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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.

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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. (Means it's all a fantasy.)
Betas: Ketene & Hannelore_K

KAAMOS (A Tale For Grown-up Kids) - Part I. The Day The Whole World Went Away
Chapter 3.

“Daddy, will you read me a story?”

“Nele?”

“What?”

The girl shrugs.

“You're a teenager... It's not like the...”

“Do you think that only little children like stories, dad?”

Hm, she has a point. Yet, this is making me feel embarrassed. She's almost a woman, she's...
But she still is a child, someone's child, my child. So, guess I'm still on the other side, the adults' side, as far as she's concerned. I'm supposed to be the one that knows better, the one able to carry on all the battles for her.

Why, then, is everything around me, including this book I'm holding in my lap, growing bigger, bigger than myself? And this old book with a thick black cover and pages rusted with time is pressing painfully on my legs. Everything is now too heavy for me to hold, to endure.

“C'mon, read for me!” She says, looking at me with crystal pure eyes, my eyes. “Please,” she adds with a whisper.

I sigh and make the effort to open the huge book. How did it get in my hands anyway?

I turn the cover to the first page and a huge picture, a picture of an old painting, welcomes me. And such a weird painting. At first it looks like a Flemish School painting, more like “The Syndics of the Clothmakers' Guild”. Six men - two men sitting on chairs, two standing between the chairs, a fifth one standing behind one of the sat men's chair and the sixth, near a wall, behind the other one sitting. But when I take a closer look, I see that the characters resemble more Breugel's style than Rembrandt’s, and their clothing is definitely not seventeenth century style. The six men in this painting wear more like eighteenth century clothing; their white faces have scary dark makeup. One of those sitting is actually on an electric chair, as the one between him and the wall is pulling down the lever for the execution to start. One of those standing between the chairs is holding a horn; while the other, if I look carefully, seems to be hanging by the neck.
This doesn't look like a book of fairy-tales for children.

I turn this page fast, not wanting to let my little girl see such atrocities. But this next page is... blank, empty, pure, and untouched by print. Must be some mistake.

So, I turn it. The third page – yellowish, old paper, but still empty. And so is the fourth.

“I can't read from this book, there's nothing written here!” I say, surprised, but happy that now I have the perfect excuse for not reading kiddies stories to my teenage daughter.

“Well, first a story has to be invented and told, so it can be written later,” my teenage daughter explains to me like to her five year old little brother.

“Hm!” I emit, trying not to get angry for being patronized by my own child.

Now she's asking for too much from me, I have to come up with a story for her.

“Please, dad, the story...” She is losing her patience.

Well, damn, I have no idea. I'm too old to even remember the fairy-tales I was told in my childhood!

“Daddy?”

“Oh, all right,” I sigh, my mind searching for an idea for a story.

I can't disappoint my own child, I can't show her that I'm not that perfect daddy she thinks I'd be.
She smiles; she reclines lower on her side, placing her palms under her temple, looking at me with big eyes, like her eyes would be another pair of ears ready to sip each and every word from my lips.
So, I better start this story I'm struggling so hard to come up with.

“Well, there was...”

“No,” she interrupts me. “It's with once upon a time...”

I stare at her for a bit, motionless; I exhale loudly, and then turn my glare over the blank page of this book I'm holding.

“Good then,” I mutter. “Once upon a time there was...”

I freeze, stunned.

“What?” she whispers.

My hands are shaking and I'm about to drop the book as my eyes follow these letters starting to appear, one by one, like they'd be written by an invisible hand on the page I'm staring at.

The girl lifts her head to take a glimpse at what seems to amaze me that much.

“It writes, ‘Once upon a time there was...’” I mumble like dumbstruck.

“Yeah, because you started to tell the story,” she explains like it would be the most natural thing happening. Then she lays her head back on her palms, her face propped against my shoulder.

“This is getting weirder with each second,” I mutter under my breath.

“What?”

“Nothing... Where were we?”

“Once upon a time...” she says, smiling, throwing me one of those expecting glances of hers.

“Right... So, it was in this land so far, far away...”

“Where?”

“Uhm... in the North.” I reply absent mindedly, focusing, amused by now, on the letters in black ink, in an old style, appearing one by one as I'm pronouncing them.

“People were living happy lives,” I continue. “They weren't too rich, they had to work hard for what they had, but there was peace, and they were good hearted men and women, helping each other and just being happy...

“But, then, one day, this mean dragon, jealous of their happiness, came along to their land in the North. And this Beast stole the Sun. So, the whole place was now left in darkness. It got so cold that everything was covered in ice and snow, trees lost their leaves, the fields once full of crops...”

“Like an atomic winter?”

I twist my head and look at her breathless. Kids today!

I shake my head slowly, in disbelief, and turn back to my book.

“Yes, like during an atomic winter,” I mutter, a bit annoyed.

“So, what did the people do?”

I sigh loudly:

“They… Many tried to fight the dragon and to get the Sun back on the firmament. But they all failed. And many knights and warriors came from their own countries, to that land, to fight the dragon, also, but they were defeated, one after another by that horrible Beast.”

“Killed?”

“Most of them, yes! So, soon, on that island, where the dragon was hiding with the Sun too, all the ground was covered by human bones; weapons were rusting between the fleshless remains of those that used to handle them, spears, bows, and so on… Ships, mighty battle vessels, drakkars, were rotting and sinking along the abrupt and icy shores of that piece of land lost in the ocean.”

The girl brings her body closer to me, like she’s horrified by those images depicted by my words, and now she’s asking for her father to protect her against them.

“So,” I go on, “one day, these six knights…”

“Troubadours,” she adds.

I stop talking for a bit to look at the letters, my own words, as they are getting written on the page, and now they are reaching the bottom of the paper.

“They thought they should try their luck too, to rescue the Sun from that dragon. So, they all embarked on a ship and started sailing up North. They sailed through the cold and covered with ice waters, until they reached the island where the dragon was.”

“Daddy?!”

“What?”

“You’re rushing up the story.”

I look at her, irritated. I do have better things to do, you know, little girl! Adult’s stuff!

“Aren’t they supposed to get through adventures on their way to that island? To test their bravery and to prove that they are the ones able to carry on this job? To fight evil creatures, to get caught in very dangerous situations and so on?” She lectures me.

“Hmm.”

Now I need a cig. Badly!

“Besides,” she continues. “You have to turn the page, this one is all written.”

I frown, crook my lips and then sigh.

What a father wouldn’t do for his child…

So, I put my finger over the narrow sharp edge of the paper, slide it under its thinness and begin to slowly turn the page…

*

“It’s time,” I hear near my ear.

Huh?

I open my eyes and realize how hot it is. How early in the morning it is. A bright, and almost blinding sunny day. I smell fresh coffee, and I hear voices, human voices - men. And a radio or something yapping on a crooked voice somewhere in another room. I ’m in bed, laid on my abdomen, with my arms under me, and my face buried in the pillow.

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