Rammstein Spieluhr Oneshot (age appropriate)

Spieluhr

Music box It's cold. I look out the window and see the first snow this year. I hear a music box playing in the next room. I freeze. A pleasant warmth and an icy coldness spread through me at the same time. Then I remember those days. Because I spent my time outside in the cold winter, under the frozen earth in a makeshift coffin, if you could even call it that. I don't know how long I was in there, the only thing I remember is this.

My eyes slowly opened. The first thing I saw was nothing, because there was a gloomy darkness here. I wanted to get up, but I couldn't. It was tight, very tight. I was cold. I was hungry and thirsty.

Suddenly I noticed something next to me. I tried to feel it. After a short time I knew what kind of object next to me was. It was the music box. I turned the toy on and she started playing the melody. I then listened to the sounds that the object made. Memories were awakened in me, memories of a good time that I had forgotten because of my excitement.

I remembered the person's kind smile, full of love and affection, telling me that I should follow him to his warm home, because there he would give me new clothes and something to eat. As a naive, inexperienced street boy, I naturally followed him without thinking.

When he got home, the dream began. At first he was normal with me and, as promised, gave me new clothes, which I thought looked a bit too childish for me, and something warm to eat. When it got darker outside he offered me to stay with him until the next day because it was going to be pretty cold outside then and I might freeze to death.

So the hours passed as he told me stories about his family. How much fun they always had and that I remind him of his son. He suddenly began to cry as he told this. He got up and went to a drawer and took out a music box. As he continued talking, he turned up the clock and said that his son loved that tune. We listened to the music and he told me that his wife and son died of illness. A short moment of silence passed.

It was already getting dark outside when he offered me to sleep in his bed and not on the hard, cold floor. Then he put me to bed. To help me fall asleep, he put the music box in front of me and turned it on. And so I fell asleep. I don't know how long I was with him. The next thing I remember is waking up in this oak box with the music box with me. When I regained consciousness I tried everything possible to get out of here. So I decided to turn the object up and play the melody of my joy. At the same time, with not too much hope, I screamed my heart out and pounded on the rotten inner wall of my burial.

I don't know how long it took for someone to hear me. Whether it was just hours, days or weeks? During this time all I could hear was the rain crying at my grave and the melody being carried along on the wind. Ultimately, I was put out of my misery by the person who had brought me the joy of life again, or so I thought. When I was back above ground and there was a stranger standing in front of me, I didn't know exactly what was going on. I don't remember everything the stranger said to me, but he said that the person who brought me back the joy of life had died. I think he said that the man suffered from an incurable disease and died in a state of insanity. I was said to have been lying in bed next to him with no signs of life and was therefore assumed to be dead.

Since that acquaintance and that event, I knew what joy was, but I could never feel it again without the person who showed it to me. This is my story. That's what it said in my farewell letter. This is the letter that was next to a person who died of old age. When the person was found dead, the melody of a toy music box was playing in the room. The person looked happy, with a single tear streaming down his face. He was taken away by a descending angel. This was on Dead Sunday.