I thirst (part 1)

     It's an evening on which you expect uplifting music coming from the open windows. I'm happy as a room without a roof. Komfort dwells through the alleys of this small medieval city centre. It's almost ten o'clock in the evening. And actually, he feels happy. But he doesn't know why.

     Sometimes happiness is just as unexpected as an albino hedgehog.

     He realizes it. But without any remorse. He stayed too long in the pub. Only he met too many nice people. Or maybe he drunk at first too many nice drinks. And slowly the world became a wonderful place to live in.

     I'm a hot air balloon that could go to air.

*  *  *

Komfort comes to a standstill.

    He wants to be certain. The sounds he is hearing. Is it true? Or is the noise coming from a radio or a computer?

    'Help me, help me...'

    It's no noise. It's a voice. A voice from someone in dire straits.

    Komfort closes his eyes. He tries to think. That's what he read some time ago. If you are overwhelmed by emotions, remain rational. He opens his eyes. His hands.

    They tremble like reed in an autumn gale.

    'Please, help me, help me...'

    The voice sounds husky but feeble. Komfort sighs and decides to move on. Is he his brother's keeper? Shouldn't he be at home to prepare dinner? Didn't he promise his mother to call her today?

    Funny how easy excuses emerge when you need them.

*   *  *

He legs don't move. He is lost in a chess game. Stalemate.

    Why isn't he just going on? Like a nineteenth-century gentleman with bowler hat and wooden walking stick? Complacent, self-confident. Because he understands that a human being is only able to live his life when he can distinguish: things that can be influenced, things that are a act of God. This wisdoms, this insight, it makes the difference between luck and fate.

     Between a glass of whiskey or a cup of brackish water.

     Komfort hates this moment. All his life he has been fighting this kind of deadlocks. All his life he has always been so uncertain, so unsure. And finally, after all those years, he seemed to have overcome his doubts and pendency's. Maybe that is the reason he was happy this evening.

    He wanted to celebrate his existence. An existence free from loose ends.

*   *  *

Loose ends. Is this what he feels what will happen if he got tempted to follow the brittle voice, the frangible sound?

    At the risk of forfeiting his newly gained live?

    Off course, it starts to rain. Why not. That's also still an issue he has to figure out. Why there seem to be a kind of invisible stage manager in his tactile live who regulates the weather, the order of events, the encounters, the loose ends.

    "Help me.., help me..., please..."

    Komfort turns around and trudges into the alley. He detects who is begging for help. A short fat man, is hanging on a set of beams. Or is it a cross?