Chapter Text
Prologue: E-nomine - “Mitternacht”
Tief im Nacken das Grauen sitzt (…..)
Kalte, dichte Nebelschwaden Berühren dich sacht Mitternacht (…..)
Gefriert das Blut dir in den Adern?
Schnürt dir die Angst die Kehle zu? (…..)
Ist es Nacht, Mitternacht!
Close to midnight. 30th of December 1918. The final full night of the year.
The moon. If only its pale light could have saved him. If only there was a God, instead of this evil. Angels, instead of monsters. Something that would lead him to success, or if only the task that his grandfather gave him, as a last wish upon his deathbed, wasn’t so all-consuming and serious. Not to mention dangerous and seemingly impossible! If only the existence of humanity and all other living creatures on this planet, didn’t heavily rely on him. If only someone else’s grandfather had trained their last living relative, preferrable a much stronger and robust grandson, an actual man that was worthy to be seen as a hero, instead of him. A skimpy 34-year-old, not even able to see properly without glasses. And with cobber coloured hair and a fear of anything that moved too quickly or made too much of a sound.
He didn’t even know where his grandfather had gotten it, or how, as he was simply told that his grandfather got it from his father and apparently it had belonged in the family for generations. But where all these men had gotten it from and when it had been made in the first place…that was a mystery. Like the mystery of how his parents truly died. It couldn’t have been a simple storm that night that caused the ship to sink. And it sure was strange how all his uncles and aunts and cousins had died of strange and sudden diseases, bizarre suicides or accidents. It seemed as if none in his family had ever died a natural death. But then again, his grandfather had had a hefty fever the few couple of weeks before he died and would, as if halfway lost in fever dreams, exaggerate every story he told his grandson.
For the old man had trained the boy. Ever since he became an orphan, and was told that he would stay at his grandfather’s old farm, the boy had feared the old man and all his puzzles and stories of how the nature was filled with all sorts of evil beings. How, when the little boy had looked out at the boulders by the potato field, outside of the kitchen window, the old man had scared him to bits, with stories of trolls turning into stone by the harsh light of day. For that was 'not boulders, but trolls!' And during every fog, the so called Tussene, the woodland fairies, or mystical beings living underground, would whisper at night. Would whisper through the fog to try to lure you out of the house. To pull you down. Trap you deep down under the grass and moss.
And of course, the stories about the most terrible creature, a monster without a name, that now about twenty-four years later, was chasing the boy which had turned into a slender wuss of man. Still in freckles and glasses, but now running under the waning moon. Chased by something far more evil than Tusser and Trolls combined! And not only was this monster hungry, it also wanted something from this man! Something that could destroy the world, should the monster grab it with its filthy long claws! The worst part was that this nameless monster had the ability to mimic human laughter, like some birds in the forest could! Which was why the man first thought the monster to be a gigantic crow or raven! Yet no! This sounded far worse, than any fowl, and the man got to know the true nature of this beast in the worst possible way.
One cold winter evening, many years after his grandfather had passed away, the man had, though yet inside, wrapped himself in his wool coat. He had looked through the kitchen window, and sure enough, once more, just like when the man had been a boy, there was a fog, surrounding the boulders by the potato field. And in that fog, the man saw a smile. A sharp smile! Fangs. Hundreds of them! Stretching far and wide. A grin far bigger and more disturbing than any other smile he had ever seen! And this was the moment when the man knew. It was the monster. It had come for him and most importantly for what his grandfather said had to be kept away from this vicious beast!
And so, the man did not hesitate! Immediately, he bent down and used a bread knife to break open the floorboards by the only dining chair in the kitchen. In this secret compartment, he was able to retrieve the cloth-covered bundle, just as he suddenly heard something slowly stomping above his head. Stomping closer and closer towards his head. Stomping, scratching, and hissing on top of the roof! "Helvete!" He cursed in his own language. There were no other alternatives! No way of trying to defending himself! A simple breadknife would be no match for such a devil! "Fanden!" ("Devil", indeed!)
His only hope was to run out of the house! As fast as the feet could carry him! Ran away and not look back!
He held his breath and stumbled out the door. Left the house with all his belongings, and his grandfather belongings. Left all behind! Closing his eyes and running in blind at first. Not daring to open them until he knew, until he felt, that what would eventually chase him, would hopefully be out of sight, behind him…
....
He had been chased for hours now, by the tormenting cackling sound of an infant. Yes, the monster now gurgled like a blissful baby but with a mouth most likely filled with blood than of spit! Though, sometimes, this devil hissed with the voice of both a man and a woman, with both a voice of the young and the old..As if there were an echo of several different human voices, combined into one!
