Chapter 1
The 8th of October. The day everyone in the band All Is Forgiven, especially Melchior, had been dreading. The day that Moritz would leave Stadtkern, their small district in Essen that they had lived in all their lives. The day Moritz would travel 252 kilometres for his father’s stupid new job. Also the day that was exactly a week before they were supposed to be performing their first gig. Ernst couldn’t help but notice how the light in Melchior’s eyes had died down in a way. That light was already quite dim usually, but it was even more so now.
All of Moritz’s friends had come to his house to say goodbye, and their last interaction with Moritz before he got in the car to leave was full of hugs, tears, and sorrowful goodbyes. They all ran after the car as it pulled out the driveway, shouting goodbye until the car had sped up, turned a corner, and was out of sight.
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“We have to decide this now: do we cancel or hold auditions for a new member?” Otto asked, attempting to spin a drumstick with his fingers. The drumset used to be Moritz’s, but he couldn’t take them to Frankfurt, so he let Melchior keep it.
“We should just cancel.” Georg sighed, his glasses sliding only slightly down his nose bridge as he moved to rest his chin on his palm. He then pushed the round-rimmed spectacles back up again, now sitting right where they were supposed to.
”I agree. We only have 6 days left, there’s no way we’ll be able to find a replacement willing to learn all of the songs with this amount of time.” Ernst said, leaning back in his chair, “and a good one, at that.”
”Maybe we should cancel, then.”
It was never a good thing when Melchior Gabor agreed with the public, and they were all very aware of this. It was concerning how he didn’t even try to oppose.
”Are you guys sure you don’t know anyone who can play the drums? I mean— I bet it isn’t that hard to find a drummer.” Otto asked after the drumstick had fallen for the 4th time. He, inevitably, gave up on spinning it.
”Nope.”
”No.”
Melchior shook his head as a no just as he remembered that he does, in fact, know a person who could play the drums.
A guy who, Melchior didn’t want to admit, but was very good at playing the drums.
A guy who probably wouldn’t mind learning all of the songs as he had nothing to do in his own time anyway.
A guy he hated.
A guy named Hanschen Rilow.