He heard the bang.
That was the last thing he heard really, he didn't hear his own screams, the shouting. He didn't hear himself calling his name.
It was silent.
That's how the world was now, without Moritz. Silent.
There was no more endearing babbling on his part, no more questions. No more anything.
Moritz was gone.
Melchior was the first to see what he had left behind. He had been cutting through the woods to the barn where he and Wendla were to meet.
Melchior never made it to the barn.
He heard the bang; and he ran. He didn't know then-how could he?
He saw the first river of blood before he saw the body. He had thought someone shot an animal or something of the sort. How wrong he was.
He got to the clearing, then screamed.
Melchior once thought people often over exaggerated that severity of gunshot wounds to the head. But it was all true, and worse.
All of his grey matter was still in his head, thankfully. But there was so much blood…..so much blood. If he didn't know that distinguishable school uniform he wouldn't have been able to tell it was Moritz.
"No! NO!" He cried. His body was trembling, he felt like he was floating. This was a dream. A horrible, horrible nightmare. It had to be. Moritz couldn't be dead.
It had to be someone else- that was it. Someone was playing a trick on him, someone was playing a nasty, awful trick.
He wondered why no one else was coming-hadn't they heard the damning sound of the gunshot? Then he realized he was the only one close enough to hear-it had been muffled.
He fell to his knees, he didn't want to leave but he needed to get help….maybe…maybe they could convince him it really was a trick.
"Help! Help!" He sobbed desperately. His ears were deaf to his own cries. After the gunshot everything was silent. To him the crickets were no longer chirping, the frogs no longer croaking.
He just sat on the ground, sobbing next to his dead friend. He didn't have the will to get up, to move. He wanted to die as well.
Why? Why had Moritz done that? Sure, he was confused. But many boys their age were. How had no one seen the signs-how had Melchior not seen the signs?
He had been ignoring his friend: spending too much time with Wendla. That was it.
Oh God, it had been his fault. Everything was his fault. He didn't see it….he hadn't helped him.
Melchior sat there next to the body for over two hours. He grew hysterical, begging his friend to wake up. He grabbed his friend's cold hand and shook him.
Finally he realized that his friend was no longer: what he was sitting next to was a dead body. A body that had belonged to his best friend.
He stood up on numb, shaking legs. He needed to get help. To take Mor-the body away. He couldn't stay outside all night.
He walked into town, feeling faint and dizzy. Before he knew it he was at his house. It was late; he was surprised when he saw a light on in his parent's bedroom.
He opened the door and was puzzled to see his mother sitting on the sofa, seemingly waiting for him.
"Melchior-where have you been? Your father and I have been worried! And have you seen Moritz? His parents say he is missing as well." She asked primly, never looking up from her needlework.
All Melchior could do was let out a strangled sob. Finally his mother looked up and saw the blood that was on his uniform.
"Are you hurt Melchior?" She asked concerned when she saw his swollen eyes and tearstained face.
"Father….I need father…" He sobbed. This was when Frau Gabor got the first inkling that there may be something wrong.
"I-I'll get him." she stuttered, rushing up the stairs.
A few seconds later his parents descended the stairs, his mother looking worried and his father annoyed.
"Father….please, come help." Melchior sobbed. The older man's face softened slightly.
"Help with what Melchior?" The man asked impatiently.
But the boy couldn't speak. He just shook his head and asked incoherently asked his father to follow him.
The man obliged, but only because he needed to know why his son was in such a state.
Melchior lead him in the dark through the woods and to the clearing.
Herr Gabor saw a shape on the ground. At first he believed it was a large animal. Then he saw that the 'animal' was wearing the uniform of Melchior's school.
He saw all the blood on the ground, dark patches that married the apparent serenity of the scene.
He prayed to God that the boy was still alive. But as he got closer it was apparent he was not.
The face was unrecognizable. But he could tell Melchior knew who it was.
"What happened Melchior? What did you do?" He asked gruffly. They boy's head shot up.
"N-nothing! I heard the gunshot and I ran. I found him like this." The boy defended.
"W-who is it?" The father asked in a softer tone.
The boy broke out into tears again.
"M-Moritz. It's Moritz." He cried.
The father cursed under his breath. His son's best friend.
"Melchior-run and fetch the doctor." Herr Gabor commanded.
"But father-" Melchior tried to protest, but his father would have none of it.
"Go Melchior!" Without another word the boy took off.
The next day Melchior still couldn't believe it. The doctor had come; with his assistant and together they had carried Moritz back to town. Now the boy was lying in a coffin at the church.
What was harder to comprehend was that no one seemed to care. The only ones who seemed as distraught as he were Ilse and Martha. Ilse had blamed herself as well. If only she had stayed and insisted that he come with her. He wouldn't be dead.
The funeral was set for the day after: arrangements had to be made after all.
All Melchior could do was return to the place where it had began; the place that still held Moritz's blood. He could almost feel Moritz's spirit there.
The world was still silent; it would always be silent without Moritz.