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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
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 7.

Our “limo” proves to be a funeral car. Olli and I sit in the front, the others, in the back, where usually the coffins are placed.

“Your sun glasses,” Olli says.

I take them and put them on as he starts the engine. He drives through the streets of the city – old gray buildings aligned one after another, so tall seeming to crush you, the viewer, as you are this dot looking up, from their feet, along their endless silhouettes pointing toward the skies.

“I used to have a house in the country,” I hear myself mumbling as in my mind glimpses the image of that small house, among fields that were covered by colorful flowers.

Red poppy, that’s how they were called. There used to be a small wood nearby, and a river, with water icy cold even in the hottest day of the summer.

“I haven’t been much in the country, I’m a city boy,” Olli laughs warmly.

“It was nicer than here,” I state.

“Are you starting to remember things?” He asks, amused.

“Shhh, don’t tell anyone,” I reply and he laughs.

This image crosses my thoughts like a flash – he has a big tattoo on his chest, a target.

I rub my forehead; this heat, all the images, it is too much for me, too much.

“It was stuffed with those papers,” I say out loud.

“What was?” Olli asks.

“My papers!”

“I know that Richard recovered most of them,” he tells me.

“Oh, did he?”

“Uh, huh.”

For a second I’m crossed by the acknowledgement of these new possibilities opening now, that my original writings are somewhere, in a safe place.

“When you come to think that I was only a basket-weaver,” I laugh bitterly.

“No, Till, you were more. And you still are.”

I look at him wondering why is he acting like this, as if he’d venerate me like a fucking god or something.

“No, the papers were,” I whisper.

That’s why they wanted me. That’s what they were after. All my revolt, my hatred and pain spilled on the paper. My thoughts. My soul. Me.

“How come this is our limo?” I ask, trying to change the topic, not to go there.

I feel my heart freezing inside me. I worked so hard to keep myself away from that. Careful, Till, we don’t want to get there.

“I work for that funeral house. So I stole the car. We need transport,” Olli laughs. “Well, I worked, to be correct.”

“Why are you into this?” I want to know.

He is so young, the youngest one from us.

“Well, they took my parents and other members of my family,” he explains patiently.

Probably I asked him a thousand times before about what happened to him, why was he with us.

“Then, I realized I’m a target. Actually they can use us all as target practice. We are so vulnerable in front of them. Also, I want the world to know that they do not scare me. That’s why I even tattooed on myself, for them, the target where to shoot their bullets in me. And, the third, but not the last reason,
because I want to be constantly reminded of what they did to me. So I’ll never forget.”

“Who would forget?” I ask distracted.

“You did,” he replies.

Yes, I did. It was like each day when I was waking up my mind was a blank page, and what was written on it during that day, it would get wiped off during the night.

“Christoph used to say that this was a blessing.”

“What was?” Olli asks.

“That I can’t remember. But, I guess, in a way, he is right.”

Who would want to remember those empty square rooms, sometimes almost completely dark, except that bright light lamp they were putting into my eyes? Who would want to remember the beatings and the abuses? Who would want to remember the way they were questioning me, same things - on and on, for long days in a row?

They wanted to know where I had stashed my writings, with whom was I collaborating for spreading them, who was helping me, and so on. And because I was refusing to tell anything, they were coming up with all these wicked ideas of tortures. Who would want to remember that?
So I locked them all in my mind and I threw away the key.

I look again at Olli. They didn’t get him yet, but his soul is already tainted. He used to be a shy kid, now he is sometimes almost driving us crazy with his constant chatter.

“I think that it’s a blessing to have Christoph by your side,” Olli says without looking at me.

I watch him, wondering if he is making fun of me, or if he is being serious. None of them, but no one, ever commented about what was going on between Christoph and me. I guess in a way it felt as a natural consequence of the way things were going, the fact that he was near me almost all the time, taking care of me and nursing me.

It wasn’t like anyone made a great announcement, but those too-familiar and intimate gestures between us, even if not too obvious, couldn’t go unnoticed. But not one of them said even a single thing about that.

Except Richard, and his hints, his way of teasing Christoph, in a more or less subtle way.

But first, it was the fight!

“He doesn’t even know what world he is living in, and you’re taking advantage of his state! This is sick!” Richard yelled at Christoph, almost jumping to beat him.

Probably they were thinking that I don’t hear what was going on in the other room. Maybe I didn’t, back then, but now those words of an angry Richard who just found out about us resound so loud in my mind. Christoph replied on his calm tone that he wasn’t taking advantage of me, that I knew what I was doing. Christoph hates fights.

“You must be really stupid then,” Richard exploded. “This is rape!”

“No, it’s not, I’m not fucking him or...”

“Argh, I don’t want details! I don’t want details! He was never into men, you fuck!”

“So, this is the real problem,” Christoph groaned. “Well, you bring him a woman, and see if he fucks her! Maybe he was always into men, just that he didn’t want his homophobic friend to know that! He wants it and he likes it.”

“He’s not able to even know what he wants and what he likes!”

