Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Last day of school for me...And this is how I start summer.
Okay, this is just what I think was running through Herr Steifel's mind before and during his son's funeral. So...here. hope you enjoy.
On with the fic!
If there was one word you could use to describe how Frederick Steifel felt right now, it would be numb.
His son Moritz, his only son...was dead. There was no way to make it seem better. Moritz had killed himself...and whose fault was it?
Thinking about his son's motionless body in the coffin, Frederick remembered the last time he had seen his son alive...
"Uhm...Father?"
Frederick looked up and saw Moritz, fidgeting as usual. He made a mental note to himself to teach that boy how to stand with confidence, and none of this foolish shaking.
"Moritz," he acknowledged his son. When Moritz didn't reply, Frederick had an unsettling feeling in his stomach, but shook it off.
"Yes...?" he repeated, spurring Moritz into action.
"Wel, I, uh..." he started. "I was wondering...Hypothetically, of course...What would happen if..." Moritz abruptly stopped.
"If...?" Frederick prompted.
"If, one day, I...failed," Moritz said. Frederick's stomach dropped. "N-Not that I-" Moritz started again.
"Are you telling me you failed?" Frederick asked coldly, colder than he had intended.
"N-no! I meant..." Moritz started.
"You failed, didn't you?! I can see it in your face," Frederick replied, raising his arm.
"Father, no!" Moritz exclaimed as Frederick struck his son.
"Please under-" Moritz tried again when Frederick struck him again. Unable to see his son, Frederick turned away.
"It's finally come to this, has it?" he asked, more to himself than to Moritz. "I can't say I'm surprised."
Frederick faced Moritz again, angry. How could his son have failed? The Steifel family had always found pride in its intellegent children. So why his son?
"So what are your mother and I supposed to do? You tell me, Moritz. What?" he bellowed, causing Moritz to wince. Frederick didn't care. All of these low grades had gone too far.
"How can your mother show her face to the Missionary Society? What am I to tell them at the Bank? How do we go to church? What are we supposed to say? My son. Failed," he finished. Moritz seemed to be trying incredibly hard not to cry. Frederick turned away from Moritz again.
"I only thank God your grandfather never lived to see this day," he added, walking away. In saying that, he had actually meant to make Moritz feel better; Frederick's father surely would have beaten Moritz like he knew Herr Bessel did his daughter, maybe even worse.
Looking back on that moment, Frederick felt a pang of sorrow. The face that Moritz had while Frederick scolded him...Frederick knew it would haunt him for the rest of his life. Was he really so unkind to Moritz? Was he that blind to not see the desperation in his son's face? He was raised to believe that if you don't pass school, you were worse than nothing. Could his parents have been wrong?
"Shall we go?" Frau Steifel asked, her voice hollow. Frederick put on his jacket and nodded.
"Yes, Abigail," he said. They went out of the house to attend their son's funeral.
Clutching the flower given to him, Frederick watched as each of Moritz's friends offered a flower. As he watched, he thought more of Moritz. Somehow, he saw Moritz in some of them.
There was Anna, the usually happy and peppy girl. Seeing her, Frederick remembered Moritz's earlier years; then he was born, Frederick thought he was the most perfect baby in the world. Every time he would see Moritz playing pirates with his friends, it reminded Frederick of his own carefree childhood.
Martha came up, face full of genuine sorrow. She defiinitely reminded Frederick of Moritz; Martha had an air of desperate sadness about her, similar to the one Moritz had. As she paused before dropping the flower into his grave gazing sadly into the hole, Frederick's heart clenched. Of all the things Moritz had to leave behind, this was one of the worst possible; a potential love interest.
But that wasn't the only thing he left, Frederick knew. Moritz had left everything he had ever thought, known, learned, felt, wished, did, didn't do...and lived.
And it was all Frederick's fault.
The funeral was a blur to him until he caught Melchior Gabor in his line of vision. The boy was glaring at the grave, not wanting to believe it was true. Melchior was Moritz's best friend, and he was also everything Moritz was not; intelligent, assumingly happy...everything Frederick wanted his son to be.
Upon that thought, something in Frederick's mind snapped, causing him to break one of the rules of the strict provincial society...
He broke down.
Tears rolled down his face as he sobbed loudly. He didn't care that there were still mourners present, or that the teachers were looking at him disapprovingly. He cared for none of it. All he wanted was to see his son's smile again.
I'm sorry, Mortiz...He thought. It wasn't supposed to end like this. This is all my fault. It was never yours. I'm so sorry...Please, God, give him back, don't let it be true...
Moritz was gone. There was no way to sugarcoat it, no way to hide it into the shadows and pretend it wasn't there. His son was dead...
...But did it have to be so damn hard?
...Yeah, I gave Herr Steifel an actual name, and not Herr Bessell, and here's the honest truth why; I honestly didn't think about giving the adults names until I wrote this.
What'd you think? Remember, good reviews make an author happy. Flames make an author sad.