And as for the beast’s hideous face…. The man shivered. He didn’t dare to think of the actual, possible ugliness of what was chasing him! His feet hurt, he could taste his own blood and heart in his throat and the fog of his own sweat, that kept clogging up his glasses, made it harder and harder to see the frozen path ahead! Especially when this fog of sweat were combined with the large, lonesome fog of his breath.
Run! Run! Don't turn around! He knew he had to pass through the dark forest, to reach the town beyond. There, he could hopefully hide amongst the locals, and let the beast have its way with them. Sure, many lives would be sacrificed then once the monster arrived, but their deaths would be for the greater good! He could wait until the monster had hopefully quenched its own appetite, and then it would get bored and hopefully leave! Or perhaps fall asleep of sheer drunkenness by all the blood and meat. Then the man could try to sneak pass the sleeping giant, and run far away with the artifact...the weapon.
For according to his grandfather, the beast could possess the intelligence to know how to use what the grandson had to keep hidden. But only if the beast should find it...Only question was; "to be hidden for how long?" The young man had asked, and the old told him "it would have to be until the end of the year 1918." Why exactly until the end of that year, his grandfather didn’t have time to tell. For he would tell the young man once again about this monster, this devil, and that the world would die if his grandson didn’t keep this item away from the monster, until after the year 1918 had passed! But "why that year and what should the man hide?" The old got too weak to reply fully with words. He had to use his last breaths, sparingly now, so he pointed instead. With a quievering finger towards the end of their only bedroom. He could only whisper to the young man and tell him to "search under a loose stone tile at the end of the basement, next to the foot of the shelf filled with gardening tools". However, when his grandson returned to ask if he had found the correct item; the old man had already passed away. Cold and still, his grandfather was no more.
The man had looked down at the clotheted bundle he had clutched in his hand. Had opened the cloth and finally then saw what he had to hide (most likely somewhere else, now that the first hiding place had been revealed.)With this in his granchild's hands, the old man had left him to wonder:
What exactly would happen if the monster would have found the bundle of cloth, instead?
Would the world explode? Or perhaps implode? Would it tumble and crash as if in a massive earthquake? Or burn and melt like the depts of an awakened volcano? Spewing hot melted rock and ash? Would the world be left in flames or lightening? Like the stories of hell, described not only in the Bible, but other holy scriptures..?
Whatever that would happen, one thing was clear; According to his grandfather, and his father before that, and his father before him, and so on; if the monster would find this…weapon. Should the man’s freckled hands, ever be replaced by monstrous claws, it would mean the end of all living things! The death of all humans, all animals, all flowers, growths and insects! It would be nothing left but a void! A disastrous happening which would be known as ‘Ragnarök’ by the Vikings, and ‘The Last days’ or ‘The Apocalypse’ by the Christians and Catholics. The actual end of everything!
And speaking of scriptures; The man even remembered his grandfather’s old fairy tale books. Placed amongst several different versions of the Bible and of the first and second Edda, (later to be known as ‘the Viking Bible’.) Was it truly a coincidence that his grandfather would always have the book of classic fairytales from their country, close to holy scriptures?
...
At the morning of his grandfather’s death, the last relative that was known to him, The man had looked down at what he held in his hand, and it somehow got him to think of Egypt. The story of Moses. How God had sent the ten plagues. Turned the rivers to blood. Yet, what the man weighed in his hand, his final mission, that one weapon that would either save or doom everything… Seemed even older than the Pharaohs. He wasn't an archaeologist and yet he felt as if he knew, that he had never witnessed anything older than this weapon.
Though it didn't really matter how old it was, he had to keep it hidden, and despite being such a nerve wreck, the last couple of years were kind to the man! The rest of 1915, after his grandfather passed, flew by as if in a storm. So did 1917, and luckily his country had not taken part in that awful, 'great war'. The war that was said to 'end all wars.' 3 years flew by and suddenly the freckled man could blink his golden green eyes and the year 1918 dawned, grew and nearly came to an end, without any monsters in sight!
Until the last final days in December. Then and only then, as if it had been summoned, or as if of sheer instinct, something came outside his grandfather’s little house. Grinning hideously through the fog, towards the window. A pair of glowing, gleeful eyes, looking right at the only human inside.
...
And then he was chased and the man did succeed in the end, to hide the artifact, but only after the monster had grown bored of simply playing (tormenting) with its food. Had decided that 'enough was enough! It is time to eat!'. Turning the ground under the poor man’s feet into solid, slippery ice! Causing the man, which had been so close to the gate of the town, to slip and fall onto his freckled, face. Causing his round glasses to fly far ahead of him. Out of reach! Cracking too, yet keeping their glass.
In his final moments, the man would desperately look around, for a final hiding place, but not for himself! He knew that as soon as he fell, he would be grabbed by piercing claws or fangs and his life would be over. Knew very well that he would never be older than 34 years. That his fate was to be torn apart, eaten, by a nameless monster. An actual living, breathing, crawling nightmare! Ancient. Seemingly older than time itself.
