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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
- 7
- 8
- 9
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 8.

Richard would give me a cig and I would light it. He usually was sat and had his leg propped on another chair. He would free that chair and push it toward me. And I would take a seat in front of him; he was usually shirtless or wearing one of those white sleeveless things of his; his hair was all messy and spiky, his unshaved face wearing the marks of his sleepless nights. His blue eyes looking even more hypnotic under the effect of the booze.

“Alcoholic asshole!” The others used to yell about him when they got angry with him.

But with me he was always nice, never making any comment. And during those encounters, he would smile a bit embarrassed, and trying to hide in the pocket of his pants that small thinggie he was having in his palm. But I was to look straight at his face and notice those wet streams covering it.

“You are the only one I’m allowing to see me like this,” he was confessing. “Because I know you won’t remember,” he was adding smiling again, embarrassed. “You never do,” he was completing his sentence on a very angry tone.

He would look at me, and see my inquiring glare fixing him, so he would mellow down a bit. He would smile again, his face losing those harsh features; he would stretch his arm toward me, open his palm and allow me to see what he was hiding. A piece of cardboard. A piece of paper, square shaped, wearing the whole reason of his existence – the black, white and gray image of a man – Richard -
standing on the shore of the sea, in a cold day, holding a small girl, about 6-7 years old, as she was embracing him back.

I would look again at him then, at his eyes as he was blinking so fast and cursing the cig smoke. But he would stop and look back at me, for a few seconds, as if asking me: “Would I ever find her?”

I am sorry, Richard, with all my pointless wandering through the worlds inside my demented mind, I don’t know where she is.

“It is as if we ceased to live, to live for ourselves. We are living for others.”

That’s the only thing I remember Paul saying to me. And I guess he was right, we were forced to give up, one by one, our normal lives; we hid all, one by one, in this small place, Flake’s apartment, chrysalides in their pupae. Seeds under the fat dirty ground, but no one can see all those complicated processes going on down there. Only one day, that newborn will emerge, and will burst into the world, loud, flashy, screaming and catching everyone’s attention.
But until then…

“You know I can’t sleep,” Richard whispered, anger pouring through his voice, as he was standing in the middle of the room lit only by the light from the bright moon outside.

No, he couldn’t unless he was dead drunk, and he envied everyone else able to sleep at nights. He told me that, too, because he knew I wouldn’t remember him saying that.

“There’s some sleep medicine on the table,” Christoph grinned, meaning the alcohol bottle.

He lit himself one of my cigs and reclined better with his back against the wall.

Richard was hesitating. But it was Christoph’s style to make such peace offers, to those who he cared about. Richard, though, seemed caught off guard. He was harsh and brutal; he was replied to, harsh and brutal as well. That is how he was used to being since they let him out.

There used to be times when he was the most warm and open guy I have ever known. I guess Paul was right: they pulled out all that was good in him. Without him I wouldn’t have been able to make my writings known. My feeble voice rising against the Beast started to grow louder thanks to him. He was the one finding devices to copy my writings with, in a world in which it is illegal for a civilian to own such devices. He was setting the network for me to spread my writings around and to make them known. The truth, the description of the real face that millions of us were used to ignoring. The tales about those abused, forced into silence…

“He used to be so alert non-stop, if you’d see him,” Richard started, grabbing the bottle from the table and sitting on the bed near us. “He was writing so much, we always had storage problems.”
Keeping such bombs, such materials in the house was of course more than life risking. And even with my house at the country, where we could bury some of them, we still had to get rid of those papers somehow.

“I was telling him to slow down,” continued Richard his story. “He was saying that those killed, abused and humiliated by the Beast couldn’t wait.”

He passed the bottle to Christoph and lit himself a cig.

“Now he’s slowed down for good,” he muttered and reclined on his back on the bed, near Christoph and my body.

I seemed to be his only real friend back then, he was telling me everything; I seemed to be like the older brother he never had. One day he told me – he wanted to escape the kingdom of this hideous Beast; he was preparing to flee. But he wouldn’t leave like that - he made sure that the network working for me, all those people of whom I only knew less than ten, it would keep running smoothly. I could care less, it was saddening me to see him leaving, but I gave him my blessing; he, his daughter and his wife deserved a better life, among the free ones.

