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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
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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, all this is just a fantasy.
Betas: Ketene & Hannelore_K

KAAMOS (A Tale For Grown-up Kids)
Part I. The Day The Whole World Went Away
Chapter 4.

A pair of lips kisses my bare shoulder. I close my eyes back. Go away, leave me alone!

“Is his morning grouchiness waking up this century?” I hear from a different room, followed by some undistinguishable comments and some laughter.

“He can hear you, you know!” I recognize Christoph’s voice muttering near me. “C’mon Till, we have a big day today, ahead of us,” he pleas and I feel his lips kissing my neck, this time.

I open my eyes again, and turn around slowly, on my back, until my gaze meets his face. I have this sudden movement of backing away from him, but I freeze.

“What the fuck…?”

“…did I do to my hair?” He grins.

“Yes…” I whisper, stunned.

His long curly hair is gone, the sides and the back of his head are shaved now, and, with this short, black Mohawk and his white eye he looks so ruthless, so fierce.

Why?

“Well, at least it’s good that you remember how I looked before,” he mutters and pats my arm. “C’mon big guy, time to get out of bed,” he adds, standing up and trying to get my hands, probably, to help me stand too, but I push his arms away with a brutal gesture.

He hesitates; he looks at me, startled, like my refusal would have hurt his feelings. I look back at him – he’s wearing an impeccable white shirt and black pants.

But I can stand by myself; I don’t need a nanny or a nurse.

“This is absurd!” I mutter moving to the edge of the bed.

The voices, the radio, the sounds of objects moved around, this heat - all irritate me extremely, and more, they make me unable to concentrate.

I push myself, in an attempt to stand, but I fail. Christoph rushes to help me but I push him away.

“Let me the fuck alone!” I growl.

I wish they would all get quiet so I could hear, so I could know…

They’re in you, somewhere in your mind.

The words resound among my thoughts.

Wish I know what that thing out there, that Beast, is doing.

“You never seem to forget how to be grouchy in the mornings,” Christoph sneers. “Guess there’s still hope to recover,” he adds and steps back, crossing his arms over his chest and remains there to look at me and at my attempts to stand up.

“Fuck this leg! Fuck this memory loss!” I curse under my breath as I finally manage to stand.

My right leg feels numb and stiff, like a useless dried branch. I walk over the bathroom door, then I turn to see him, to tell him that… But he’s gone already. I’m alone in this room with walls covered by an ancient wallpaper, turned brown by time, with holes, here and there. The furniture seems just as old and worn out.

I turn back and open the door.

He’s right, I’m thinking, as I get in that room with its walls and floor covered by broken old green tiles, but I can’t control it, this anger. I step in the shower, turn on the tap and listen to the water making those gurgling noises along the old pipes.

But I shouldn’t have been such an ass, I go on with my thoughts, watching the water, brownish with rust at the beginning, then turning clear after a few minutes.

What the fuck did he mean with our big day, our D day? I keep asking myself, as I’m going through all this morning ritual.

Why did he do that to his hair? I ask myself while I’m looking at my face in the mirror.

I’d need some shaving, but I can’t be bothered.

After a while I get out, limping through the bedroom, looking for my cigs. I take one and light it, then walk over to the table. On one of the chairs there is a brand new suit, with white shirt and all. I pick the shirt and look at it, wondering if it is for me or…

“Don’t think it’s a good idea!” This voice makes me twist my head.

There’s Richard, standing in the threshold of the door to that hallway. He is wearing a black suit too, with white shirt, but no tie. His black hair all spiky, his unshaved face giving him the same ruthless allure that Christoph has.

“First you should get your hair done and then dress up,” he says, stepping in the room.

I would ask him what the fuck is he rambling about, but I just give up. I only squint at him, at how he stands there, with that half smoked cig in the corner of his mouth.

“Sit,” he says, approaching me.

I look at him once again; then I notice his left hand, the black leather glove.

“Did the Beast do that to you?” I ask pointing to his hand.

“Yup,” he replies patiently.

Why do I have the feeling that he has answered this question of mine almost every day? And that I’ve been asking the same questions almost daily, I asked Christoph, I asked Richard, I asked…?

“The others are here?” I ask sitting on the other chair near the table.

I notice on the table the scissors, the comb, and the electric razor.

