles,” I make the effort to pronounce the words, and pull my foot, alarmed, surprised by the gentle touch of Richard’s fingers on my skin.

“You’re bruised and bleeding,” he says. “Had a long journey, eh?”

I don’t answer; I only look into his blue eyes that throw these wicked and lascivious glances contrasting with his concerned and gentle tone.

“I’d wash your feet with perfumed oil and, if I’d have long hair, I’d dry them with it,” he says simply, as his fingers start touching gently my feet again.

“Stop that!” I groan, and remove my feet off his hands. “Why isn’t he happy?”

Richard shrugs and stands up.

“Who cares?” He emits this exasperated whisper and sits back near me. “He tried everything – joy and pain; he looked for happiness in richness, in poverty, in love, in hate, in killing, in doing good deeds, in wisdom, in pleasure, in knowledge, in obliviousness, you name it. He gathered everything in his palace, objects and live beings, humans and animals alike, wise men, witches, mentally deranged, astrologers, scientists, philosophers, poets, dancers, musicians, inventors, clowns. He brought all sorts of treasures, gems and fabrics, spices, metals, foods, drinks, machines, devices and gadgets, from the most common to the most awkward oddities of this world,” Richard explains and makes this pointing gesture.

I look again at the guy, as his image fades from the spot where he was spinning in air; he re-appears near the device made of the huge circles. The shirtless woman helps him to position his hands and feet, to tie them on the edge of one of the circle and then she pushes the metallic circle with him, making him spin.

“Doesn’t he get dizzy?” I ask out loud.

I look at Richard who’s sitting at my feet again, his fingers massaging my ankles.

“I guess he bought himself a new toy,” Richard murmurs, paying attention to the torn skin on my feet. Hope he won’t start sucking my toes or something!

“And he still didn’t find happiness?”

“Nope.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“What’s your place in all this?”

“I’m one of these things…”

“A jester?” I ask thinking of the way he jumped around me.

“Nah, no…” Richard keeps massaging my feet in silence for a few good seconds. “Rather like a Mad Hatter,” he says finally.

I lie on my back on the sofa and burst into laughter. Richard’s fingers leave my feet and with one jump he’s on the sofa, by my side, on all fours, looking down at me as I just laugh.

This is too silly. This place, Richard kissing my shaved head, the guy up there, the dark corridor with someone like another personality of mine – I’m tired and sick of everything. I cover my face with my palms and rub the skin.

“Even when I’m talking serious people think I’m joking,” Richard groans upset, making me stop my hands and look at his face through my parted fingers.

I burst again into laughter.

~ To Be Continued ~
- 20
- 21
- 22
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KAAMOS (A Tale For Grown-up Kids)