Roderich Edelstein: End Of War

Roderich Edelstein

It was just days before the end of the war when Roderich Edelstein was shot and passed away after some hours in the hospital. The funeral will be held on the 5th of May and will only be open to close friends.

Roderich was a man that immersed himself in music and did not let himself be sidetracked by petty things such as war. That made him better than many of his friends, whom had spent their entire lives obsessed with it. He was a man of creation rather than one of destruction and the masterpieces he created will withstand the harsh judgement of time. He was a good friend to many and did not let prejudice get in the way of his relationship with others. Though his friendship was hard to gain, he was a loyal friend.

During

It’s been fifteen years. That’s a long time for a person, isn’t it, brother?” The girl asked and took the man - her brother’s hand and swing it gently between them,

“I still wish that I hadn’t have told you - you don’t deserve to know how cruel fate is, that we can be taken away by the trigger of a lesser man’s gun and be left to die alone.”

“You’re being pessimistic again. What about all the hardship that he’s forgotten? He won’t remember what it was like to be forced to fight a war that he didn’t want.”

The man laughed, low and hollow, as he looked towards the grave they stood at. He kicked the old flowers away - still colourful but nearly fully wilted. “But the bastard was the cause of it. He never knew when to shut his mouth and how how’s paid for it dearly. I do hope that he rests easy knowing that he no longer has to cope with the repercussions.”

“How is Mr. Beilschmidt?”

“He’s getting better/ It’s been a long road for him but he’s started walking again.” The man turned to face the grave. “He could have gone the same way and just given up, but he’s chosen to fight to live, not like he did before.”

“He must really be in love with Mr. Vargas

It started with Roderich making his way to the park on Sundays, where he would wave halfheartedly to them as they passed on their way to the grave, and again as they came back. A few weeks later they came to talk to him before they went, and after that, they would let him tag along as they replaced the wilting flowers and said a few words to the nameless grave that Roderich couldn't hear no matter how he strained.

Before he met the Zwingli siblings, coming to the parkhad been a rare occurrence, and only on days when he needed a break from all things related to his life, mainly music.

Today was different, for starters, it was barely eight o’clock instead of midday shifting into a lazy Sunday afternoon. The other, and much more prominent difference, was what Roderich was currently doing. He was neither hassling over his music or sleeping in later — two things the teenager did often, but rather carrying an apple crumble he had bought using money out of his own pocket from the bakery — where the woman behind the counter had insisted that he was too skinny for his age and had given him a custard slice to munch on, despite him having enough money to buy one for himself if he wanted to. It was very nice