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It was cold. Cold enough that frost stuck to his fingertips and his breath came out in plumes of smoke. Cold enough that he knew he should go back inside.
But it was dark. And he was alone. And he missed his friend.
When his mother would ask he’d tell her he got distracted. She’d laugh, say that Melchior always had a habit of drifting into a world no one else understood. Except Moritz.
Technically Moritz didn’t understand Melchior's world, but he was very good at pretending. At listening to the worlds Melchior could create in seconds where anything was possible and they could be anything. In Melchior's world there was no god - just the earth, the stars and his dreams.
They’d met as kids, Melchior was seven and much too confident for his own good. Moritz was eight and he was small and quiet and he looked like he was going to cry every time someone looked at him. They were polar opposites. Day and night. Saint and sinner. But Melchior’s friends didn't want to play pirates; they wanted to play family. So he walked up to Moritz like he owned the world and asked him to play. Looking back, he probably told Moritz he had to play.
Moritz looked up at Melchior, terrified. When he realised Melchior wasn’t going to laugh at him, he nodded vigorously.
They’d been friends ever since.
For every exam. Every game. Every Saturday when they’d go to the river and plan what they’d do when they grew up. Every Monday when they’d skip PE class, Melchior would tell Moritz about the world he was going to create. A future of freedom. A future where Moritz would be king and Melchior would be his right hand man. Melchior could be king but he thought it was a little obtuse to create a world and rule it. Moritz was older anyway.
They were planning a future Moritz would never see.
They’d wasted Saturdays thinking about later when they should've been savouring now like it was honey.
For the first time in his life, Melchior wished there was a god.
That there wasn’t just dirt and decay in the end.
He wished he could believe for even just a second that this was better.
That Moritz was happier. Or safer. Or that they’d see each other again.
Melchior wished he’d spent more time in church. Then he’d know more about a good god. A god who loved his people and let them be at peace when they died. Then he’d know less about war and death and sin and hell.
If any of it was real then Moritz was probably in Hell.
Suicide was unforgiveable. You couldn’t repent for a sin that left your body cold and stiff. That left you alone with only the bugs and worms to soothe your decaying soul. But Moritz didn’t deserve to go to hell. He deserved flowers. He deserved to be king. He didn’t deserve to be six feet under. Buried by scattered earth and the guilt of the people who were supposed to help. People like Melchior.
Melchior didn’t know how he was supposed to get up. Go to school. Learn about God and everything wrong with the world when his life had been shattered into a million tiny pieces. His world was gone. Moritz was gone and he wasn’t coming back.
Melchior didn’t understand why.
Not that he didn’t understand why he’d done it. Herr Stiefel put so much pressure on Moritz’ studies that sometimes they both forgot Moritz was only fifteen. No, he didn’t understand why he wasn’t coming back. If there was some God then why couldn’t he just give Moritz back? Melchior would take good care of him. They’d take good care of each other. See the world and get out of this stupid town.
And if he was in the earth like Melchior suspected, why couldn’t he just get up? Why couldn’t Melchior see him one more time? He’d beg him not to do it. Scream and shout and do all the things Melchior never did. Hell, he’d even pray if it meant Moritz would get up and go to school tomorrow.
Melchior always understood everything.
But he didn’t understand this.
He didn’t think he would ever understand anything again.
When Melchior was seven he didn’t know how to tie his shoelaces. He’d watch his mother tie them every time - perfectly attentive and engaged. But at some point or another the laces would be all squiggly and none of it would make sense. No matter how hard Melchior had tried.
Melchior was very good at keeping it a secret. He’d make sure she double knotted them, tight enough that there was no chance they’d fall loose. And, one day, he and Moritz had gone into the forest to play by the river and Melchior's shoe laces had come undone. He didn’t notice and just as they got to the river he tripped and landed face first in the soggy moss.
Moritz didn’t laugh. Well, he did, but not right away. First he crouched beside Melchior and asked if he was ok. Then he laughed. Then they both stood up and Moritz made a comment about his shoelaces. They were undone. Melchior shrugged, said it was fine - he was trying to be edgy.
Moritz laughed again, and asked if Melchior knew how to tie his shoelaces. Melchior didn’t reply. And Moritz tied them for him. He did it so easily, so quietly. By the time the sun set that evening, Melchior knew how to tie his shoelaces.
What if he needed help with something like that now?
Who would he ask?
Melchior wondered if he was as cold as Moritz. He knew he wasn’t. He could walk home and go back inside and sit under a soft blanket and the frost would disappear within a few hours. Moritz wouldn’t warm up. He’d stay cold and still forever. No amount of blankets could heat his body and no matter how hard Melchior tried, he wouldn’t be able to bring his friend back.
Moritz had always been quiet. He was very soft spoken and he wanted nothing more than for everyone to ignore him and leave him alone. That was why he and Melchior got on so well. Melchior was always the centre of attention. When he exited rooms, people would talk about the nice young gentlemen who was so outspoken. So confident. Sometimes they called him annoying. Melchior took pride in his memorability. It was like a confirmation that if he died, someone would remember him. Someone, somewhere, somehow would remember him or at least his ability to make everyone listen. Moritz didn’t want that. He’d be more than happy to just sit in the shadows and watch Melchior shine.
Now, Melchior wished he’d gotten Moritz to do more, to be more. Because now, no one would remember Moritz. His parents had already cleaned out his room and it had been less than a day. He heard Hanschen Rilow comment on how ‘if Moritz was going to kill himself he should’ve done it before the exams’. Melchior wanted to punch that blond asshole. Moritz was his friend. His best friend. And now everyone was acting like his death was just a minor inconvenience. Not the loss of the greatest thing to ever happen to Melchior.
So yeah, Melchior was sure that in two years time everyone in his class would have forgotten Moritz’ name and he’d just be the guy that died too young. A high school tragedy. Not something people brought into their mature adult lives.
It was so cold; Melchior wanted nothing more than to go home and sit with his mother. But there was this sinking feeling deep in his gut that everything had changed. Of course, it had changed. But home didn’t really feel like home and Melchior was terrified that one day he’d forget Moritz. That if he got up now, he would be killing Moritz.
Melchior knew that wasn’t really true. He knew that he could never forget the way Moritz giggled when Melchior rolled a cigarette, or the way Moritz looked at Melchior like they were the last people on earth. The most important thing ever. Most of all, Melchior would never stop thinking about all the things he could’ve done to help Moritz.
He should’ve been there.
Now, the only good thing he had was Wendla.