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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.

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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 22.

“And for how long has he been like this?” I ask, uncovering my face. I rise on my elbows as Richard, with one jump, gets on my other side and lays down near me.

“Who knows,” he says. “I’ve lost count of the years. Must be few good hundreds years since I’m here…”

Richard becomes serious and he looks at me as if he’s thinking intensely. For a while there’s only the violins, the wind chimes, the birds and all the other millions of sounds made by the machines and devices in this place.

“Aren’t you bored already?” I ask Richard and he shakes his head. Then he sighs and shrugs.

“Once in here, no one can escape,” he explains and jumps on his feet.

I rise on this sofa and look at him as he stands in front of me.

“How come?” I am getting worried.

“Everything in this room belongs to him. This room belongs to him. All the other rooms are his, also. Everything here is his. He brought them here.”

“How?”

Richard shakes his head again and jumps to sit on the arm of the sofa.

“They just appear here. Some get in through different gates and doors, but it’s him that brings them here.”

Suddenly I don’t like this anymore. I sigh and prop my elbows on my knees as I rest my face on my palms. I don’t even look when I feel Richard getting of the arm of the sofa and crouching at my feet again.

“Oh, shit!” I sigh, and allow Richard’s fingers to caress my swollen feet and sore flesh.

“Sometimes it’s fun, though,” he continues, as his touches seem to soothe the pain in my feet. “Sometimes he brings really interesting stuff. One day these gates opened and these huge white limos came in. And from the cars, out came these really fat guys, which had these really slim and fit assistants.”

I look again at Richard through my fingers.

“Women-assistants,” Richard adds throwing me this full-of-significance glance. “Barely legal age,” he adds, then he returns at caressing my aching feet. I watch his hands; it’s as if he’s working magic, because under his touches the wounds close and the bruises disappear.

“And?” I become curious.

“And… it was fun. They sang. They were funny.”

“Where are they now?”

“In some of the chambers,” Richard shrugs. “When he gets bored with things, he leaves them in some chamber and then forgets about it.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“He didn’t throw you yet?”

“I didn’t say we’re not allowed out of our chambers. Anyone and anything can wander wherever they want, in here. It’s just that no one can leave it. Ever.”

I rub my forehead. This is fucked!

“So, I’m just another oddity in this freak show,” I grumble and recline again on my back on the sofa. The soft fabrics of silk and velvet caress my skin, inviting me to close my eyes and escape into oblivion.

Richard’s fingers leave my feet again, and again I feel the sofa shaking under his weight as he jumps on it again, to sit on his knees near me.

“And what am I suppose to do now?” I ask as I’m looking up into his blue eyes.

“What do you want to do?” He asks me back.

I look at him in silence. I don’t know. I really don’t know. I’m just so tired and sore. I cross my arms under my head.

“I’d like to sleep, actually,” I whisper and close my eyes.

“Then take a nap, I’ll be just here.”

“Sleep just like that?” I ask opening my eyes and look at his face wearing all that heavy make-up.

“What do you want? A fucking lullaby?”

I start laughing again, quietly and I roll on my side. I sense him jumping again on the sofa, and then I feel his hands on my shoulders, massaging my back. His touches seem to hypnotize me, making me slip into this warm and soothing half sleep, half awake state.

“Doesn’t he have any friends?” I mumble, just as I’m nearly sinking into sleep.

“Dunno. I guess he has, but they all go away, eventually. They die, while he still continues to live.”

“It figures,” I whisper.

For few minutes I only enjoy the massage and the music. Then I gather my courage and dare to ask.

“Richard, did you hear that story about the Beast that took the Sun and hid it and then six guys went on a ship to find the Dragon, fight it and get back the Sun?”

His hands remain still on my back.

“What?” I mumble with my face resting on my arm.

“How do you know my name?”

“Does it matter?”

He doesn’t reply, only his hands continue their work on my back. He must be feeling lonely here, trapped in this place, among all these lunatics. He must feel so happy seeing another human, someone that is paying attention to him, for a change.

“We are each prisoners of our own hells,” he starts talking suddenly. “While you bounce from one place to another, the rest of us are bounced from one place to another too, that’s why we rarely meet. We have to stick together, if we want to get that monster,” he tells me on a low tone, barely audible as his hands caress along my spine. “I’m surprised you realized who I was, for a change.” Richard adds whispering. “But don’t worry, it happens to all of us. We have to be together. Here,” he concludes and pats my shoulder gently. “Turn the page now.”