80 years later. Somewhere on an islet in the middle of the sea.
“Meister?”
The comforting darkness got interrupted by a long, wide crack of artificial light. A piercing gleam which tried to resemble the natural rays of the waning moon outside.
- Der Mond, wie schön er ist..-
Like the merciless scythe, it reflecting down upon the black depths of water below. “Meister?” If only she had not stared at him. Judged him with that single, green eye of hers! The only feature which had been left of her, on that fateful night. The green eye that would forever haunt him. Unless…
Unless if he was able to escape. Escape the flames that still bore her face.
The eye. All that had been left of her beauty.
“Meister?!”
His round glasses reflected the flames. How marvellous this ancient force was! Yet dangerous. And cruel! Fire could be so merciless unless you were to know how to respect it! How to tame it, yet adore it, but from a distance. Always from a distance! You had to know the boundaries and dangers of fire!
“Hallo!? Meister Lorenz!?”
As he was now fixated on his chair, rather than the flames, he had still not noticed how the silhouette of another man had crossed through the opening of artificial lights, from the opened double doors behind him. Behind said chair which he was sitting in.
He looked down at the gilded lion paw under his own slender fingertips. How he had always hated the looks of this chair! Had always preferred blue velvet instead of this tacky red! However, the chair was comfortable, and it contained precious memories within every fibre and every scratch or dent! Though as for the design, no, it did not fit in with the rest of the interior. It was such a comic contrast to the white modern looking walls and the equally modern round glass table with a metal stand, resting beside the right gilded lion paw. Not to mention how the gilded details of the chair, was a stark contrast to the wide cognac glass with silver leaf details along the stem.
Actually, such a cognac glass should, according to its now owner, not exist! Yet he had to have it, once he had met the former owner, he had to buy it! Whatever the price! A cognac glass was simply not supposed to have such feminine details, and yet he had found such one. Stunning!
After yet another sip, his blue eyes gazed lazily across the small ripples across the water in front of him. Hypnotized by how the small waves stirred the black, vast…
*Ehem* “ Meister Christian Lorenz! Bitte!?”
Suddenly, although not startled, he heard him, the younger man, which now stood beside him, to his left, thus blocking the view of the fire. Despite the desperate tone in the other man's voice, the master of the house didn’t bother to turn his head. Instead, simply placed a slender hand with long fingernails across the edge of the red velvet-draped back, with the ever-sombre look upon his wrinkled face.
*sigh* “Ja, Markus?“ “We just received some news from ‘Die Augenabteilung’. They told me to give you this note.” The dark grey clothed man, which was now simply known as ‘Markus’, handed his ‘meister’ a vertically folded piece of paper, which finally caused the older man in the gilded chair, to look up, before accepting the note with a grey tinted, furrowed brow. “You have not read this yourself?” “Nein.” The older man looked puzzled. He knew that this man would never lie to him, or more so that he was not able to lie to him. “And you are not the slightest curious of what is written here?” “Nein. Es ist Privat.” “Doch aber..” The man in the chair now known as ‘meister Lorenz’ or ‘Christian Lorenz’ mumbled before adding; “Then, Markus, I must say I am impressed! I would have thought of you to be at least curious enough to ..peek.”
He smiled up at Markus before unfolding the note, To finally read what was seemingly so secretive that it could not be read nor spoken out loud.
-Das ist unmöglich!-
He had to read the note again…and a second time…a third...a fourth… Until, after reading it a fifth time, the old man sat as if frozen in his seat. “Meister? Is it..something concerning? Have something terrible happened?” Terrible? No. On the contrary.. “Nein. On the contrary. Es ist..perfekt! Markus?” “Ja?” “Ich brauche einen Hubschrauber!” “Oh? Jetzt? Heute Abend?” “Nein…nein..in..ein paar T..” The older man red the note a sixt time, just to be absolutely sure that his old eyes did not deceive him. ”In ein paarTagen.” He then repeated with shivering lips.
Markus couldn’t remember if he had ever seen his master so upset or nervous before. “Für Dich?” “Nein. I’ll send someone in my place!” And Markus immediately wanted to know who. “I thought you were not curious?” “Nein aber… I would at least like to know where and which of the pilots? At least.” “Der beste Pilot! You know he would not accept any other to take him anywhere!” “So you are sending…Art?” Now it was Markus who raised a brow. “Ja.” “Meister…with all respect. Even though I don’t know the reason why Art is to leave somewhere…Are you sure he would be the best choice? To send in your place? For anything?” “What do you mean? Warum sollte das keine kluge Wahl sein?” “Well..” Markus licked his thin lips. “You know how he could.. act…sometimes.” “Jaha! So you are questioning my decision now, are you?!” “Nein..not..necessarily!” “Jaha! And this comes from a man that, only moments ago, claimed to not even be the slightest curious of what this note says! Which means not the slightest curious about the reasons for me sending Art away in the first place!”
