blackbird by Gina Frisken

Thursday morning 1962, Rita’s grandfather noticed Heike and the twins hadn’t come down to sit at the front bench as they always did. He asked her to check on them. She scaled the steps to the first-floor flat and knocked on the door. Her calling got no answer. Rita turned the rattling doorknob as she had done many times before.

 

The stillness of the room and the unnatural positions of the bodies confused Rita. She saw Klaus lying on the bed with his feet on the floor and holding a shotgun. Behind him was Heike, his wife, her head was on the ground and her arm stretched out towards the twins’ cot.

 

Then, she caught a glimpse of the blood beneath the cot. As she turned to run, she could taste the heavy tang that hung in the air. Downstairs the voices were unaware of the tragedy in the flat above. Rita covered her mouth so she didn’t scream.

 

She wiped her tears and walked into the kitchen. She saw her mother put four sandwiches into brown-paper bags and her father tie his black shoelaces. Rita opened her mouth and her words stayed inside.

 

No one noticed her struggle. The morning chaos of getting to school and work got in the way of tragedy. She screamed, “dead!” “They are all dead!” And she ran.

 

Detective O‘Farrell was the first to arrive on the scene. The iron gate creaked. Rita heard him yell and ran from the yard through the fence gate into the back lane. She held a stained note, handwritten in German.