As if they were commanded by an outside will, my eyelids fall heavy, shutting me into dark. The last I hear is the lulling clinging sounds of wind chimes, and melancholic violin music as played by beautiful women.

*

That cold splash over my whole body, soaking me wet – I sensed it coming just a split of a second before it actually happened. That was what woke me up.

Ugh, the smell of gasoline!

I look in front of me, but I can’t see much, as it seems I have my face covered by a mask, narrowing my vision. Next, I realize that I’m standing, while my hands are painfully trapped above my head. I’m tied, my wrists and my ankles. And my arms, my legs, my whole body is sore. What the fuck?

This face covered by an ivory colored mask leans over me, getting in my sight.

“Good morning, princess!”

“Fuck off!” I growl and I struggle, but with no result except making those around me burst into laughter. I can’t see them, but I sense that they are more than one and, judging by their voices, all men.

“So, will you tell us where it’s hiding?” Comes this other voice, husky yet a bit too affected. Why do I have the sensation that it is so familiar to me?

“He got here,” I hear another guy announcing. Who’s here? And why do I feel like I know that one too?

“Ok, let’s give him one hell of a welcome, then,” decides this deep pitched voice.

I see this other masked man, with long blond hair; I feel his hand as he's sticking a piece of duct tape over my mouth. I guess they fear I might spoil their surprise welcoming for whoever is arriving.

I'm left alone in what seems to be a room in some sort of wooden shack. An empty room, or at least there isn't any furniture in my sight. I struggle a bit with the ties, pulling my hands downward, but the ties are strong. I struggle, but when I have this image of a human worm wriggling, I stop. I remain motionless, listening to what's going on in what I assume to be the other room. Voices of men, greeting and talking and laughing. And, damn if they don't all sound so very familiar to me.

I could swear that...

I jerk my hands again. And, as if I'm waking up just then, I realize that everything around me stinks heavily of gasoline. I am soaked in gasoline. If anything, if anything...

I twitch violently, I wriggle my ankles, I pull my hands – it's all in vain. I stop again, as I hear them approaching.

“That's him?”

I twist my head to see who's talking, but I can't because the silhouettes of the other men, all masked, are blocking my view.

“We should hurry,” says the deep-pitched voice making me shiver. I could swear that...

“We couldn't find out anything...”

“Fuck him! Let's finish him and get the hell outta here. This place is creeping me out!”

They all stand at the entrance, forming some sort of circle, as they talk to each other and pass from one to the other a bottle of booze.

“Ok, let's get him ready,” and one of them, the shortest of them, leaves for a bit to return with two canisters of plastic.

“Fuck! NO!”

But from my mouth escapes only these long and desperate moans and groans. I wriggle my whole body, feeling the dull pain along my arms numbed by staying like that, upward, above my head.

What the fuck did I do to them?

No one is paying attention to me though. The shortest guy and the one with long blond hair grab each of the canisters and start pouring gasoline everywhere in the room, on the old wooden walls and splashing me from time to time too.

“We should do the other room, too,” says one of the others, differentiated by his black spiky hair.

They are all wearing black suit pants and white shirts, while on their faces they wear those masks that cover their foreheads, eyes, cheeks and nose, revealing only their mouths and chins.

The two that poured the gasoline throw the canisters in the room where I am.

“Just this room is enough. When the fire gets to the next one, they will explode.”

“What about the car?”

“What about it?”

“Well, shouldn't we take care of it too?”

A few minutes of silence crawl by slowly. It's hot, the gasoline vapors are making me choke, my whole body is numb yet aching in the same time. What the fuck did I do to them? Who are they and why do they all seem so familiar to me?

A repeated click.

“Don't light a cig in here you moron!” - the deep pitched voice.

“Well, stop scratching your ass Till, and let's get fucking going!”

Till? I am Till! I am here, you fucks! What the fuck?

“Schneider is ready!”

“Ok, let's go for it.”

I don't know who's who anymore. I can barely see those black shadows, in the threshold of what might be a door. I can't hear them either, my heart pounding insanely, my huffing breath deafening me. This fucking smell making me about to faint.

What the fuck did I do to you, you fucks?

I twist and I groan, but no one seems to be impressed.

Who the fuck are you?

That repeated clicking sound.

Let me go!

The sound of the others' steps fading in the distance.

Why this? What did I do?

The flame, the cigarette lighter falling on the floor made of old and dry wood, now soaked in gasoline.

For fuck's sake, turn the page! Now, the page! Please! The damn page!

~ To Be Continued ~
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- 22
- 23
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KAAMOS (A Tale For Grown-up Kids)