Chapter Text
Here's a fact. Sit around the fire and listen. This is a love story. I know what you are thinking. Death telling a love story? You may not like it, but you are still here, reading. I take people’s lives and feed on their sorrow. I agree with their wails. I smile at their pleas. Kind is not a word to define me. It never has. But life? He likes that word. What if I told you death and life are the same? No, don’t walk away; I’m not done.
Life takes. Yes, he does, and he laughs as he does it.
Life will give you someone's life, leave you with the decision to take one, and give until you drown in your own sin. You beg for life to bring them back, but he calls me, and I claim them. Not everything is happy; the world is horrible, and it's funny that some people think it isn’t.
If there's one thing I would take from life? His ability to give. Now your ears are listening, so listen further. My story takes place in a little town in Germany in 1931, where rich and poor work against each other, and anger and hate plays a part.
The town is a perfect square with schools and shops, the rich sitting in their thrones as the poor work. The sky was a shade of gray as the newly fallen rain hit the earth. A boy sat with a stick, watching his paper boat sink. The blonde groans in frustration.
“Verdammt!”
Damn it!
Shocking that a boy of 7 said such a word, but most people ignored it, knowing his mother would whack him with a spoon. The boy, of course, did not care. His name is Todd. This boy should have been dead, but escaped me again. He lost his mother after birth and lives with the guilt that his brother and sister are motherless. His dad wasn’t the best; he drank and most likely wouldn’t stop. Todd would watch his dad drink at the table or find him passed out on a moth-eaten couch surrounded by bottles. He would whisper to his dad to get up to work, only to be met by a hand and a burning sensation across his cheek.
“Reden Sie nicht.”
Don’t talk
That's what his father said as Todd felt the cool tears forming in his eyes. Staring at his reflection in the cold, murky puddle. He cursed when he saw the purple spreading like a disease on his cheek. Todd wiped his eyes quickly, wanting to feel strong. It's his fault his dad is like this. Todd grabs his little paper boat out of his pocket, folding it every which way to form the paper. “Please float.” Holding the fragile paper in his hands, he lets the boat go onto the water's surface. It sinks. Todd watches it drown and sinks deeper into the water. The blonde stands up and yells curses at the gray sky. Grabbing his hat from his head, he throws it on the ground in anger, smashing its face into the ground.
“Verflucht sei es!”
We have met our main character, but there's always room for another. Todd is a troubled kid from a poor family, his father well drinks bottles and never puts one down, and his mother has gone too soon. Todd walks with his head down, letting the children's curses into his ear. Quiet speaks to him, telling him to be silent and listen to the quiet. And there's another boy, surprised much? This was gonna be a love story from the beginning. And yes, it was between two boys.
Neil lived in his own world mostly. Big empty manor house where he'd turn ratty carpets into fancy stages in his head. Wind whistling through busted windows sounded like applause to him sometimes when he'd bow to imaginary crowds late at night.
Fate gets thrown around. I wish I had their luck. I want their life. Blah, blah, blah, but fate never stops giving people more time.
Both kids came from opposite sides of everything , German and Jewish families trying not to crash into each other. Neil's name never really fit him right, though his parents picked Nahid originally; it didn't match up with how he saw himself or those wild daydreams he carried around, so I decided to stick with his nickname, Neil.
His family business was barely hanging on, stress creeping into every conversation at home like uninvited company. Eventually, they started pointing fingers where everyone else did back then.
"Damned Jews," his old man would grumble behind closed doors voice. Blaming the Jews for his idiotic problems.
Neil approaches the oak door, fist hovering nervously over the wood grain.
"Papa, can I go out?" barely above a whisper.
If I were his papa, I would blame all my problems on fate.
Neil bolts outside into that steel-gray sky, hair flying everywhere in the bitter wind, coat too thin, buttons all crooked, but he's clutching something in those little mittens, folds paper carefully, tongue stuck out, concentrating until it becomes this sad little boat ready to sail and take Neil away from his retched home.
Across the way, there stands a kid frowing at the sky, shouting at clouds, voice cracking, cursing at everything breathing like he's trying to start a fight with the whole damn world.
Paper boat bobs in a dirty puddle near Neil's feet, tipping side to side, can't decide if it wants to sink or swim, watches sharp-tongued boy shaking like a leaf in a storm, finally works up courage, steps over stones, heart trying to punch through ribs, says the only thing that makes sense right then.
Two words that lock their stories together forever, whether they like it or not.
"Geht es dir gut?"
“Are you okay?”