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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: Flowers and thank yous go to Hannelore_K

KAAMOS (A Tale For Grown-up Kids)
Part III – Just Like You Imagined
Chapter 25.

“The Americans landed on the Moon, it’s always them landing on the Moon, of course we put the American flag,” Paul’s voice explains near me.

I turn toward him, but he is busy looking through a telescope to the Earth.

Richard pokes him in the ribs.

“Give it to me!” Richard fidgets and demands like a spoiled brat.

Flake pushes Richard away from Paul and asks: “What do you see?”

“I see tits!” Paul grins.

“Give it to me, I want to see too!” Richard pushes Flake away to grab the telescope from Paul’s hands.

“Cut it out!” Flake snaps, interfering. “Paul, give it to Richard to take a look too!”

Paul puts the telescope down and looks at me, first, then at Flake, and, in the end at Richard. Then he hands it reluctantly to him.

“Damn flag!” Christoph’s angry voice comes from behind.

Richard grins and snatches the telescope from Paul’s hand. Then he puts it at his right eye and starts looking toward the Earth, a shiny blue gem glowing in the huge blackness of the Space.

“What do you see?” Paul fidgets between us, trying to look over Richard’s shoulder to see through the telescope.

“Rivers,” Richard whispers, absorbed by the sight.

“Stupid fucking flag!”

“Rivers?” Paul repeats.

“Yeah!” Richard replies. “Dark rivers, with bubbles and tasting like caramel.”

“I’ve had it with this fucken thing! They should put up their own stupid flag!”

“Now give it to Till, too,” Flake tells Richard.

But Richard doesn’t obey instantly. I look to my left and notice near us a fifth guy - Olli. But, along with the astronaut suit, he wears sunglasses, and he seems that he isn’t a part of our little world.

“Here!” Richard grumbles, making me take my glance off that guy. “Take a peek!” Richard adds, shoving the telescope in my hands.

“Why is he wearing sunglasses?” I ask, while putting the telescope to my eye to take my “peek”.

“What do you see?” Paul asks me eagerly, instead of answering my question.

I take a look; the Earth seems to get closer and closer to my view, growing bigger at the same time; clouds covering its sky are stepping aside to allow my inquisitive gaze to see what’s going on down there.

“Because if he looks at you without wearing his glasses, you die,” I hear Flake’s explanation, while I’m still looking at the Earth; it resembles a chess table, but its squares are green, blue, yellow, brownish, black or even red. And blue-greenish glittery strings - rivers - cross all these squares.

“He takes his glasses off only for those whose time has come,” Flake continues explaining to me, as, before my eyes, one of those squares on that chessboard starts growing bigger and bigger to reveal this battleground to me.

The place is covered in yellow dust and black smoke; I can even sense the stench of blood and of corpses, rotting under a merciless summer sun. Tanks, guns, planes, small houses collapsing; a mother running with her baby in her arms. A grenade explodes near her; pieces of metal spread around – tiny specks of death hitting the woman’s back.

“What do you see?” Paul pokes me in the ribs.

“War,” I manage to whisper as I’m witnessing, stunned and helpless, how the woman stumbles, falls on her knees, twists her upper body so she won’t collapse over the small child in her arms.

“So, he is some sort of Abadon,” I say, taking the telescope away from my eye, and shaking my head, disgusted, trying to chase away those images I’ve just seen. “The angel of death,” I explain since all the guys around me went quiet and are staring at me. For a split of a second I have this image in the back of my mind – the room with paintings on the wall, tall grass on the floor and this very tall and slender bald man standing there motionless, like a statue holing a huge hay saw.

“No, this is Olli, have you lost your fucking mind?” Paul replies on a very offended tone.

I turn my head toward Olli and I freeze. This time he has the sunglasses off and he is looking straight at me with those eyes resembling two pools of darkest tar.

“Oh, fuck!” I whisper unable to take my glance off him.

“No!” I growl, trying to step back, but I can’t fight it as I feel myself pulled and sucked into that pit of Hell in his irises.

And I’m falling, falling through the darkness like I’m drowning in it. I can’t find anything to grab onto, to stop my body from that endless falling like into a bottomless crevasse. I wave my arms, I stretch my legs, as if I’m swimming, feeling that I’m about to faint again. But no, this is me falling and falling into this abyss.

I must have died already, I keep telling myself, arching my neck in the air and closing my eyes. Fuck, why am I such an idiot? I should have turned that page. The damn page!

But I guess I’m not at the bottom of the page yet, not at the time to turn it.

I stretch out my arms; that’s when I feel it, under my finger tips, the soft touch – feathers. I cling my fingers onto whatever I can manage to grab – under the layer of feathers I feel warm, yet sturdy flesh. Under my palms that flesh is tensing, moving, alive, as if trying to get rid of me, but I clench my hands even harder and don’t let go. The being that I’ve clinged myself onto struggles, but in vain; I pull myself closer to its body. It doesn’t help much, because it seems like the being loses its balance and now we’re both falling, straight down, fast, like a rock through the darkest abyss.