Markus sighed. “Should I read the note? According to you? Should I read it?! Does the message really concern me?” “Ja…” The old man scrunched his chin and then tilted his gray head to the side. “Und nein..also Jein. Es betrifft uns alle!” “Well I still don’t want to know what the note says!” The old man in the chair grinned to this. Markus. Always so stubborn! “Well then, Herr Weiss! I'll say, you don’t have the right to question my choices concerning what the note says…now do you?” Meister Lorenz kept a teasing smirk under the round glasses, which he from time to time always had to push back at his nose. For the previous glasses had suited him better, but they broke, and these glasses were in fact tailored/made to fit someone else’s nose, though that previous owner had died.
Markus sighed again. “Nein..I guess not.” “Gut! And unless should you suddenly become curious and wish to read the note, yourself, which you have my fullest permission to do so, as I trust you..eh..” Master Lorenz interrupted his own little speech, before wiggling a long claw-like finger down towards himself. A hint that Markus were to lean down towards him, so the old, seated man could whisper to him;
“Verbrenn es im Feuer!”
Markus blinked surprised at him before mouthing soundlessly ‘Sicher?’ And the man in the chair nodded. Markus took the note and to his master’s remaining surprise, he never unfolded it to read it! Simply turned around and did as he was told. Tossing the paper into the white fireplace at the other short end of the room. Facing the left side of the chair.
The younger man, watched calmly through his own plain, squared, steel glasses, as the flames caused the note to curl, zizzle and slowly turn to ash. “Like I’ve already mentioned. I am impressed of you” “Don’t be. I have a feeling that I still don’t want to know what the message said! Just tell me where you are sending Art…” “ Der Hubschrauber muss nach Norwegen reisen.” “Norwegen?” “Ja. Genauer gesagt Tromsø. NordNorwegen.” “Ok? I’ll let Kyong know that Art has to go to NordNorwegen ..aber..eh..warum nicht morgen?”. “Because Art is not here at the moment.” “Ah.” “He is still in Schweiss. If I’m not mistaken.” “Ah. Ok. I thought he was still around here.. somewhere.. Vögel zählen.” “Nein. He is in Schweiss.” “Ok. Then.. 'einen Hubschrauber führ Art, in ein paar Tagen?', Stimmt das?“ “Ja, Genau! Und mit Kyong als Pilot!” “Ja, Meister. Natürlich…Anderes?” “Nein. Das war alles! Well that is unless..you wanted to discuss something?” “Nein. Ich..” Markus froze once he had turned around and noticed the red liquid in the cognac glass, still resting on the round glass table at the other side of his master’s chair. He swallowed, but decided to remain calm. “Nein. Ich bin müde. Ich gehe ins Bett!” “Jaha? Gut. Bis morgen. Gute nacht, Mein Markus!” Markus kept his blue eyes on the cognac glass, before he quickly turned towards the fireplace again, mumbling “Bist du nicht müde? Soll ich das Feuer löschen?“
The sly smile disappeared from the older man’s lips, and he now focused harshly on the same fire as Markus did. Although to him, the glow were only half visible behind the other man. “Nein.” The old, seated man replied coldly. “Es wird bald von selbst sterben.” “Ah. Ok…Also..Gute nacht, Meister Lorenz!” Markus turned around again to face his ‘meister’. Nodded down slightly to him, trying not to reveal his true feelings, before placing one of his white glowed hands on his back. “Do not worry about me!" The seated 'Meister', replied. "I shall manage myself to my chamber! Well then, once again; Gute Nacht, Mein Markus!” A slight smirk re-appeared on 'Meister' Christian Lorenz' lips. Only this time, it was paired with a slight glimmer in the old, blue eyes. Well knowingly that he had startled the dark grey, white gloved man who now with his own pair of blue eyes turned away. The old man lean back towards the red velvet, did not bother to look while Markus walked hastily out of the room, still with a hand on his back, until he came to the opened double doors, which he closed gently in front of himself. Leaving his master to chug down the rest of red liquid, in peace. Once more in near complete darkness, except for the moonlight, the beaming scythe, and the slowly dying glow of which once had been a roaring fire. The same which had so greedily swallowed a uttermost crucial message, mere moments ago.
He would finally be one step closer now. Unless this too, once more, would be a trap!
Chapter I: Thalia/”Wake me up when September ends” (Greenday)
The innocent can never last
...
Like my father's come to pass
....
Drenched in my pain again
...
As my memory rests
....
