Well, here's my Spring Awakening kick back and in full bloom! (just like Wendla /shot)
No, but anyways, I've gotten back into this little fandom that hasn't updated in years. But there are still people out here who like Spring Awakening, and just in case anyone's in the fandom... well, here. Have a little drabble on Moritz. I have a lot in common with him, and I am an indigo child (as my mother and doctor have said, and I do trust them). So I think Moritz may have been one as well.
The song to listen to for this is the full version of Credens Justitam by Yuki Kajiura (I found the version I'm talking about on SoundCloud and NarutoHinata Hero posted it), from the Madoka Magica OST soundtrack. Trust me; it fits, especially at the key change from A flat to A major (at about 2:20 on).
Disclaimer: I don't own Spring Awakening. I was Martha in a production of it, but I don't own the play (that's Frank Wedekind) or the musical (pretty sure that's Duncan Sheik).
.
"We all have the ability to heal ourselves; I know, I have done so...
In the morning, know that you are Loved, You Are Love and You Love"
Lisa Bellini
.
Indigo Children: Indigo children are highly sensitive beings with a clear sense of self-definition and a strong feeling that they need to make a significant difference in the world.
.
The day was warm; it was startling to find a warm day in early March, but here it was, stepping serenely into the town with a warm smile in the form of sunbeams and laughter hidden in the breeze. And with this, the day's activities seemed to pass a bit quicker, at least, it seemed so to Moritz. The Latin came a bit easier, the math didn't strangle his cranium as hard as usual, and choir practice was less... stuffy? Was that—yes, that was the word, he nodded to himself. Stuffy. Stuffy and oppressive, and... and yick. Involuntarily, his nose scrunched up in distaste.
The church bells chimed three o'clock, and the boys were all dismissed, each going their separate ways to whatever they needed to do. Moritz decided to take a bit of a longer route home, feeling rather overstimulated by everything that had happened.
He took a deep breath, and headed for the woods, to the birds and the flowers, to the peace and calm of the budding maples and poplars, and to the dark green spindles of the pines. His pace quickened, hearing music that nobody else could hear, songs that made his heart sing; melodies, pure, natural, and invisible, called to him, ringing in his ears and mind.
Soon he went from walking to jogging to practically running, dropping his bag down in the dirt. There he stood, panting ever so slightly. He closed his eyes... and there it was.
He decided on the first day he heard them to call them the indigo choir. Well, they really weren't a choir, not one that most people could sense. He could. Melchi thought he heard them, and Moritz could tell he wasn't lying, but obviously, the notes didn't beckon to his heart as they did to him. He wasn't sure if they were spirits or not, or just voices in his head, or maybe both, but... but they were there. They sang among the trees, voices reverberating in the branches and whistling on the wind. And he began to conduct, moving his hands and even his body, calling upon them, telling them, louder, louder, louder—
And he wept. He wept, for their beauty was near painful to his mere mortal ears. He closed his eyes, more tears spilling, but when he closed his eyes, he was not Moritz Stiefel anymore: he was no failure, he was no mere mortal; he was a god, and these were his heralds, this was his world, his universe, this forest was his and his alone.
He wept and he laughed through it, the indigo choir consoling their indigo child.