FIC: The Train (1/1)
I wrote this years ago (like, five years? maybe six...) and didn't get around to archiving it anywhere, or even showing it to anyone. It was sat on my harddrive. I still wouldn't post it anywhere, but I am dead keen on the 100fandoms challenge, so it's here.
*
THE TRAIN
FANDOM: "Bent", a play by Martin Sherman.
PAIRING: Rudy/Max.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Read the play. Forget this ficlet, read the play! I wept buckets.
100fandoms #10: shadows.
BACKSTORY: A little backstory - at the beginning of the play, we're introduced to Rudy (Rudolph) and Max (Maximillian) - two gay guys in Nazi Germany. Max picks up one of the SA Officers' lovers in a gay bar and he and Rudy end up in a world of trouble, on the run from the Gestapo. Two years later, they are finally captured and loaded on to a train headed for Dachau. There, Rudy is killed and Max meets a man called Horst with whom he starts an unlikely love affair. This story is set at the end of Act 1, Scene 5, after Rudy is left for dead on the floor of the train.
*
My lips are a little chapped. It makes kissing you difficult, but we are used to such petty problems. Still - it feels strange to have lips so dry, and I can tell you're not happy with that. I can feel you pull away. Everything is harsh and dry here, and now I am too.
I kiss your feet, and feel their dryness. They took our shoes - they took our belts. They took my glasses.
I can't see very well without them, you know that. I can just about make out your form against the wall of the train if I squint. I don't like this train. I don't like these guards - both dry and hard and dead on the inside. I miss the jungle. At least there we could sing.
I think I hurt all over, but I can't be sure. I'd always thought that if I hurt, you'd hold me - but you're not, so I can't be hurting. I miss my glasses, though. I wish I could see you. I wish I could see the man sitting next to you, the far wall, the guard approaching... but you. Most of all, I wish I could see you.
Remember Berlin? Greta's club? I never liked it there; I wonder why I let you drag me in there so often. The nights when you weren't high were good, though, even at Greta's. Poor Greta... I wonder what he's doing now? Probably going to be joining us later. I miss him, in a twisted sort of way.
Miss cocaine, too. I can live without, though. Two years and I still miss it, but I can live without. Are you okay? I know you need it more than me. It'll be okay. We'll find some from somewhere.
Shhh! The guard's approaching. Don't move. If you look at me, they'll kill you. If you try to help me, they'll kill you. If you acknowledge my existence, they will kill you. I heard that man say it. He's cute. Quiet, but cute. Not your type at all, thank God.
Oh, what am I saying?! Nazis to the left of me, Nazis to the right, and here I am, feeling threatened by a stubble-headed little dummy.
Cute, though.
I wonder where they're taking us? That man - the cute dummy. All dressed up and nowhere to go. A camp, maybe, but why is he already dressed? I know the uniform - prisoner, like us - but why the pink triangle?
Oh, who cares. As long as we're together, Max, everything's going to be all right. Somehow.
My left side hurts from where you hit me. You're left-handed - why did you hit me with your right hand? To lessen the blow? After the fourth punch, it didn't matter. I don't blame you, though. You had to. One thing you didn't choose to do - you had to. And I know you still love me. You never say it, you don't like me saying it, but there it is. We'll get through it somehow. We're human, and we love each other, and that's all that matters.
We'll get to Amsterdam eventually. I'm sure of it. Max… look at me. We'll get to Amsterdam. I know I wasn't sure before, but I am now. I have to be.
Max...
I love you - you know that, right? I do. I love you. I can't help it. I don't know if you want me to, but I do. I love you. And you know what? Not that guard, not this train, not the S.S. - not even you! - can take that away from me. I love you.
It makes the train a little brighter.
My left side still hurts. I want my shoes back. Do you think they'll give me my shoes back? Maybe not. They made me break my glasses. Called me an intellectual. Have you ever heard anything so silly in your whole life? Me, an intellectual! I'm a dancer... or, I was. I lost my dancing feet, though, so maybe I should say I'm a digger. I dig. See my shoulders?
Is the train getting darker? I wish you'd look at me, Max. I know I'm a mess, but I wish you would. I hurt all over, and it's not your fault, but the floor's cold, Max. The train is loud and the floor is cold. I don't like the cold, Max. My left side's all numb. I want to kiss you - your hands, your feet... you. You're warm. I know you are. And I know that we're not allowed to touch, let alone kiss, but the train is so dark... they won't see if I kiss your feet.
The train is so dark... is it night already?
I kiss your feet - dry, so dry. Hesitation, then I hear you count to ten and pull away. My left side throbs in empathy. My lips are too chapped, too bloody. I'm sorry, Max. I know you don't like dry lips, but I needed to kiss you.
And - it hurt that you pulled away, but I understand. It's not your fault. Your last blow split my lip... blood everywhere. I don't like it either. In any case, I can understand why you'd pull away. My lips are a little chapped; my kiss a little imperfect.