Wake me up when September Ends
Monday Morning. September 10th. 2001
*Beep. Beep. Bee- kadunk*
She reached out her hand from under the covers to shush the alarm clock on her nightstand. Tearing it down in the process. Arh. Scheisse…*hmf.* Whatever.
She kept her eyes closed, listening to the birds outside. At least they still seemed happy, though weren't they suppose to leave now...? Off to warmer places? Why would they still bother to be here in the cold?
It had been summer, in the dream she had just had. And they had all been barbequing on the porch, like they would do every summer. And they had all laughed, about something...About what? Who cares! It was all just a stupid dream anyway. Far away from the shitty reality.
She sat up in bed. Still feeling more depressed than ever. Wondering what the point of anything was, now, really? To get up and face this? How!? And yet she decided to get out of bed. Was just about to fully remove the covers, when her cell phone fell into her lap. Hm? Jaha? Ok?? She must have fallen asleep with it. Crying while looking at old texts or something...
The cell phone vibrated as she lifted it up, and the little squared top-screen lit up in blue. All of this meant new notifications. She flipped it open. 17 missed calls (!!) from two different numbers. One number had called her more often than the other and had also left several text messages in her inbox. She knew exactly who had sent them, which was why she only bothered to read the first unread message (And of course she was right about who the sender was). The 1st unread message was;
von 'Reesh' Gesendet 23:31:
Lia!! Ich hab' dich eine Weile
nicht gs'hen :( Sonnta' ist
Karaoke ta' hast du ds Vrgssn?
Ohne dich macht es k‘ Spaß...
Hase will neh singen! :( Komm
Sweetie HILF MIHR! Ruf Ruf!<3
- RZK
(And in understandable german the same message would read as follows:
von 'Reesh' Gesendet 23:31
Lia! Ich habe dich eine Weile
nicht gesehen. Sonntag ist
Karaoke-tag. Hast du das Vergessen?
Ohne dich macht es keinen Spaß.
Hase will nie singen! Komm
(hier) 'Sweetie' (und) HILF MIHR! Ruf mich an!
- RZK
*sigh* Her friend. All he wanted was to distract her from her tears, and yet she felt annoyed and bothered by him Or technically: She felt more as if she was bothering him. Especially around these times when they were all supposed to be happy and excited...
Ok. I know they care..aber.. Mierda.. fuck…how am I supposed to live again after this?? Yeah we were all aware that this could happen aber... nicht jetz!?
If she would decide to give up, take her your own life, it would be, according to her faith a ‘major sin’. Probably one of the worst. And he would have wanted her to carry on…Maldición! You weren’t supposed to leave me… And again with the timing; It couldn’t have been worse!
Her tears made small, dark marks onto the bedsheets, as she tossed her phone back into bed and gripped her own hair. Everything hurt. It felt like she could never breathe again. Never laugh again or go out with her friends. Be normal again! But he would have been disappointed if she didn’t at least try! Try to pick up the pieces somehow and...live?
It still hurt. It had been weeks and yet her stupid brain refused to believe it was true! But she had to try and accept this, now.
I've got to focus. She took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. Tú ganas. Viviré el día de hoy. Solo el día de hoy, o al menos el de esta semana.. Ok. Arbeit und..lunch? I probably haven’t missed much anyway...’Karaoke Sonntag’. Pft. Jaja. Halt die fresse, Reesh! …
She stepped onto the floor. It felt cold, just like her entire body felt cold, despite having just been wrapped up in the thickest of duvets she had found and bought from the interior store downtown. Her friends had laughed at her, when they saw the size and thickness of that thing! Not because they wanted to be mean, but…because they knew she would probably never get used to 'cold and wet Germany'. …
A shower. That was what she needed! A warm shower! Heat! Warmth! Something to ease the pain. And the shower had made her feel drowzy. Had made her forget about reality, just one more moment, just like her dream. But one look in the mirror after stepping out of the shower, told her that she had cried. A lot. Red marks all around and even red spots in the white of her deep brown eyes. Though at least less puffed skin than earlier when she woke up! Yeah ok, the redness around the eyes would have probably looked worse on one of her friends’, pale-ass skin. At least ‘one advantage’ she would have today.
Hopefully the cool water she splashed in her face would calm down the rest of soreness. Time to finally wake up and actually not face reality, not yet. Not quite today. Now she had to only…exist! One breath at a time. One day at a time. Which was why she had mentally 'made plans' for at least this week (and hopefully she would survive the following weeks too). So far, her plan was to;
- Try to go back to work (although her boss would probably still feel sorry for her and try to convince or even ‘force her’ to stay at home, where she would keep on crying and feeling sorry for herself, so not being able to ever go back to work, or see her friends, and then also repeat the vicious cycle of self-loathing and depression. (Which all had to seriously stop, as anything else wasn’t an option anymore!)