I don’t see anything; I only feel the warmth emanated from the body that seems wrapped in a skin softer than silk. That body is strong, it’s fighting with me, trying to free itself from my grasp; the huge wings covered with feathers wave in a vain attempt to oppose the falling. But my grasp is stronger, I move my hands and clench my fingers onto that being’s wide and strong shoulders. I figure by now that it’s not a bird, that body having rather human features. It also has hands, a pair of hands that cling their fingers onto my arms, squeezing my flesh so painfully, threatening to break my bones. It hurts so bad I let go of the shoulders for a split of a second, but I realize what I’m doing and cling onto that being’s neck and I squeeze my fingers hard too. The flying being grabs my forearms again, squeezing my flesh again to make me let go of its neck, but I clutch my fingers harder onto that throat, in response. And we keep falling, faster and faster, both of us refusing to let go, that being squashing my hands, my fingers strangling that throat. The creature’s body is struggling under mine, shaking, as its hands try to remove my hands, but I squeeze even harder, realizing, panicked, that we’ll smash against the ground soon - in four, three, two…

I sense those hands giving in, that body is only dead weight in my grasp; we collapse with a thud, that body acting like a pillow for me, reducing the impact. I remain still for few seconds, catching my breath, waiting for my heart to slow down its beats. The creature doesn’t move under me at all. I realize that it’s not even breathing.

Oh fuck!

I jump to my feet.

Oh, fuck! It must be dead!

I kneel and stretch out my hand to feel that body. It’s just lying still, motionless.

“You killed an angel!”

I twist my head, alarmed. I freeze, stunned by what I see.

Behind me, afar, I see this large mirror. Right in front of the mirror, along the wall sustaining that mirror, there’s a long slim bar. And, right there, at the bar, there’s this man, this silhouette dressed like and prepared for ballet.

Just what the fuck?

I rise slowly to my feet.

“That was an angel that you made to fall,” the man tells me, as he moves his legs and arms gracefully. Judging by his voice, he must be…

“Flake?” I barely pronounce, forcing myself to swallow this knot in my throat.

The room is dimly lit, but his glasses and long sweaty hair glitter through the darkness. He swivels on the tip of his toes as I look at him, still refusing to believe what I’m seeing.

Suddenly I have this thought – I know this room, it’s the room in which I saw him sitting on that electric chair, with Schneider holding those wires.

No, wait, this is Flake and he’s wearing ballet tights and … I can’t hold it anymore – I burst into this howl of laughter.

“What’s your fucking problem?” Flake snaps at me, as he lifts his skeleton-like arm above his head while he extends one of his legs in front of the other and makes this semi-circular movement.

“You must be joking,” I laugh.

“Look who’s talking, the angel’s killer!” Flake humphs. “Stop pulling my leg!” He growls, as I’m just laughing harder.

“Or what?” I grin.

“I’ll bash the shit out of you!” He throws this very arrogant reply as he makes another dance movement.

“You?” And I laugh even harder.

“Yeah, I’ve trained myself in Karate!”

“Ugh!” I fake fear, mocking him.

“To protect myself when God will come to beat me,” he adds, swiveling again.

“To punish you, you mean,” I say as I attempt to take a step toward him, but in the same instant --

“Argh!” This hideous face explodes from the dark straight at me, like an angry wolf.

“Shit!”

I jump back but I stumble onto the dead body of the angel, and I fall on the floor.

What the…?

I look again toward Flake as I see his silhouette making those swivels, and arm and leg movements. But very near me is this thing, this creature, on all fours, showing his rotten teeth and growling at me. A crust of dry mud covers his face; he is wearing some rags, and around his neck he has this collar – a lead. But under all that, beyond the gestures like of an animal, I recognize him.

“Paul?”

He extends his neck, growling and sniffing me; his mouth is open revealing those horrible teeth.

“Flake, what’s with Paul that he…?”

But I don’t continue my question, as my attention is drawn to another corner of the room. It is as if right in that moment someone turned on another spot from the ceiling – its light carves a yellow circle on the brownish floor, and in this circle lays this incredibly long human body with slim, dry limbs like made of dead tree branches. It’s a man, a bald man, wearing nothing but a diaper, a white diaper, and he seems as if he has been turned through flour, ready to be fried in a pan like a chicken drumstick.

Right then I sense it, it’s a sensation first, then a sound. It’s like a constant humming at the beginning, growing bigger and bigger, and louder, like the howling of the Beast when woken up during the night.

~ To Be Continued ~
- 24
- 25
- 26
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KAAMOS (A Tale For Grown-up Kids)