He had it all set; the guides, the route, were all thought about and taken care of. But, then he told me that his wife got scared and didn’t want to start this adventure. He thought of taking the child and fleeing anyway.

A few days before the set date, he disappeared though. First, I thought the date changed, but then I saw that the daughter was still with his wife. Then, later, the news struck upon us like lightning: they arrested him. They found out about him arranging his leaving the country and they got him.
Things were set this way so I knew only Olli and Paul, but I still could realize how they all panicked. And me, together with them all.

All that agitation – moving and destroying the copy machines, the papers - all those things I worked long hours to write and polish, everything. Anything that could constitute proof for them. But they didn’t come after any of us. If there was anyone whom could best keep our secret, that was Richard.
On the other hand, soon, his wife and his daughter disappeared. There was this rumor that they might have taken them too, but no one could confirm for sure.

Richard did his time and then they sent him back. No, they sent back this empty inside and angry man, so hungry for vengeance; it was like they pulled his soul out of him along with smashing his left hand.

I risked everything and took him in, when no one else wanted to. At the beginning he was almost never talking, except to curse the women. All he did was to drink his minds off; he wouldn’t wash or shave for days, the fact that he was just some sort of slob in my house causing some fights between her and me. Her. My wife. He wasn’t completely crushed though…

This icy shiver crosses my spine, from the back from my head downward.

“Don’t tell me you’re cold,” laughs Olli.

I look outside the window and mumble.

“No, I’m not, I just…”

Christoph took a gulp from the drink and passed the bottle back to Richard.

“I think he is starting to remember things,” he said as his fingers continued playing through my hair.

“Maybe it’s just this agitation,” Richard replied and lifted himself on the side a bit, resting on his elbow.

“I don’t know, he’s started making sense all of the sudden,” said Christoph making Richard laugh.

“Stop that, he just fell asleep,” Christoph snapped and I sensed him poking Richard with his foot.
But Richard was too drunk to care anymore. And Christoph let him; it was such a rare thing to see Richard laughing. It was such a rare thing to see any of us laughing.

They took his laughs, his smile and that kindness of his, but they didn’t crush Richard completely. They couldn’t get anything from him; probably they didn’t know to what extent he was involved, if they had any idea about what he was involved in. They knew he was my friend, they tried to get some information about what I was up to, but it didn’t work.

When he got himself together a bit he told me: his wife, fearing that he might have found some other woman to flee the country with him, turned him in. That was her explanation to him, when they allowed her to see him, to beg him to tell them all he knew to get back his freedom. Soon after that she and Richard’s daughter disappeared.

“Why aren’t you going to look for them?” I asked him.

He threw me this long look; he was afraid of what he might have done once being face to face with that woman.

“But your daughter?” I insisted pointing to the small picture he was holding.

So we started searching, restlessly, until we learned that his wife’s corpse was found somewhere in the city. She was dead and buried, long before he got out.

“It’s them,” Richard growled on his husky voice.

They took away from him even the pleasure of revenge.

The worst was about his daughter; they placed her in a foster home, but - like magic - papers, documents, names and anything that could lead him to her were nowhere to be found.

“At least she is alive,” I told him.

He hated me for saying that. I could read it in his eyes. But, then, slowly, day by day, it was the only thing that made him keep going.

“At least she’s alive,” I whispered back there, in the dirty kitchen of Flake’s tiny apartment where six guys were living together for quite a while.

Then I stood up. Richard was fixing me with his gaze, as if my words were an icy cold shower for him.

That heat, making me feel like I have this bitter poisonous honey dripping down my throat; that heat, making Richard sweat, his skin glowing like brownish gold in the electric light, that heat was just driving me insane. And suddenly I felt so angry.

“You upset him,” I told Richard.

“Who? Christoph?” Richard asked.

I nodded.

“Nah, I’m just joking with him, and he knows it, Till.”

~ To Be Continued ~
- 7
- 8
- 9
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KAAMOS (A Tale For Grown-up Kids)