- After being able to work, she would then have to try (during quiet hours at work) to call or text her friends for a late lunch or dinner and hopefully then
- be able to finally talk it all out. That was: if they were still her friends, after all the time she had kept ignoring their effort to reach out. ( Mierda… ) And of course during the following weekend..
- Maybe, just maybe, try to have some fun! Go out at the bar/club, Karoke Sunday, whatever. At least something that preferably included ALCOHOL (Which she would of course drink A SHIT ton of!) And then, unfortunately, remember whyshe was depressed in the first place and then KEEP ON DRINKING until blackout or at least until she was ‘too drunk to care anymore’, (for at least that moment).. until
- Sobering up again in a day or two, just in time to repeat the same cycle of ‘plans’, by next Monday...
Hm. Ja. Klingt gut! Das ist wohl ein akzeptabler Plan! While looking as ‘dead’/emotionless as she possibly could, she stretched her arms forward, giving her own reflection 'two thumbs up' while sarcastically thinking: Ja Ja! Woho! Los! Super duper Prima! …Probably sounding just like the other friend of hers...
...
As it would only get colder, she put black wool stockings on, and a pair of black jeans. (Her 'work-uniform', a white coat, plastic gloves, or sometimes thick, protective gloves; would still be in the wardrobe of the clinic anyway. Probably very dusty by now though.) urh. I swear if they are telling me to go back home...
...
She looked down at the bathroom floor and realized that she had forgot to bring a bra with her (or any top for that matter!) Which only meant she had to walk back upstairs into that fucking freezing bedroom! (But at least she only had to try and find a clean sweater though, as she could always skip the bra. Since, clearly according to her so called 'bestie', she wouldn't need the bra anyway!) She sighed down at what ‘Reesh’ would refer to as her; 'klitzekleine titten!' Ja. Mhm! Danke, 'Sweetie'! Ugh. Du Arschloch! She didn't know why she suddenly felt uglier than ever. Or why she would now think back to the time when 'Reesh' had first said it; 'Klitzkleine titten' (Which once again had made her aware of her bodyshape, for the first time in many years of 'not caring that much'. But she did think about it now, that vening when he had first mocked her about it;
*-- It had been years ago. Sometime in the middle of their friendship. A Monday or Tuesday probably. And ‘Reesh’ had been ‘left all alone again’ as his boyfriend had to go to Berlin to study during weekdays, and ‘Reesh’ hated to sleep alone! (Although he and his boyfriend wouldn't explain to her why exactly, he hated to sleep alone). She had felt sorry for him. Had let him sleep at her place, in her room, in her bed, even! But that evening, ‘Reesh’ , after already having his 70.000th cigarette that day and after nearly drinking up the entire bottle of red wine, ( nearly all by himself.) would be very rude again.
It had been way pass her 'usual bedtime’, yet he had insisted that they should stay up a little longer, just to 'chit chat', sitting in one of the couches in one of her and her father’s ‘two sectioned living room’, though luckily, by that time, her father had already gone to bed. (Otherwise, he would have been absolutely mad at her friend for saying what he was about to say to his daughter, next!)
‘Reesh’ had suddenly giggled, and Thalia had of course asked him, (confused) 'Was ist so lustig'? After which her 'bestie' had tried to calm himself down. Tried to act all 'serious' all of a sudden. Pretending to have a dead serious face. Then, slowly (nearly drunkenly, falling over her), he had leaned into his bestie and ‘booped’ (carefully bumped) the edge of his nearly empty wine glass, against her chest, before singing (whispering); “Süße, Süße ehehehe.. Klitzkleine TI-tteEen Süße Süße Süüüß.. Hihi!", snickering, while trying to cover his mouth. Before burping, taking a deep breath and then started to fucking brag about how his own ‘titten’ (his finally, 'newly gained pecs!') were ‘even bigger than hers! Not that that was any challenge though!’ He grinned to her and tried to pick up the already crushed cigarette from the ashtray, before realizing it was crushed.
"Arh...Verdammt! Hm."
Then, and only then, did 'Reesh' see his bestsie's real expression of hurt, which finally kicked some fucking sense in him! (Somewhere in between all the wine and nicotine) He dropped the crushed cigarette back into the ashtray and apologized right away, before, right afterwards, again acting like an annoying shit. Trying to ‘comfort her’ by giving her stupid 'suggestions/advice' like; ‘joining him to the gym, so she could plump em up or somethin’!?’ or ‘could she, ya know, afford like a breast surgery if she won the lotterly, maybe’? Or 'he could try and steal enough cash. maybe, for her to add to that saving..' --*
Sure. She loved him! Loved him to bits! But back then, he had still been such an immature shit and mean as hell! Clearly, at the age of like what..22-23(?!) Still not yet being able to read whatever room he entered!