“Oh, trust me when I say he does, when it comes about that!”

The others weren’t intervening, except Flake who asked them to fight using a lower voice.

“You know what? If I’m so damaging for him, then I’ll just leave, what about that?” Christoph replied on a provocative tone. Of course no one wanted him to leave. He couldn’t leave the house when I was awake or for too long because there was Hell raising. I would start to look for him all over the house, walk around like mad until I would realize he was gone and then I would get angry. Only Christoph was the one who could really calm me down.

But, I guess, Richard wasn’t the first one to pick on Christoph, because this one was just as bad in his replies. And, again, I think, it was more like they were sparring partners to each other. Richard didn’t mean any harm.

Richard – my childhood friend, whom I helped so much and who helped me so much too, in return. We grew up in the same village. We both went to the big city to pursue our dreams; I returned to my childhood village, he remained there. But he was always coming back to see me.

It was one of those days, when he was at my place; we were outside, because outside, isn’t it?, it’s hard to plant listening devices to spy on people’s conversation. Inside the house, the music was playing very loud, to cover any glimpse of our discussion that might have got picked up. It was already dark outside, we were already at least half drunk on the red wine we were moisturizing our throats with, to be able to continue our conversation.

That is when they appeared, Flake and Paul. Many, many years ago. They were lost in the area, and they just wanted some directions, but Richard and I got them to stay with us and have a drink. Especially since Flake was such a great partner of conversation for me, as I was living isolated in this forgotten by God place, where people’s way of passing the days was working the land, not reading the writings of some hundreds of years ago dead philosopher or poet.

They were both entertainers, Paul more than Flake, with his humor, and his jokes. Back then it was him driving people insane with his constant chatter. That until the Beast felt offended by his jokes and lyrics; it sent its militia after him and they grabbed him. When he was sent back into the world, he was a shadow of the man he used to be. Barely speaking, almost always keeping his head inclined so the scars on his burnt left side of his face would be seen as less as possible. He never told anyone what they exactly did to him, but it wasn’t even needed. Also, no one ever found out what happened to his children and his wife, no one including himself.

Through Paul and Flake, Richard met Christoph. Until then, Richard was the one that was helping me multiplying and spreading around my writings, but he didn’t have the means and the network these guys had. So, when Richard asked them if they could help him with this, they introduced him to Olli. And he started helping us, even though he hadn’t seen me. The same with Christoph. Paul was involved in other things, and Flake, he always stayed away, until now.

Weren’t we supposed to find our ship? This thought crosses my mind like an albatross. Flake was so upset because we couldn’t get to the ship…

“What ship?”

I turn to face him: “Huh?”

“You said something about a ship,” Olli explains.

I sigh and don’t answer. I look outside the windshield – gray buildings aligned one after another along gray roads.

“He said it is all buried in my mind,” I whisper.

And what was buried there used to come and haunt me. Like the narrow dark rooms. The bright electric lights tearing my sight. The cold. The beatings. The pain. And, above all that shattering howl of horror. And I was running away from them, running to hide into the darkness, to surround myself with the black veil of the darkness.

They won’t find me here. And I was going further in the lightless hallway. Hiding from those images. Hiding from all that pain.

“Till? You fell…”

He found me, in the hallway and brought me back into the room I was sharing with Christoph.

“If you got him to sleep with you, at least take care of him properly!” Richard snapped at Christoph.

This time Christoph didn’t comment back as usual, he just helped me lay back on the bed.

“I was sleeping,” he muttered.

“Yeah, sleep, what the fuck do you care?” Richard snapped again.

“You are drunk,” stated Christoph on a plain tone. “You won’t be of much help tomorrow with a hangover.”

Christoph sat in bed and took my upper body in his arms. I closed my eyes pretending to be asleep, while his hand started caressing my head, his fingers playing with my hair.

Richard remained motionless, without saying any word. He was drunk. He was drunk every night.

“Who said that?” Olli’s voice brings me back to the present.

“Said what?”

“That it’s all buried…”

“I don’t remember,” I chuckle, and Olli laughs too.

I was sinking more into the darkness of the hallway until my fingers met something familiar, the sturdiness of the wooden kitchen door. It was always like this, many nights when I was wandering like a ghost through the house, not knowing that I did the same before, not knowing that I will do it again and not remembering about the previous times.

But now, as we roll through the streets glowing in the August sun, now I know. I remember how the door opened, and I was freezing in the threshold, blinded for a few seconds by the sick yellowish electric light. That small room, with walls almost brown from the dirt accumulated in years - that was the kitchen. And there I was to find him, Richard, each time, sitting at the narrow table; a table covered by empty dirty glasses, ashes from his cigs, and bottles of booze, empty or full.

“Hey, Till,” he was to say. “Doing your night round, eh?” He was saying and then having another gulp from his drink and then dragging another smoke from his cig.

I was closing the door behind me, and entering the small kitchen.

~ To Be Continued ~
- 6
- 7
- 8
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KAAMOS (A Tale For Grown-up Kids)