“Yup,” replies Richard, just as undisturbed, getting behind me and placing this towel over my shoulders.

At that point Christoph walks in with my coffee and places it on the table near me.

“What are you going to do to my hair?” I ask Richard, but looking at Christoph as he brings a wooden chair from under the table, sits on it in front of me, and helps me place my damaged right leg on his lap.

Ahhhh, this feels a lot better.

“Your Mohawk, Till,” comes Richard’s answer from behind me, and I feel his hands arranging my hair.

I look at Christoph; he smiles back at me, like he wouldn’t be angry at me at all for telling him off minutes ago. His hands are massaging my aching leg with lank fingers.

“Did I agree with this?” I ask, and I sense Richard’s hands freezing.

Christoph’s facial expression changes into astonishment, and he looks up, at Richard.

“What’s the problem?” - The new voice addresses me.

Flake. He is wearing a black suit with white shirt, too, his black hair is spiky like Richard’s.

“It was your idea,” explains Richard behind me, putting out his cig in the ashtray. “If you don’t want it, I won’t do it.”

I look at Flake, first, then, at Christoph, both nod, confirming that this was my idea.

“God knows what other stupid ideas I’ve come up with and you’re going to apply them,” I sigh.

“Watch out, he is getting his memory back,” comes a chuckle as Olli is entering the room.

Again, black suit, white shirt, but he is wearing a Mohawk, just like Christoph.

Well, after all, isn’t it all buried into my mind, like that guy told me?

“You just don’t remember things, Till. That doesn’t mean that you’re irresponsible,” Flake is trying to calm me down. “It doesn’t make you stupid or something like that,” he adds.

“What are we going to do, today?” I ask Christoph, suddenly, fixing his eyes with my glare.

Everything goes quiet in the room, for few seconds. I spot Paul sneaking in, more silent than a cat. I follow his figure with my glance as he retreats into a corner; he doesn’t want to intervene, he doesn’t want to miss anything, either. He rests his back against one of the walls; he crosses his hands over his chest, and bows his head. That’s when I see them, stretching above his left eyebrow, over his left temple, and down, along his left cheek bone to his jaw – the scars, the testimony of some severe burnings.

Then, the sound of Richard’s lighter as he lights another cig.

“We are going to fight that fucken thing out there,” explains Olli. “We will get its attention. We will get the world’s attention, and make them all listen, for once. We are starting a war.”

“Is that my idea, too?” I ask, still looking only at Christoph.

“Sort of,” Flake answers for him, and then leaves the room.

Christoph’s warm palm lands gently on the skin of my leg.

“We can’t wait anymore, Till. Who knows when you’ll recover?”

I bow my head and look at the steel wires going from my knee to my foot. Something, like a long time forgotten song floats in my mind.

“Red rose,” I find myself whispering. “Deep waters aren’t still…”

“What was that?”

I look again at Christoph.

“Yeah, ok, let’s go with it!” I say, and I incline my head again. I squint my eyes, anticipating those hypnotizing touches. I think that for some reason I am not surprised by anything that has been going on since last night, and that I should be, but I seem not to be able to.

I hear some sighs of relief, and the steps of those leaving the room. Richard starts working back on my hair, as Christoph is caressing and massaging my leg.

“There was this fairy-tale,” I say in a low voice. “About that princess that wounds her finger on a rose thorn.”

“What are you talking about?” Richard asks as he is cutting my hair.

I don’t answer, my eyes being like hypnotized by the movements of Christoph’s hands massaging my leg.

Why is that fairy-tale bothering me so much, like a needle stuck on the back of my head? Who was I telling this story to, almost every night?

“I used to know all these kiddies tales. So many fairy-tales, more than anyone one else.”

“What?”

“What?” I ask, too.

“You were mumbling to yourself,” Richard answers.

“I was thinking. Out loud, I guess.”

“Fair enough.”

Christoph stands up and places my leg on the wooden stool.

I remain silent, staring at the floor; wooden tiles, so old that they turned almost gray.

Richard turns on the shaving machine. Its buzz sounds so soothing and relaxing to me.

They were right. It was my idea!

~ To Be Continued ~
- 3
- 4
- 5
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KAAMOS (A Tale For Grown-up Kids)