The Bright Colours of Misery [COMPLETED]

𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙵𝙾𝚁𝚃𝚈 𝚂𝙸𝚇 -condusion, hurt, hope and condoleances-

"Thank you, herr." She said, politely with true gratitude, finally the interrogation was over. He nodded and leaned back in his chair.

"Will you send all our kind regards to your mother and father-"

Tilda closed her eyes briefly in shame of her father.

"Papa, Her father's dead." She quickly said, poking at her food uncomfortably.

The old man turned to his daughter, suddenly all pale. Tilda nodded urgently, confirming she wasn't telling some horrid joke.

"Oh dear," Frau Krause whispered, looking over at the red haired girl with a newfound pity. "When did he die?"

"Mother!" Tilda scolded, this time more than ashamed of them both.

Heidi almost laughed, but she held it in, how many questions of this kind could they possibly come up with?

"He died in December last year." She said, "Health complications."

Heidi didn't want to get into the details and tell the truth. She couldn't bring herself to tell the mayor and his wife about how her father had been drunk and after trying to get into the house—holding an apology letter to his wife that he'd previously hit to the point of unconsciousness— he'd eventually given up and passed out on the streets only to never see the light of day again.  It wouldn't have brightened the conversation, and it could have tainted their view of her and her family beyond repair, so she went with a simple explanation like any sensible person would have done.

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry to hear that." Frau Krause said, serving her some more water and an extra potato, certainly out of pity, her husband nodded slowly in agreement.

"Well then, will you send your mother all our condolences for you father and all our best wishes." He said, his voice far more quiet than earlier. After a long silence, Tilda grabbed Heidi's hand under the table, making her blush slightly. The man of the house rose slightly out of his chair again, and faced Heidi directly.

"I served in the army, you see, alongside my son." He started. Heidi nodded slowly, actually quite relieved the conversation wasn't centred around her family anymore.

"My eldest son was killed in 1917," he then admitted, looking over at Frau Krause who shifted in her seat and sighed softly. "He was shot and injured but never recovered from his wounds."  Heidi quickly glanced over at Tilda. She had never heard of that brother, but then she realised Tilda could never have even met him. The age gap between them was insane. She quickly turned back to her Krause, realising thinking of ages and such wasn't appropriate for this conversation.

"I suppose, I only wanted to know how this generation of soldiers are doing, but of course I realise I shouldn't have pressed the matter with you the way I did."

Heidi nodded.

"It's all right, I understand." She said, although it went against her own feelings.

"I truly wish your brother the best." frau Krause eventually said after yet another uncomfortable silence. Heidi took those wishes with her as she left, but she decided to never tell her mother about them, as it would only accentuate her desperate need for Walter to be all safe and sound, which just couldn't match up with reality at this point in time.

The whole way home she thought of what Herr Krause had briefly described.

My eldest son was killed in 1917. He was shot and injured but never recovered from his wounds.

Those words echoed in her mind for a while until they morphed into something different.

My eldest son was killed in 1942. He was shot and injured but never recovered from his wounds. I tried to stop it but I couldn't, Heidi's mind was tying itself into a knot of pure anxiety and worry. She could picture her mother saying that, her poor mother, at the age of Herr Krause, sitting around a table and telling one of the worst tales of her life.