A/N- My first official story for the 'Spring Awakening' fandom! I have what is fleshing out to be an epic Hanschen/Ernst that I'll post as soon as I finish "In A Wonderland, They Lie" for 'RENT', which shouldn't take that long. Anyway. I wrote this in my Creative Writing class several months ago and forgot about it until now, so here it is! Lots of Moritz angst ahead.
Disclaimer: Don't own; wish I did.
Anomaly (.):
1. Deviation or departure from the normal or common order, form, or rule.
2. One that is peculiar, irregular, abnormal, or difficult to classify
He is curled up into a little ball, his fists clenched into his hair, yanking and tearing. His shoulders quake and his chest is wracked with sobs. He has failed. He is a failure. His hair won't lie flat, his socks won't stay up and his shirt is always wrinkled. He is a failure. His father's words echo in the room: "Thank God my father never lived to see this day." There's a rushing sensation in his chest, and before he can control himself, he lets loose an agonized cry. He had loved Grandfather very much, and Grandfather was very fond of him: he would sit at Grandfather's feet as he would smoke his pipe and tell Moritz tales of his youth serving Germany, until one day, Grandfather was gone. Moritz rubs his eyes, wiping away his tears, and coughs. The thin coat of dust on the floor is irritating his eyes and nose. He pulls himself to his feet, wiping his nose on his shirtsleeve. God, if only he could be more like Melchi. Melchior was so brilliant, so genius: he never struggled with his classwork, but he didn't care! He was too absorbed in the shortcomings of the church and the philosophical repercussions of gender separation in schools that, although he was unfairly brilliant, he didn't care a whit about school. Even Hanschen Rilow, a decidedly strange boy who tended to watch the other boys shower in gymnastics, was brilliant at Greek, Latin and Arithmetic. No matter how hard Moritz studied, the information simply refused to stay in his head. It seemed to flow out of his ears at night whilst he dreamt of beautiful women: the curve of her waist, the length of her legs and the mystery of what lay between her thighs. There has to be something wrong with him, he wildly thinks, that makes him so different from the other boys. He walks up the stairs to his room, careful to make as little noise as possible. He doesn't want to disturb his parents, or more accurately, draw their attention to him again.
There has to be something he can do. He knows he can't go on like this- he cannot stay in this tiny little town where everyone knows everyone else's shortcomings and failures, where the greatest thing you can hope to do is get married and produce several babies with your wife. Moritz shudders; babies terrify him and the idea of marrying any of the girls in the village makes him sweaty and nervous. He needs to get out, go somewhere... anywhere that isn't here. But he has no money, he realizes, and nowhere to go. No one to turn to.
And then it hits him. "Herr Stiefel... how are you?" Frau Gabor asks him, a genuine smile on her face as she hands him tea and several small sandwiches. If anyone can help him, it's Melchi's mother. He runs to his desk and begins to write her a letter. There's a pinprick of hope in his future: small, but just enough to get him through until he can leave.
Several days go by before he receives an answer. He opens the letter and speeds through it, his heart sinking in his chest with every word he reads. "...So, head high, Herr Stiefel, and do let me hear from you soon. In the meantime, I am unchangingly and most fondly yours, Fanny Gabor."
Fat, salty tears fall onto the page, making the ink run. He stares ahead, consumed by despair and anger. He slowly rips the letter into tiny little pieces that flutter around his room in the breeze coming from the open window like tiny white butterflies. He is alone, utterly alone. He is a freak, strange, an anomaly in a sea of normal, happy teenagers. What can he do now? A foggy sort of idea manifests in his mind, and he finds himself in front of his father's hunting cabinet. He pulls open the doors, his eyes falling on the pistol lying right inside. Does he dare? What's left of the sweet, shy little boy cries out in despair, but the new, numb man that's taken over hushes him almost immediately. There is no other way out. There is no hope of salvation. Nobody cares: he's just a stupid kid with no future. His palms are sweaty, and he distantly realizes that he's nervous. It's almost funny, now. Nervous about something so inevitable, nervous about relief from his misery and loneliness? Ridiculous. He picks up the pistol, the steel cool in his hands, and closes the cabinet. He tucks the pistol into his jacket and leaves his house, not turning back.
He walks towards the woods mechanically, his feet leading him somewhere that he's never been. The sun is almost set; twilight will be here soon. He smiles sadly; twilight has always been one of his favorite times of day. The sky is beautiful and comforting, filled with constellations that spin amazing stories on a canvas that's blue is so deep, it's almost purple. The moon is not fully risen, but there is enough light to illuminate an imaginary path for him. He walks and walks, unsure of where he is headed, until he finally stops underneath a tall apple tree. He gazes up at it, the fruit weighing heavily on the branches. He reaches up and takes one, staring at it for a moment. Its bright red skin is so shiny, it could almost reflect his face in the starlight, but it's too dark. He is simply a shadow, a fuzzy blur in the night. He takes a bite, savoring what is sure to be his last meal. He finishes the apple quickly, tossing the core far behind the tree. He looks up at the sky again. The moon is rising, climbing the sky amongst the stars. It is time. He pulls out the pistol.
"Moritz Stiefel?" A feminine voice calls from the nearby shadows. Moritz is so scared, he nearly drops the gun. Instead, he fumbles it into the pocket of his jacket. Ilse Neumann appears in the dark, her long blonde hair nearly glowing in the starlight.
"Ilse?" His voice cracks, and he inwardly curses himself. "You frightened me." He hasn't seen his old friend in ages, but as much as he has missed her, he can barely pay attention. He gives her short, inattentive replies to her questions. He just wants to be alone, to go in peace, and she's making it difficult. What business is it of hers what he does?
"...I'll set you on my little hobbyhorse." She is near tears, he realizes. He wonders why she's crying.
"Really, I can't." He replies in a dead sort of tone.
A small sob escapes her. "By the time you wake up," she says, fiddling with the flowers in her arms, "I'll be lying on some garbage heap." She drops the flowers at his feet and runs, quickly disappearing into the darkness.
It is then that he realizes what has just transpired. She was offering to save him. Save him, and in return, he could save her. Stupid, stupid! All he had to do was listen to her, for the love of God, listen and think about someone else. "Ilse! ILSE!" He screams, blindly running after where he thinks she has gone, but after several minutes, it is apparent that she is gone. "Ilse..." He whispers. He walks back to his spot in the woods and sinks to the ground where she dropped the flowers. He doesn't know why he has come back to this spot; maybe the flowers provide a little bit of comfort on this cool night.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the pistol. It gleams coldly and his resolve is strengthened. He checks to make sure the gun is loaded. He cocks the gun. One last look at the sky. The stars are shining brighter now, the moon glares down at him, as if condemning him for what he's about to do. He puts the barrel in his mouth.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
BANG.
Darkness.
Review please!