Traveling at night was always a bore, and with only himself to occupy the cabin, Haydn's mind wandered. He thought of all the times in which train rides had actually been enjoyable; rummaging from came to camp with friends, Hitler Youth trips, talking privates matters with his father, pestering Rune.

Rune.

His eyes twitched involuntarily, shook his head to clear his thoughts and went to pull at the small crimson curtain from the window to peer outwards. The light reflected strangely, and while the image was faint..the face that stared blankly was not his own.

The face held a pained expression, glasses askew and blood speckled over an otherwise white features. It drew Haydn's stomach to lurching unpleasantly, his hand throwing the curtain back into place as he sunk into the confines of his seat.

He had killed him out of mercy, yet why did guilt stab him at every given moment?

***

Second piece in my series involving the post world war Haydn. I got the idea for this during my train ride to Munich and felt that if Haydn was going to be traveling he'd likely do the same thing.

Rune makes an appearance in this one, though it's not entirely a pleasant one. It's not hard to say that Haydn is more then feeling 'guilty' that he killed his brother, and has to live with this.

Rune and Haydn are (c) to me