But, fortunately, ‘Reesh’ would later change some of that attitude (would mature a lot!) and was now trying his best to cheer her up by inviting her to lunch, to the movies, for pasta, for home-made tacos (Although that was more Mexican than from her country, but at least he was really trying!) or like now again, just yesterday, insisting that she should come back for another of their “Karaoke Sonntage”, at kinda lame and boring "Klub 77", downtown in Schwerin (where she and her friends lived although she lived a little bit far out from City center. Would have had to take a bus or a taxi. … if she didn't drove her father's pick-up). So she couldn't really complain about 'Reesh' anymore...
But her bestie hadn’t been the only one that made comments about her appearance, or more specifically her 'klitzkleine titten'. She had been bullied for it, for years, and she remembered one specific summer. Back in Argentina ...
Again, not the land of the Taco's, 'Reesh', aber I don't mind Taco's, so...danke for trying, Sweetie!
..a year or two before she and her father had finally moved to Germany (to start over). That summer when she thought she would finally hit puberty, like all the other girls. seemingly had! Back when it felt as if literally every single girl (except her) in the oldest classes of her school had already gotten their ‘curves’ (or were in the 'middle of getting them'.) Yet her own chest and hips, were at that point, still flat and 'ugly' (according to the rest of her class and so eventually also, Thalia herself!)
In fact the only thing that had changed about her, that summer, had been her height. She had grown taller. A lot taller! Even taller than some of the boys in her class! (Until she would almost get as tall as 'Reesh', many years later!) But except for length, she had been flat, back then. Not a single curve, until she had lived some years in Germany. But back in Argentina, Thalia had been shapeless.
*--That summer had been one of the hottest in her life, and little 10-year-old Thalia was relaxing at the beach. Bothering absolutely nobody and minding her own business. Then, out of nowehere, a stupid boy had blocked out the sunlight and asked her, ‘Why was she wearing that swimsuit?’ She had of course asked him 'what he meant?' And he had pointed at her (most likely referring to her flat chest and too long body) and said;
“Eh? Eres un niño (boy)! No deberías usar un traje de baño con una falda así!”
For a little girl who wanted to feel pretty and feminine like the other girls, that comment had made it seem as if the whole world had fallen apart! She screamed. Cried. And without any sandals or socks, she ran across her colourful towel, ran across the burning sand and further scolding her naked feet at the lava-hot pavement by the beach-walk. She kept screaming and ran all the way to the hospital where her father worked and as she was running, she didn’t bother to think about what she had left behind; halfway buried in the sand. Her pink beach bag with her white sandals, her white plastic sunglasses, her favourite doll (made of colourful fabric from old clothes and black yarn for hair and black buttons for eyes). Even the sparekeys to their house were left behind! Everything! Everything was left at the beach, because that stupid boy had been so stupid! So poop-like!
When finally there, the receptionist at the counter in the hallway of the hospital, had asked (very kindly) the bawling girl in the tutu-bathing suit if ‘she was lost? Where were her parents?’ And the little girl kept on sobbing and shivering and stuttering, telling the lady over and over again that:
"Soy es una niña! Soy es una Niña!".
(“I am a girl! I am a girl”)
The lady had of course no idea why the little girl would say something that seemed to obvious, but she kept asking who or where her parents were. If ‘they were sick or hurt, there at the hospital?’ Finally, the little girl told her, her father’s name.
"Doctor Perez? Valé. Vamos! Creo que está con un paciente pero iremos a buscar juntos!"
The lady had been so kind. Had even offered to give the sad little girl two pieces of sucking-candy instead of one. But the girl that held her hand was too shattered, too devastated to even accept a double amount of Candy!.. On their way to Doctor Peréz’ office, the lady complemented the little girl on her purple bathing suit with the tutu skirt. Almost as if she knew that the little girl had once loved that bathing suit! (and it had been very expensive! But her father had given it to her anyway. For her birthday, just to make her smile, as she struggled to get friends in school.) And right up until that hot, summer day, that bathing suit had been her favourite bathing suit or even her favourite piece of clothing in general! She had always felt beautiful in it! Like a mermaid or a princess! She had felt like a 'proper princess in a proper Princess Bathing Suit!’…. but now some stupid, poopy-boy had to ruin everything, by being just that… a stupid poop!
“Doctor Peréz?”
As soon as the lady behind the counter had knocked on (and opened) the door to the office belonging to the little girl’s father, the crying girl with the still burning, bare feet and swollen eyes, had thrown herself between her father’s knees. Even harshly pushing and forcing herself between him and the patient that had been sitting on the chair in front of him.. But nobody judged her, or told her that that was rude. Because to them it was alright! Doctor Peréz would always make time for his only child. She was much more important than any of his patients and luckily, everyone in the hospital (including his patients) would all agree to that! They all understood just how much 'Señor/Doctor Peréz' loved his daughter and how he would do anything for her as long as it would make her happy!
