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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
- 5
- 6
- 7
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 I. The Day The Whole World Went Away
Chapter 6.

Christoph turns around asking Richard: “What happened?”

Richard stops right near the door, as he was about to leave.

“Mama hawk getting nasty again because her baby is iffy,” he mumbles and lights himself a cig.

That’s when I notice the nails on his healthy hand; they are painted with white nail polish.

“Richard?”

“He asked about Flake, again,” explains Richard.

“Shit!”

“Flake!” Richard calls for him.

“What?” I hear from the other room.

“Come here and explain to Till about what you’ll do and why. Again.”

“I got tired of it,” comes the reply from the other room.

“Maybe we should call it all off,” Christoph says, pacing nervously through the room.

“Too late, I already got the car.”

Olli enters the room.

“You can return the car,” sighs Christoph sitting on the bed.

“You mean I knew about Flake, and all this stuff?” I ask.

“Yes,” comes the voice of Flake himself as he gets in the room too. “Look, you guys all went through all the sufferings, the Beast tried to break you, you had been through so much. My life was quiet and comfortable. Well, as comfortable as it can be in this situation, but nobody hunted me down, nobody killed my family.

“Look at you. All of you are scarred, in a way or another. I always had it easy, the education, the job, and the house. I saw all the atrocities happening near me, but I’ve ignored them. I knew what was going on, but I’ve never made a stand. I’ve always played safe, and never took a risk. And you are the lucky ones, because you survived. But what about all those that were killed by this Beast?
Till, you used to say that the only way to make people realize what is happening, the only way for those who were killed to get heard and known is through us. Or something similar, Olli knows your writings by heart.
I do have a conscience, Till, how can I live when others are slaughtered by this demon?”

I struggle with my crippled leg and I stand up. Something like a headache is compressing over my skull.

Suddenly I know it: I used to write. Between those baskets I was weaving for a living, I was writing against the Beast, I was trying to wake people’s consciences up and calling them to fight with the oppressor.

“I want to get dressed, now!” I growl.

This flash that just crossed my mind triggering all this wave of images, sounds, feelings...

They all leave the room, one by one, without a word, except Christoph.

I look straight into his eyes. And he looks back at me.

“You’re not feeling well,” he states and steps toward me, but I wave my hand as if saying: “Stay there!”

“We’re not calling it off,” I reply, instead. “Even if I don’t agree for him to get killed.”

Christoph picks the clothes and gets near me to help me dress. I feel like there’s this iron circle compressing my head, while my mind is flooded by all these images. At least they are coherent, not like all those horrid and painful images that were playing in my head when I was having the seizures. I didn’t know what they meant, but I was so scared and so angry, in the same time, that I was literally fighting with those that damaged me. I was hitting them, not realizing that in fact I was punching, in most of the cases, Christoph’s face and kicking his body, as he was trying to calm me down. And, again, usually, Richard was the one helping him to deal with me, but Christoph was the one ending up with swollen lips, bruises and blackened eyes.

The next day I was looking at him wondering what happened. And he would smile and tell me that some punks picked on him on the street. It worked every time, because, isn’t it, by the next time this happened again, I would have forgotten about the previous occurrences of this sort.
One time, though, since there wasn’t anyone to help him deal with this raging bull I turned into, for the few minutes as the seizure would last, he didn’t have any other solution except to squeeze me in his arms, in a tight embrace, and, as I was shouting louder and louder, he tried to silence me with his own mouth, with a kiss. For the first time he really managed to beat it, this state I was brought into, because I calmed down, and answered to his kiss and his touches.

That’s how they got him – he committed the crime of having other preferences than the “normal” people. They didn’t have any real proofs that he was running an entire illegal network, so they picked on his sexual preferences to hold him for few years and try to squeeze any information they could. He wasn’t the head of that network, but an important part of it. Anything that was rated as illegal and undesirable by the regime one could find through this network. They would make connection with the outside world; they would spread around dangerous stuff like my writings, things that one could get arrested for only keeping it into their house.

Now he is crouched at my feet, tying my shoelaces, an operation that I can’t do with these wires holding my leg. I start buttoning my shirt.

“You know what they did to him, among other things?” Richard told me once, in again one of those moments when he was telling me things meant to not be heard by anyone else. “They put this huge guy with him in his cell, who fucked the shit out of him. But one day, he offered to suck him, and since that day, that huge fellow can’t use his prick except for peeing.” Richard was extremely amused by this. The things people tell when they think you can’t hear them. I bet they thought that Christoph would give in easily, like the pansy he is, right? Well, I guess they were wrong.

Once finished, he stands up, hesitating in front of me for few seconds. I can read pre-occupation on his face, his eyebrows a bit furrowed; with that eye and his new haircut he looks ferocious.

“Hey,” I whisper, catching his attention. “You’re so good with me,” I say, and the corner of his mouth starts rising a bit, into a smile. It looks a bit unnatural on him now, but I like him better this way.

I stretch my neck and place a soft kiss on his thin lips. His smile grows wider, and then he responds to my kiss. We detach from the kiss and remain still, my forehead resting against his.

“Let us die holding hands…” he whispers.

That song he used to sing to me, to calm me down from my seizures. Our song, as he called it.

Did those years of hard labor in prison make him that strong and that patient? Every day, answering the same questions from me, explaining each time to me who I was, who he was, who the others were, every day putting up with this senseless and insane routine.

“I think we shouldn’t make the others wait too long,” he says, and starts helping me with my bowtie. Then he helps me with the coat.

Should I tell him I’m starting to remember, or I shouldn’t give him vain hopes? In the last months I started to get more connected with the reality, I was able to think logical and coherent, but that was only for the respective day. The next day, all started from the very beginning – I had to be told about all those things I was explained the previous day.

“Your cane,” Christoph says giving me the walking stick; a nice piece actually, with a silver dead man’s skull on the top, something to fit more Richard’s taste for drama.

Then, he stops in front of me to look at me for a few seconds.

“We should go,” I tell him and he nods, agreeing.

He opens the door and we get out of the room. He walks slowly waiting for me, until we enter a larger room. The others are there, drinking and smoking; I see guns; and a big rounded thing, a bomb.

“Is everything set up, gentlemen?” Richard asks.

Some say “yes”, others nod.

Then he turns at me, like asking my approval. I nod as in: “Go ahead!” A ferocious, and full of hatred, grin rises on his face.

“Let’s go!”

~ To Be Continued ~
- 5
- 6
- 7
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KAAMOS (A Tale For Grown-up Kids)