Is it night? Your skin is glowing.
That guy is cute. Pink triangle. Huh. Wonder what that stands for?
*
fin
*
THE TRAIN
FANDOM: "Bent", a play by Martin Sherman.
PAIRING: Rudy/Max.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Read the play. Forget this ficlet, read the play! I wept buckets.
100fandoms #10: shadows.
BACKSTORY: A little backstory - at the beginning of the play, we're introduced to Rudy (Rudolph) and Max (Maximillian) - two gay guys in Nazi Germany. Max picks up one of the SA Officers' lovers in a gay bar and he and Rudy end up in a world of trouble, on the run from the Gestapo. Two years later, they are finally captured and loaded on to a train headed for Dachau. There, Rudy is killed and Max meets a man called Horst with whom he starts an unlikely love affair. This story is set at the end of Act 1, Scene 5, after Rudy is left for dead on the floor of the train.
*
My lips are a little chapped. It makes kissing you difficult, but we are used to such petty problems. Still - it feels strange to have lips so dry, and I can tell you're not happy with that. I can feel you pull away. Everything is harsh and dry here, and now I am too.
I kiss your feet, and feel their dryness. They took our shoes - they took our belts. They took my glasses.
I can't see very well without them, you know that. I can just about make out your form against the wall of the train if I squint. I don't like this train. I don't like these guards - both dry and hard and dead on the inside. I miss the jungle. At least there we could sing.
I think I hurt all over, but I can't be sure. I'd always thought that if I hurt, you'd hold me - but you're not, so I can't be hurting. I miss my glasses, though. I wish I could see you. I wish I could see the man sitting next to you, the far wall, the guard approaching... but you. Most of all, I wish I could see you.
Remember Berlin? Greta's club? I never liked it there; I wonder why I let you drag me in there so often. The nights when you weren't high were good, though, even at Greta's. Poor Greta... I wonder what he's doing now? Probably going to be joining us later. I miss him, in a twisted sort of way.
Miss cocaine, too. I can live without, though. Two years and I still miss it, but I can live without. Are you okay? I know you need it more than me. It'll be okay. We'll find some from somewhere.
Shhh! The guard's approaching. Don't move. If you look at me, they'll kill you. If you try to help me, they'll kill you. If you acknowledge my existence, they will kill you. I heard that man say it. He's cute. Quiet, but cute. Not your type at all, thank God.
Oh, what am I saying?! Nazis to the left of me, Nazis to the right, and here I am, feeling threatened by a stubble-headed little dummy.
Cute, though.
I wonder where they're taking us? That man - the cute dummy. All dressed up and nowhere to go. A camp, maybe, but why is he already dressed? I know the uniform - prisoner, like us - but why the pink triangle?
Oh, who cares. As long as we're together, Max, everything's going to be all right. Somehow.
My left side hurts from where you hit me. You're left-handed - why did you hit me with your right hand? To lessen the blow? After the fourth punch, it didn't matter. I don't blame you, though. You had to. One thing you didn't choose to do - you had to. And I know you still love me. You never say it, you don't like me saying it, but there it is. We'll get through it somehow. We're human, and we love each other, and that's all that matters.
We'll get to Amsterdam eventually. I'm sure of it. Max… look at me. We'll get to Amsterdam. I know I wasn't sure before, but I am now. I have to be.
Max...
I love you - you know that, right? I do. I love you. I can't help it. I don't know if you want me to, but I do. I love you. And you know what? Not that guard, not this train, not the S.S. - not even you! - can take that away from me. I love you.
It makes the train a little brighter.
My left side still hurts. I want my shoes back. Do you think they'll give me my shoes back? Maybe not. They made me break my glasses. Called me an intellectual. Have you ever heard anything so silly in your whole life? Me, an intellectual! I'm a dancer... or, I was. I lost my dancing feet, though, so maybe I should say I'm a digger. I dig. See my shoulders?
Is the train getting darker? I wish you'd look at me, Max. I know I'm a mess, but I wish you would. I hurt all over, and it's not your fault, but the floor's cold, Max. The train is loud and the floor is cold. I don't like the cold, Max. My left side's all numb. I want to kiss you - your hands, your feet... you. You're warm. I know you are. And I know that we're not allowed to touch, let alone kiss, but the train is so dark... they won't see if I kiss your feet.
The train is so dark... is it night already?
I kiss your feet - dry, so dry. Hesitation, then I hear you count to ten and pull away. My left side throbs in empathy. My lips are too chapped, too bloody. I'm sorry, Max. I know you don't like dry lips, but I needed to kiss you.
And - it hurt that you pulled away, but I understand. It's not your fault. Your last blow split my lip... blood everywhere. I don't like it either. In any case, I can understand why you'd pull away. My lips are a little chapped; my kiss a little imperfect.
Is it night? Your skin is glowing.
That guy is cute. Pink triangle. Huh. Wonder what that stands for?
*
fin