Doctor Peréz had his sobbing daughter ‘why she was crying?’ Had asked if ‘She was hurt? Or Sunburned? Had she forgotten to put on enough sunscreen today? Had she been stung by a jellyfish? Had she slipped on a rock by the beach and hit her head? Should he take a closer look at where she was hurt?’ Meanwhile, the lady behind the counter, closed the door, after the patient, a middle-aged man, had also left. (To wait outside in the corridor, while his doctor sorted out this ‘personal, family crisis’.
The little girl sniffled out loud and stuttered to her father, what the boy on the beach had said when he saw her in the bathing suit. She even added more drama by claiming that the boy had called her an ‘ugly boy!’ And that he had also said that ‘she would never look pretty!' as she was 'too long and too tall and looked like a boy and so she would never look like the movie actresses or like the other girls in school! With their beautiful, girl-like bodies.’
Her father had listened to her story, without a word. Had kept quiet, until she stopped stuttering. Then, when she was finally done and started to cry again, he had smiled gently to her and carefully pulled her chin back up again. He had told her how ‘that would have been very sad. If she were to look like all the other girls. Especially when she was so pretty on her own! And clever, and strong and brave! And creative!’
“ Mi tesora.”
Her father then added, as he wiped away all her tears and told his daughter what he hoped she would learn one day;
“A ese niño le debe haber cegado el sol! Sin duda eres una princesa increíble: ¡hermosa, fuerte y creativa! ¡Lograrás todo lo que ese niño no pudo! Incluso tendrás más éxito que tu propio padre. Algún día lo entenderás, mi Fridalita! Y descubrirás lo increíble que eres!"
Yes it was true, if it had been up to her father to choose the name for his one and only child, he would have either named her after his favourite singer, which was simply known by her first name, “Tania” (A Spanish tango singer that had been much more popular in Argentina than in her own country, Spain.) Which would have been his first name suggestion. But Thalias mother didn’t like that name. 'Tania.' Had claimed it sounded ‘too old-fashioned’ and ‘as if their baby daughter was to follow in that old singer’s footstep, singing outdated tango tunes’, so her parents decided on some kind of 'compromise', instead.
'Thalía'
Not quite like ‘Tania’. Yet close enough. (According to her father) Especially as the H was always silent in Spanish.
HOWEVER, if her father would have known exactly, how his daughter would have looked like, (as she grew a little older) he would have definitely fought and insisted more on the name ‘Frida’ instead. (After the feminist and ‘rule breaking- in beauty’, Mexican painter, Frida Kahlo! Another one of Señor Perez’ favourite women and role models (especially since he too, liked to draw and paint!). Unfortunately, Thalia herself never thought of Frida Kahlo as 'beautiful', and as soon as she became a woman herself, she would insist that her father should stop calling her ‘Fridalita’ ('Little Frida') as a way of endearment. Because in her eyes, Frida Kahlo and herself were ugly. And so as soon as Thalia got body hair, she would do everything to get rid off it! Pluck away her mono brows, shave off her little moustache, wax and shave all the hairs off her body. To be as hairless (except for the head) as possible! Everything that Frida Kahlo wouldn't do, in her lifetime. Anything to not look like her father's favourite painter and rolemodels!…--*
Thalia regretted that now, so many years later. Regretted it deeply. And right in that moment, when thinking about her father, she would have given anything to hear him call her that one more time;
"Mi Fridalita, Hermosa".
Her eyes watered up again. ‘Fridalita. Clever, strong, creative, beautiful and brave’.
Yeah sure. All the things her father had always wanted her to be, but none of the things that she actually felt like being. At least not today, Not in these worst weeks of her whole fucking life! And maybe she would never feel like that again. Never, ever!
She wiped away her (hopefully) last tears of the day and nodded to herself. Pero tengo que intentarlo. Por ti!
In order to survive, she had to empty her thoughts completely. Had to force herself to look away from her own reflection and start working on 'autopilot'
First step out of the downstairs-bathroom, then go upstairs and find a clean sweater. Then get back downstairs, round the hallway closet again, enter the first of the 2-sectioned living room, round the left corner across the double doors to the front porc, but don't look outside(!)
(where her dream had taken place)
and finally enter the kitchen. Try and make some breakfast of whatever cereal you have and that one half-brown banana in the fruit bowl, and smell if the milk is still drinkable and then (...)
One thing at a time. That was how Thalia Peréz was going to survive somehow. Get dressed. Eat breakfast. Get to the clinic; back to work. Step by step. Start another day. Start another life.
Without her father.